Warning: Before reading this, be aware that Grant Morrison is the master of meta-narratives and often inserts themself into their stories. Matheus did the same here :) – inserting himself and Morrison into the narrative.
“Well. Ok. Here we go. Who is Grant Morrison? You can write that, Matheus. You've been writing these articles for a few weeks now. You've read his comics. How hard can it be?” says our writer to himself in his half-lit bedroom at 3 in the morning. He's been trying to break the habit of writing at night but also feels that writing during the day wouldn’t have the same dramatic effect – especially if he goes ahead with the idea of doing a fourth-wall-breaking, self-insert introduction to his article.
He wears the same Digimon baggy shirt he’s been wearing for... god, two days now, I think. You see, the author has recently moved to a new apartment and still hasn’t really unpacked all his bags. So the not-Pokémon-knockoff merch (don’t contradict this, he might get angry) is kinda all he has.
Well, that and an open copy of The Invisibles sitting next to him.
Still marked on issue 7. The same issue it’s been on for years. From before he even started thinking about writing comics. If he just reads one more issue, he might finally get this article done and go to sleep (or read Green Arrow, or whatever these pushing-30s-clearly-too-attached-to-childhood guys do).
That’s when he hears a knock at the door. “Did I order pizza?” he mumbles. I cannot fathom what kind of person would seriously consider the possibility of having ordered pizza at 3 in the morning and forgotten about it.
But he does. And then he finally drags himself to the front door, only to find nobody at all.
Well. He finds something. A perfect piece of pie, sitting on a plate on his doormat.
Attached is a small handwritten note. “Eat it,” it says.
“Eat it and see.”
“Well, who would eat that?” you think.
Well, a pushing-30s-clearly-too-attached-to-childhood-guy-who-also-forgot-to-go-to-the-supermarket-and-whose-fridge-right-now-is-basically-a-Coke-and-half-a-burrito-from-the-other-day-guy. That’s who would.
And on the verge of what he shouldn’t have done and what he needed to do all along, our hero eats it.
He eats – and he sees.
He sees a bench in a park. It's day again. On the bench sits a person. All black. Hat covering their face. Someone Bill Nighy would play in an underrated British drama about horses. The author approaches the bench and sits next to the person.
The figure hands him a laptop. They removes their hat and reveals their face – to our author's surprise.
“Well, enough of this. Let's cut the shit and write. You write, and I comment on it.”
He first types...
“Grant Morrison is a…”
The cursor blinks once. Twice. Time splits.
Reality vibrates like a guitar string plucked by a six-fingered god with a taste for chaos magic and Silver Age nostalgia. The person in black tilts his head, revealing eyes that have clearly seen the fourth wall, walked through it, kissed their wife, and left a Post-it note saying “Back soon – writing myself into your story.”
They lean in close. The air smells faintly of ozone and printer ink.
Grant Morrison is a...
“Writer?” they scoff, British accent thick as ley lines across a UK street map. “Darling, that’s like calling Prometheus a lighter thief.”
They snatch the laptop for a moment, fingers moving like they’re casting spells instead of typing. Each keystroke triggers a panel, each panel births a new universe. You see yourself in one – baggy-shirted, bleary-eyed, but burning with purpose.
“Grant Morrison is a fictionaut, an egregore in skinny jeans, a sigil with a Scottish accent. I am–was–will be the architect of multiverses who once got abducted by aliens in Kathmandu, and rather than scream, took notes. I wrote myself into Animal Man and watched him cry when he saw me. I’ve made Batman a god, Superman a sun-powered metaphor for hope, and gave Wonder Woman back her chains so she could break them again herself.”
They slide the laptop back. The screen flickers. A new line types itself, as if summoned:
"Grant Morrison is what happens when the idea of a writer realizes it can write back."
They look at you. They look at me. They look at you again. All sly grin and collapsing dimensions behind their pupils.
“Your turn now, Matheus. Just don’t forget you’re in the comic too.”
A page turns without hands. Time loops. The Digimon shirt pulses with childhood energy. The pie begins digesting itself into enlightenment. And suddenly... writing in the middle of the night makes perfect sense.
So… what do you type next?
Doom Patrol with Richard Case
This is a masterpiece. A bible of love and despair in the language of comics. Morrison takes heroes who are meant to be explorers and breakers of the impossible – Silver Age icons, of course – and flips the concept on its head. Then they fold it carefully and make a perfect little papier-mâché house out of it.
