The name "Atlas" shows up fairly frequently throughout comics' history. There are number of characters that go by that name, multiple publishing companies, many specialty comic retail shops and countless references within the comic stories making sly background references to the name. My question is: how did it become so ingrained in comics' lore?

Well, the short answer is Martin Goodman and I expect many of you will have mentally gone there already. But let's explore this more deeply...

An "atlas" (lower case) is essentially a collection of maps. They're generally of very large regions, often the entire Earth, and often printed and bound. The earliest items we would consider atlases date to around 150 AD and were put together by Claudius Ptolemy. Though already outdated by the time they were released, they sold very well and he produced several revised editions.

It wasn't until 1595, however, that the actual term "atlas" was used in connection with these collections of maps. It was Flemish cartographer Gerardus Mercator who entitled his book Atlas, Sive Cosmographicae Meditationes De Fabrica Mundi which translates to Atlas, or Description of the Universe. It was actually published after his death in December 1594 by his son Rumold.

Contrary to popular belief, however, the name was NOT chosen after the mythical Atlas who bore the weight of the heavens on his shoulders. Rather, it was in reference to King Atlas of Mauretania (roughly corresponding with modern Algeria and Morroco) who was allegedly the wise philosopher, mathematician and astronomer who made the first celestial globe. An image of King Atlas is in fact on the title page of Mercator's book.

A century later, Dutch merchants were using Atlas (the Greek) as a sort of patron saint. (A statue of Atlas adorns the top of the Royal Palace in Amsterdam to this day.) Thus regional map makers of the time began using images of the titan on their collections of maps, making a direct association between the two.

The symbolism does make sense. Although the original myths held that Atlas bore the weight of the heavens, which was generally depicted as a globe, it would be easy to mistake/substitute the Earth in its place without altering the meaning substantially. It's certainly a more compelling visual than a mere portrait, and it's little wonder that map-makers would use the titan's likeness to grace the covers of their collections. Indeed it was a likeness that was compelling enough to write comic stories about! Without doing exhaustive research on this point, I found comic book stories that feature the classical Atlas as early as 1948, pre-dating Goodman's use of the term for his company by 3 years. (Curiously, though, he remains relatively untapped as a source of comic stories compared to other Greek heroes.)

Atlas Comics "debuted" in 1951. It was really just the same company Goodman had been running for years under a few dozen different names. The question that strikes me, though, is: why "Atlas"? Why not "Zenith" or "Red Circle" or any of the other names he'd been using to publish comics?

The reason why Goodman used so many company names at first was a hold-over from the 1940s. It wasn't uncommon for one publisher to use multiple company names to skirt any number of laws, one of the most obvious being paper rationing. A publisher was only allotted a certain amount of paper they could use, but if one person ran two publishing interests, he could obtain twice the amount of paper. Thus, many publishers of the time would run one company under several names simultaneously to get the benefits of multiple corporations.

But that approach didn't make as much sense going into the 1950s, as World War II ended and things got back to "normal." Goodman also saw the benefit of having a single brand identity, one banner under which he could promote the likes of Patsy Walker, Captain America, and Kid Colt. There was no reason to hide behind multiple company names, and plenty of reasons to coalesce under one. But, again, why "Atlas"?

The reason is Goodman's other business as a periodical distributor. Goodman believed he could make even more money by distributing his comics and magazines; why pay a middleman to do that? So he ditched his current distributor, Kable News, and established the Atlas News Company. In this context, "Atlas" begins to make sense. Goodman didn't publish just comics; he also had several lines of general interest and adult (but not that adult!) magazines. He was in several fields and probably paid little attention to the comics end of things. The name "Atlas" for a distributor would imply that his reach covered the entire globe; all walks of life, all corners of the Earth. That wasn't necessarily accurate, of course, but it gave an immediate implication that his operation was bigger and more grand. Goodman then simply applied the "Atlas" name to everything, including his entire publishing arm. Thus "Atlas Comics" were born.

