FINAL FLASH: AN ANNOUNCEMENT

My final issue of The Flash will be #25, which drops in September.

Rumor control, here are the facts. 

I made this decision alone, without pressure or incentive, for reasons I’ll come to in a moment. Despite the creative number-crunching of a few bad faith naysayers, I’m told sales have been remarkably healthy. Against a backdrop of industry-wide alarm we’ve enjoyed a far slower attrition than is standard, and on a few occasions have even bucked the trend by adding readers midway through our arcs. We’re not topping the charts, that’s true, but we’re a long way from the Rancor Pit trapdoor of financial cancellation. 

Part of the difficulty, skill and joy of writing characters in a shared universe is finding that elemental thing - that core, elegant quiddity - that makes you feel the same thrill, the same devotion, that the most fervent fans have felt every New Comicbook Day for decades. And yet it can’t (or at least, shouldn’t) be to simply keep doing more of the same. That way lies stagnation, diminishing returns; the faint whiff of fan fiction. Instead you have to capture the thing that most excites you and surrender to its ability to evolve. And then - after five or six or twelve issues - you have to do it again. And then again. 

With The Flash I came to the project with a single self-imposed challenge. Could I demonstrate that this character is so versatile, so pluripotent, that he can serve as the seed for unexpected, unconventional stories in narrative terrains utterly different from the usual, well-trodden suburb of Standard Spandexery? 

I found myself falling in love with the possibilities that lay, first of all, in cosmic horror. Then, with a new artist and a fresh controlling idea, we hurtled joyfully towards psychedelic themes and near-religious concepts. Next we pivoted into a deliriously fun pastiche of early science-fantasy - all hollow earths, thunder lizards and semi-clothed barbarians - before finally, in what felt a fitting tonal farewell, finding ourselves in the midst of an epic war story; endless trench horror on the surface of the moon, in which our titular hero not only participates, but divides himself into millions of copies. Quite literally, a one-man army.

That’s the ultimate culmination, I think, of the central theme by which I’ve been most fascinated since the beginning. How can one person be a hero and a spouse and a parent and a role-model and a mentor and a team-player and an individual and a worker and a leader and a dozen other virtuous roles beside, without something having to snap? That - as a perpetually exhausted freelance writer and dad living in the mimetic ruins of late capitalism - felt like quite an important idea to explore.

Everyone knows the Flash is a man who runs fast. That’s the brand. I wanted to see what it would take to make him stumble to a halt. And what he’d do next.

Through all these permutations I've stayed true to what I believe is the heart of this character: his ultimate humanity. I've also found myself becoming besotted with the supporting cast, in particular Wally West's children Irey, Jai and even baby Wade (who’s been making a starring turn in the form of his time-travelling future self, Inspector Pilgrim: Science Detective). I was also pleased to be able to touch upon some really hefty subject matter, albeit in-passing, like Linda’s post-partum depression, drug-use amongst Central City’s poorest, or the resentment/worship of kids for their parents. Some will argue an adventure book like The Flash isn’t the place for serious brain fodder, and indeed I’ve done my best to keep these intrusions in the middle distance. On the other hand we’ve also had gorilla-brain supercomputers, lizard knights, Green Arrow in a Batman mech and the ultimate expression of cosmic creation disguised as a shaggy little dog, so I daresay the book can tolerate a spot of quiet realism too. The great secret, I’ve found, is that a drama can sustain just about any level of seriousness or absurdity so long as it’s underscored by something as simple and profound as deep, sincere, familial love.

Candidly, I never expected to stay past 12 issues. I had some ideas for a second year but never seriously expected them to get their chance. I’d taken a massive swing in my pitch - from conventional spandex to unnerving existential horror - and although I knew it would be awesome I didn’t imagine it would outrun the standard expectation for a Return To Basics for very long. That old, inescapable gravity of the status quo. I was delightfully wrong about that. 

As I said before, part of the challenge of working with shared characters - with all this rich history - lies in constantly finding something fresh to say with each new arc. Something valuable. I started to feel it getting a little harder identifying a kernel of truth that made me personally passionate each time a new story was on the horizon. And whereas I think I could keep telling stories about Wally West and his family for another year or two I began to wonder if I ought. It was taking too long to restring the bow after each shot. I started to suspect that if I kept going I’d end up either resenting the work, or - worse - doing it on autopilot. There are plenty of spectacularly successful (and often even quite good) writers who are exceptional at “playing the hits”. I am not one of them. 

I've been thrilled by the journey we’ve been on, and humbled by the opportunity to play with these extraordinary narrative idols. But ultimately I feel like I’ve achieved what I came to achieve. The Flash can be anything. Any type of story, any shape of tale, any tone or timbre, any genre. I suspect the same is true of pretty much any of the really beloved characters who stride and hover on the fringes of our cultural massmind, and I’m excited to test that theory with some other bona fide icons in due course.

This note is really just to float a few heartfelt thanks down the stream. To Chris Rosa, editor extraordinaire, for having the wherewithal to try something dangerously different with a legacy character; and to his boss Paul Kaminski for having the courage to let him. To all the astonishing artists, colorists, letterers and designers who’ve made the journey such a joy. To the fans who’ve enjoyed my run for their support, enthusiasm and unwavering delight in each new strange twist and turn. And to those who haven’t found it to their taste, for their patience. It was never going to be forever.

I write this in a quick break from an absurdly busy schedule, cluttered with multiple new projects. Some are already announced, like THE VOICE SAID KILL - psychedelic swamp crime-noir from Image Comics, with Vanesa Del Rey art. (In fact, you can read a 15-page preview by clicking here.) Others will be very much worth a short wait, and others still - oh, such unexpected treasures! - will be revealed in due course. 

I shall be very sad to leave the West Family behind – or, perhaps more fittingly, given their skills, to be left behind by them. But I part from their company with a smile, and a deep sense of pride, and I suspect that's all any writer can truly hope for when borrowing such precious toys. 

-Si Spurrier
Downriver from London