This defines the Vertigo line for me. The weird heroes take on villains who are concepts of things. We meet a street with a conscience, for god’s sake. And the beautiful thing here – something not always true of Morrison’s work – is that character development isn’t left behind. I’m sure you don’t care about or even know the name of any Doom Patrol member, but you’ll walk out of this absolutely in love with every single one of them.
And that is a dangerous weapon, one that will be used to break your heart.
A progressive book with progressive punk ideas, it defines the whole point of those weirdos from Britain’s 2000 AD storming American comics. Also, it’s deeply uncomfortable how some of these topics – trans and gay rights – are still battles that need to be fought today. Offensively, we’re still there. Both sad, and major props to Morrison’s art.
You can get the run in a Doom Patrol by Grant Morrison Omnibus or individuals TPBs with:
The person in black leans back, steeples their fingers. The park begins to ripple like water in a cup set too close to a stampeding dinosaur. They smile, teeth like quotes pulled from forbidden zines.
“Oh, you’ve seen it then,” they say, voice like static from a long-lost pirate radio station. “You’ve looked into the White Void of the Brotherhood of Dada – and you came back with your love intact. Not everyone does.”
The trees behind them start whispering, “Flex Mentallo… Flex Mentallo…”
Yeah. Ok.
Flex Mentallo: Man of Muscle Mystery with Frank Quitely
And then we have this spin-off. This marriage of minds between these two creators feels like it was made in heaven – or whatever astral plane you subscribe to – and it’s a masterpiece on its own. It’s about the central character always looking, and its creator hiding, failing, and bleeding into the pages.
What is the space of comic books in this post-Watchmen and Dark Knight Returns world, and what does it reflect about us? In this madness, we end up revealing what comics as a medium have to hide – and why they hide it. And it’s all possible because Morrison puts themself up for grabs in the discussion.
The 2025 Edition is in pre-order now.
The person in black grins like a magician revealing their final trick. A tiny sun blooms behind their eyes.
“Flex Mentallo. The thought-muscle. The abs of meaning. The punchline to the postmodern crisis.”
They flick a crumb of pie off their coat, and it becomes a caption box:
“This comic is the diary of a medium realizing it can feel. A suicide note that rewrites itself into a love letter.”
Next comic, Matheus?
Animal Man with Chas Truog
Buddy Baker is a guy who can channel the power – life-force – of any animal. And he's also the perfect vessel for Morrison's brilliant political statement. It’s an environmentalist manifesto disguised as superhero farce, but also a comic grounded in its core ideas of family, and Buddy’s place as a father and husband – what it means to be a hero in that scenario.
I think it’s the perfect place to start if you want to understand the Morrison appeal without thinking, “Should I try mushrooms first?” It feels like a kid being handed toys and slowly, but confidently, discovering what they can do with them.
And of course, the fourth wall is smashed – and then poetically rebuilt in the final issues. There’s one sort-of-parody digression on Coyote and ACME from Looney Tunes that will change what you think comics can be, and by all means should be, on any list ranking single issues.
Animal Man can be collected the Animal Man by Morrison Omnibus, the Animal Man Compendium, and the deluxe editions Book One and Two.
They nod solemnly. “Ah, Buddy. Sweet, tragic Buddy. The everyman made a myth. The myth made meat.”
“What if your powers didn’t make you special – just responsible?”
“What if the real story wasn’t the action, but who you come home to afterward?”
“This book is a prayer. For animals. For the Earth. For narrative itself. For the idea that you can make stories that matter and still have a man in spandex punching metaphors in the face.”
They look at you.
“Start here, you said. Smart choice. Animal Man’s where I started figuring out how deep this thing goes. It’s where you start realizing all of this is about what survives when we close the book.”
Next…
The Invisibles with Steve Yeohwell
Dear readers – and Morrison, I guess you're here too. If I said I understood this, I’d be lying to you. It’s bonkers. But it is Morrison’s magnum opus.
It’s deeply autobiographical (take that how you will), and it goes all-in on media and its limits. The story follows this kid, labeled as messed up by everyone – and by the world itself – and what happens when he opens his eyes and realizes that maybe what’s truly messed up… is everything else.
He's invited to become an Invisible, part of an organization of societal rejects fighting oppression in all its forms, in a long war against interdimensional alien god-oppressors (I think?). There are no limits here.
Got a friend who says comics are dumb? Hand them this. There’s a 50/50 chance they’ll either be forever changed and start worshipping you – or they’ll just mutter “bollocks, I was right about this shit” and punch you in the nose.
