Lesson One: Third-Party Narration Rarely Works

I think there's a few ways to drive a comic book story: dialog, monologue, or third-party narration.

The distinction between the three is probably what you're thinking: dialog-driven stories use conversation between characters, while monologue-driven stories use thought bubbles to visually express the main hero's point of view.

Third-party narration is the outlier, using squared off blocks from the perspective of a nameless third-party, the voice of god. Sometimes, third-party narration comes to set the basics of the scene, such as the yellow blocks on the first page Spider-Man 2099 (1992):

That's all well and good - practical with a bit of snark. Third-party narration can take a larger role in the story as well, such as in this page from The Immortal Hulk (2018) #8.

I'd consider this the peak of third-party narration. Banner/The Hulk is a bit too preoccupied to narrate the story himself with a monologue or thought bubble - and in any event, The Immortal Hulk is too serious of a book to drive the story with thought bubbles. Instead, the narrator gives us a succinct and dramatic view of the scene with just 10 square blocks.

Other times, third-party narration can get a bit carried away. Take this page from The Immortal Hulk (2018) #11:

If you're confused, it's not because you're missing some necessary context: that's the first page of the issue! It really is just that weird and difficult to understand. There's a pseudo-philosophical tone to this writing, a description I'd - unfortunately - further extend to a good chunk of third-party narration in other books as well.

Let's take another example: this bit of narration from Superman: Space Age, reflecting on the death of JFK:

As a reporter, I mostly listen. In times like these, we look in vain for the elusive reassurance we call hope. Where is this thing called hope? What is it? We like to imagine that our strength will protect us. But history is a wildfire. It consumes the weak and strong alike until there's nothing left to burn. The living are but the burn ward of history. And none of us ever fully recover. We simply pick what we can from the ashes and move on. And yet, somehow, we know that there must be more. That we are destined for something greater. Those in whom we invest this belief we call heroes. So why does the life of one man mean so much? In short ... it doesn't. But when you take the enormity of what this man meant to a nation, the overwhelming grief we felt at his passing, the belief in the future he inspired in us ... and then subtract from that one ordinary life, whatever remains ... that is what we mean when we say hope.

Dramatic, over-the-top narration is certainly core to comic history, but for me, these kinds of blocks don't quite land. They contribute a dramatic tone to the comic, but it feels like the writer is trying to get a "woah" moment out of us, and I just never get there. For one reason or another, they always fall flat, and any immersion the comic would otherwise have peters away.

It's gotten to the point where, when starting a new series, I'll veto the run if the first issue has too much of this kind of narration. It's not the absurdity of a god-narrator that bothers me, rather that it feels a little inauthentic and pretentious. Nobody wants to read a pretentious comic.