Atlas News Company lasted until 1957. Goodman basically took a look at the finances and decided that he really wasn't making all that much money on distribution, so he closed that business to focus exclusively on publishing. It was ultimately a huge mistake from his perspective, though, as the new distributor he partnered with -- American News Company -- folded only a few months after they began distributing Atlas-published books due to a Justice Department lawsuit. With his own distribution setup eliminated and the country's largest distributor (American News) gone, Goodman was left with few options but using Independent News, which was owned and operated by his business rival, DC Comics (then National).

The Atlas brand that Goodman had spent the better part of a decade establishing was almost wiped out overnight. Independent would only distribute eight of their comics (down from 30+) a month. But in those years that Atlas was producing comics, there was some great and innovative work from the likes of Jack Kirby, Joe Maneely, John Severin and John Romita Sr. to name just a few. It's in honor of those great works that so many comics-related businesses are named.

Now, I could go on to explain where "Marvel Comics" came from, but that's another story that's probably longer than you'd expect!

Back in 1904, a strip debuted by the name of Foolish Fred. It wasn't successful, lasting only a few months, and is pretty unremarkable even for strips of the time.

In fact, the only reason, I supsect, it's remembered at all is because it was by C. W. Kahles who, only a year and a bit later, created Hairbreadth Harry who was perpetually trying to save Beautiful Belinda from the evil plots of Relentless Rudolph. Kahles continued working on the strip until his death in 1931, and the strip carried on under the hand of F. O. Alexander for another eight years. Even if you haven't seen Hairbreadth Harry, you're likely familiar with Alexander's work -- he did the original illustrations for the board game Monopoly, which are still being used today. (Although my initial thought was that Alexander stopped working on Hairbreadth Harry thanks to the royalties he received from the wildly popular board game, it looks as if he was never paid at all for that work!)

In any event, you can see from the example above the concept of Foolish Fred isn't that interesting or original. It's not really bad, but just a fairly standard gag strip with little characterization to interact with or appreciate. I will say, though, that I am impressed with the execution of the brickwork in the final panel above, which is rendered only through color and without any linework to "hold" the individual bricks. Very nice and effective use of the medium, but hardly enough to save an otherwise mediocre effort.

There are a number of webcomickers these days who are able to make a living doing (or at least primarily doing) webcomics. That is fantastic! But a lot of them aren't making much (if any!) money from their webcomics yet. Maybe they're just new to the game, or maybe it hasn't been their focus, or whatever, but their primary income derives from some kind of day job. I've seen several that work as graphic designers; I don't doubt some work in retail environments; there are probably as many different occupations as there are webcomickers out there.

But if someone is getting paid to do a job that is not webcomics, that frequently means that webcomics by necessity become a secondary project. After all, you don't see CEOs and hedge fund managers making webcomics where they've got plenty of vacation time to take off if they need to. The people who are making webcomics typically have day jobs that are farther down the pay scale, often as hourly employees. With their the lower incomes comes less financial security. With less financial security comes a greater need to make sure you don't lose whatever income you're getting.

All of which means that webcomics that aren't make much money are going to take a back seat to a paying gig.

Absolutely nothing wrong with that. Perfectly reasonable approach in our capitalistic society.

But it does make for a big challenge in getting a webcomic up and running. After all, if the time a creator normally allots for working on their webcomic disappears or diminishes for any reason (change in job hours, relocation that requires a longer commute, etc.) the webcomic goes on hiatus. While on hiatus, a webcomic will almost inevitably lose some percentage of readership it has and the creator will have to work extra hard later to coerce them back.

A webcomic can run guest strips or re-runs for a week, maybe two, if they've things to take care of (convention travel, planned family events like weddings, etc.) but generally a hiatus comes unexpectedly and for more extended periods, often months. Sometimes, even a month-long buffer can be eaten away almost before you realize it!