I’m on the fence. Join me.
As always, there’s the Invinsibles Omnibus – and a compendium is coming next year.
AND… IF YOU’RE INTERESTED IN ALL THREE MAJOR TITLES WE’VE TALKED ABOUT SO FAR… GUESS WHAT??? There is a BUNDLE BABYYYY. (I love bundles so much. And so does my poor, overworked wishlist.)
They laugh – a sound like syllables breaking the sound barrier.
“You’re not supposed to understand it. You’re supposed to catch it like a virus. You’re supposed to decode it at 3AM with a nosebleed and a deadline and the lingering taste of astral travel on your tongue.”
They float upside down for a moment, then right themself, crouching next to you.
“The Invisibles is me. It’s you. It’s a grimoire disguised as pop fiction. It’s the initiation ritual you didn’t know you were already performing. Ever wonder why it’s confusing? Because the world is confusing, and I didn’t want to lie to you.”
They lean back, their smile stretching just past normal human dimensions.
“You’re not on the fence, Matheus. You’re on the edge. Of the page. Of the truth. Now jump.”
"So…?"
Do you type the next title mid-fall, or wait to hit the bottom and see what’s written there?
"Uhmmm… can we talk Superman now, please?” the author responds.
Morrison on Superman
Morrison is deeply in love with Superman, especially the idea of an uncontrollable god choosing, of their own free will, to be a kind man. In these comics, you’ll find their vision of what the Big Blue was, is, and could be.
They first write Superman in their run on JLA with Howard Porter, and the best way to describe that is through the infamous comparisons of covers. The Justice League weren’t seen as powerful gods in the 80s and early 90s. In the absolutely genius and hilarious Justice League International, the team played like characters from a sitcom. They were written as the kind of people who might live next door – but instead of logging hours in the local factory, they clocked in their punchlines while saving the world.
In those covers, they were seen from above. Morrison flips the script – we see them from below. Now, they’re heroes who live in space, way above us, fighting things we can’t even begin to imagine. The team doesn’t have ol’ cranky Guy Gardner (though honestly, I think Guy Gardner should be in everything – and so does James Gunn, apparently). Instead, it has a literal angel cast down from heaven as punishment. That tells you everything you need to know.
It's available in a cool omnibus and in TP's - Book One and Two.
Morrison’s definitive take on Superman is All-Star Superman with Frank Quitely. This comic is the season finale to Golden and Silver Age Superman as he steps into the modern age. It serializes the essence of what makes Superman the greatest fictional character ever created – and why he’ll be around even after we’re all dust. Each issue explores one facet of the mythos and gives it a kind of beautiful closure.
It’s absolutely essential. So much so that it’s available in every format known to mortals and gods: Trade-paperback. Deluxe Edition. Absolute Edition and also in the affordable small-digest size DC Compact.
Morrison also had a full run on the character when they were tapped to reboot the mythos for the New 52 in Action Comics with Rags Morales. Everything that makes them the perfect choice also makes this a controversial run. This Superman wears pants over the suit and is working-class to the bone. Morrison dissects the symbol to build it again – and in doing so, dives into some fascinating conversations about what the American symbol even is anymore.
And don’t worry – there’s plenty of metaphysical madness once they get leeway. When that Mxyzptlk hits, you’ll know: “Ah – there they are.”
It's still available in one huge Superman by Grant Morrison Omnibus HC (New, Corrected Printing).
“Superman’s not a god pretending to be kind – he’s a kind man who happens to be a god. That’s the trick, yeah?” the figure says. “If you want to understand me, Matheus, read my Superman. He’s not my mask. He’s my aspiration.”
“Sir, I’m a bit tired… can I go back to my–” says the author.
“Tired? Of course you are. That’s who he thrives on. The tired ones. The wounded ones. The ones who stay up too late thinking they’re just writing about comics.”
The figure leans in.
“But listen. Batman. He isn’t a man. He’s the black idea that wraps around grief like gauze and reshapes it into purpose. You don’t rest before you reckon with that. Not really.”
They move beside you now, hands behind their back like a Victorian monk who’s read too much Joseph Campbell and memorized every alley where fate turns you mythic.
“Let me show you this first, Matheus. Just the opening page. One issue. Then you can sleep. But you’ll dream in cowl-black and moon-silver, and that’s how you’ll know you’re doing it right.”
The author trembles… “O-o-okay, sir.”
Grant Morrison on Batman
Batman: Gothic
Before we talk about their famous long run on the character, we need to talk about two essential graphic novels.
Decades earlier, Morrison wrote Batman: Gothic as part of the Legends of the Dark Knight title – a series meant to showcase self-contained Batman stories by different creators. Morrison gives us an operatic horror story, filled with religious imagery, haunted monasteries, Faustian pacts, and literal echoes of the Gothic tradition.
Batman is not a detective or a ninja here – he’s a tortured anti-saint, walking through a world of spiritual rot. It’s cinematic in tone, metaphysical in theme. A perfect warm-up for anyone curious about Morrison’s interest in the ghosts that surround Bruce Wayne.
Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth
Next comes Arkham Asylum: A Serious House on Serious Earth with Dave McKean. This is Morrison’s Alice Through the Looking Glass – through the lens of Gotham. Batman enters Arkham to confront the symbolic mirror of his own psyche. The inmates have taken over, the architecture pulses with madness, and every villain is a distorted funhouse version of Bruce himself.
Morrison claimed to be heavily inspired by Carl Jung, Aleister Crowley, and dreams – and you can feel it. This is Batman as an idea, a damaged archetype wandering through a trap made of broken glass and gorgeous, collage-like art.
If you’re not sure you understood it, that’s fine. I don't think I did, to be honest. But I keep revisiting it, because it’s so enticing.
It's collected in a trade paperback, a deluxe edition hardcover, an absolute edition and upcoming DC Compact.
Batman & Son
And then they start their run properly. And I think I’m going crazy.
The first arc is my favorite Batman story ever: Batman & Son (Absolute, Trade Paperback), where Morrison brings Damian Wayne into the fold (best Robin – sorry, I had to say it). And it all kicks off with Damian punching Tim Drake into a coma. (I like you too, Tim. Truly. Sorry, my guy.)
This arc is the beginning of something massive. On the surface, it’s about Batman suddenly becoming a dad to a child soldier raised by eco-terrorist ninjas. But beneath that, it’s about legacy. About trying to parent while still being the world’s most broken orphan.
Morrison uses Damian to shake things up – but also to expose Bruce. To make him vulnerable. The emotional building blocks laid down here are sharp and delicate, and they pay off years later in devastating, beautiful ways.
And of course, shit hits the fan hard.
The Black Glove throws Bruce into a psychological death trap built out of pulp horror and Golden Age trivia. Morrison leans all the way into the question: is Batman the man, or the myth?
In Batman R.I.P., Batman falls. But he planned for the fall.
It’s one of the wildest, most psychedelic, and oddly hopeful Batman stories ever told. He’s stripped of everything – but still rises as a raw idea: the Batman of pure will.
(SPOILERS AHEAD)!
Final Crisis
Then in Final Crisis (Omnibus, Trade Paperback, Absolute) – he dies. If you're thinking that Morrison being responsible for a Crisis event sounds bonkers, you’re absolutely right. And honestly, that’s probably underselling it.
But he’s not dead. Oh no.
He’s lost in time. Of course.
And so begins the wildest phase yet: Batman: The Return of Bruce Wayne.
Each issue drops Bruce into a different era, and in every one, he has no memory of who he is – yet somehow, he still becomes a version of Batman. He’s a caveman with a bat symbol smeared in mud. A witch-hunter in Puritan Gotham. A noir detective in the Lovecraftian 1930s. A pirate. A cowboy. A myth.
Morrison is saying: even without the costume, the gadgets, the trauma… Batman rises.
(I see you, Mr. Nolan.)
Batman & Robin
And while Bruce is time-hopping, Dick Grayson takes up the cowl back in the present.
And guess who his Robin is? That’s right: tiny menace, Damian Wayne.
This part of Morrison’s run – Batman and Robin (later continued by the brilliant Tomasi and Gleason) – is so much fun it hurts. It’s the reverse dynamic: a light-hearted, acrobatic Batman paired with a scowling, ultra-violent Robin. And somehow… they work. They grow. They become a better Batman and Robin together.
Morrison uses this to explore grief, growth, and legacy in a way that never feels forced. It’s the light after the storm. And it rules.
Eventually, Bruce does make it back. And what does he do?
Does he reclaim the cowl and shove Dick aside?
Nope. He starts Batman Incorporated.
He goes global. He takes the whole trauma thing – and franchises it.
(Who symbolizes the American way now, Supes?)
He builds a network of Batmen around the world. It’s kind of wild. And kind of genius.
But of course… it all builds toward heartbreak.
Because you can’t write a story about legacy, family, and symbolic death without consequence.
Because you can’t put a real heart like Damian Wayne into the fire without expecting it to get burned.
And Batman can’t win forever.
It's as ever-green as a DC Omnibus can be.
- Batman By Grant Morrison Omnibus HC Vol 01
- Batman By Grant Morrison Omnibus HC Vol 02
- Batman By Grant Morrison Omnibus HC Vol 03
The park. Dusk now.
The sun bleeding into a violet-black sky.
The figure in black – hat now off, hair wind-tossed, eyes like stormclouds full of ideas—closes the laptop.
“And so that’s it. That’s the story. Batman as myth. As symbol. As time-traveling trauma engine rebuilt into light. I think we’ve...”
Wait! There is more to Grant Morrison!
New X-Men with Frank Quitely
“Wait, wait, wait, wait. Wait. What about New X-Men with Frank Quitely?”
The figure grins knowingly.
"Ahh, yes – the mutant revolution redesigned for the 21st century. Leather jackets. Secondary mutations. A school that finally felt dangerous again. I tried to write evolution as story. Mutation as metaphor. Apocalypse wrapped up in a teen soap."
"Killed [redacted]. Made Beast a philosopher. Turned Magneto into a junkie prophet. Started by blowing everything up, and ended by blowing everything up. You weren’t ready."
Collected in an Omnibus, or in Marvels Modern Epic Collection Vol. 1 and Vol.2.
Marvel Boy with J.G. Jones
And Marvel Boy with J.G. Jones?! Noh-Varr?? The punk-rock Kree who listens to his dead parents in a space cube??
“Yes, yes. He’s a love letter to rebellious potential. A post-everything superhero made of spite and bioweapons. A kid who kicks down the walls of continuity and says, ‘Your world is wrong—I’m fixing it.’”
We3 with Frank Quitely
Okay but… but… We3 with Frank Quitely. The animal comic. With the suits and the missiles and the “we3 go home”?
“That one still hurts.”
“Indeed it does. It's a very good introduction to Morrison – fast and accessible to everyone. Doesn’t hurt less, though,” the author thinks he's typing… But at this point, he’s just saying things out loud.
Seven Soldiers
“And Seven Soldiers. You told eight stories, Grant. You set up a team book where none of the characters ever meet. You did a narrative magic trick.”
“The story was about the team. Each thread is a soldier. Each soldier is a fragment of a larger spell. Zatanna was key, of course. She remembered.”
Collected in Seven Soldiers By Grant Morrison Omnibus HC (New Edition).
Klaus with Dan Mora
“Klaus! With Dan Mora! You did Santa Claus as a psychedelic superhero. With EaRLy DaN MoRA wORk!” he shouts.
“That one was for the child inside me. The one who still believes in snow that tastes like sugar… and wolves that speak in riddles.”
The author cuts in, eyes manic, finger raised -
Joe The Barbarian With Sean Murphy
“Wait. Wait. Joe the Barbarian. You didn’t talk about Joe. It’s perfect. A whole epic squeezed out between real-world minutes. Like… like Narnia if Aslan was a Transformer and the villain was blood sugar.”
Morrison (or the person – who knows?) looks up, like they've been expecting this exact interruption for years.
“Ahh, Joe. The boy who fell into a world. The diabetic hero who hallucinates his childhood toys into a fantasy war. Or maybe not hallucinating. Maybe dreaming true.”
“Kid Eternity with Duncan Fegredo?”
“We asked: What if you could summon ideas from the past — but the past was as broken as the present?”
Multiversity
“Multiversity?” Eyes almost bursting out.
“Ahh. My hymn to the medium. The comic about comics. Every world has a frequency. Captain Carrot and haunted comics and infinite Earths reflecting each other like mirrored eyes.”
“…Skrull Kill Krew?”
“Mate, I think we got it.”
The author is out of breath. Pages of notes in his lap.
The laptop’s battery light blinks red.
“You’ve got it all. You’ve eaten the pie. You’ve seen. But remember — none of these stories are the end. They’re invitations.”
“Will I come back here?” the author asks, finally putting the computer down.
“You never left. And you forgot about my Green Lantern.”
Morrison claps their hands — and the author is gone.
Back in his apartment. He snaps out of the shock. Looks at The Invisibles copy sitting nearby.
He opens the book. Sees the cover for issue 8.
Closes it again. Tosses it to the side.
“Maybe next year.”
1 comment
Kenji Lambert
Loved all the fourth-wall-breaking, amazing writting! Keep it coming