And as I sit here thinking about the webcomic hiatus, it occurs to me that it mimics some of the social strata we see in American culture in general. The people who are living paycheck to paycheck have the most to lose, and have to fight the hardest to even keep up, much less make any headway in their lives. They are less likely to become financially secure because their daily fight is one of just surviving. Whereas someone higher up the career ladder has more flexibility; they have some measure of savings they can use as a security net should they lose their position, and their resumes look more impressive to give them a greater advantage in locating a new job.

Now compare that to webcomics. The people not making a living off their webcomic yet have the most to lose. Their small handful of followers diminishes noticeably even if only one or two people leave. By contrast, Randall Munroe doesn't give a rat's ass if I read his strip or not because he has so many readers that one more or less is insignificant. Similarly, if that first webcomicker drops their strip to start something new, it will be an incredibly hard uphill battle, but Munroe has a huge following that will undoubtedly jump over to (and fund!) whatever his next project might be. Munroe's comic might be, qualitatively, total crap next to this new person's but he will continue to be successful because he already is.

It just strikes me as interesting that the webcomic industry has become essentially a metaphoric microcosm of American capitalism. Where claims of meritocracy still abound and the American Dream™ of becoming anything you want if you just work hard at it is still widely believed. Even though neither is a terribly accurate method of describing what actually goes on. Webcomics likewise don't rise in popularity just because the writing or artwork is especially noteworthy. A lot of the OG webcomikers like Scott Kurtz and Kate Beaton have flatly said that you couldn't replicate their success today because they just happened to be lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time and got seen by the right people. They rise in popularity when they're given attention by someone with connections.

Doing a great webcomic is not enough. But doing an okay webcomic that you're able to get your friend with an already existing audience to promote on your behalf might be.

Here are yesterday's and today's Wizard of Id comic strips...

The Wizard being replaced by Curls from B.C. isn't that terribly surprising a notion. After all, both strips were originally created by Johnny Hart, and today both are made by Hart's grandsons Mason and Mick Mastroianni. (To be clear, both grandsons work on both strips jointly.) So there's obviously no issues developing a crossover, legally or creatively.

But here's thing: the crossover appears to be only one way. Here are this week's B.C. strips...

Nary a Wizard to be found!

If Wizard of Id had been a one-note gag on Monday, I wouldn't expect the Mastroianni brothers to do anything in B.C. as well. But they seem to be lining up for a week's worth of "Curls the caveman has suddenly replaced the Wizard" strips, so there's at least some thought going into a small story arc. But we don't see any reflection of that in B.C.

There's no law that says they have to show the crossover in both strips, of course, but I'm at a loss as to why you wouldn't. I mean, there's clearly joke and gag possibilities that would not normally be present, so wouldn't you want to take advantage of that creatively? Additionally, I expect the actual distribution of the two strips is virtually -- if not completely -- identical; that is, any newspaper that carries B.C. will almost certainly also carry Wizard of Id so it's not like you'd need an extended explanation in B.C. to narratively explain why a Wizard has suddenly popped up. If you're going to the effort to create a (presumably) week-long storyline out things, why not make it a bi-directional crossover? It would be more engaging both for the creators AND the audience, I think!

I think it's relatively common knowledge that comic books have decreased in their physical size over the years. It's particularly obvious when you compare Golden Age books against contemporary ones. And if someone wasn't familiar with the differences before, I suspect anyone who's ever accidentally bought comic bags or boards for the wrong era books got a very annoying history lesson.

Why have comic book sizes changed, though? I think most people who have any familiarity with the topic will give a pretty generic "cost savings" type answer -- if the pages are smaller, publishers are using less paper and therefore saving money. It makes sense intuitively, so no one really questions it much further. But how much money will a publisher actually save by doing that?

The first challenge in answering that question is that there are a lot of variables at play. Even the most stable comic titles fluctuate how many issues they sell month-to-month, so naturally how much paper you save is going to be dependent on how much you use. Additionally, the price of paper fluctates a fair amount so your savings is going to fluctuate a fair amount as well. Then there's other cost considerations; the per issue cost of a printer setting up their presses for a popular title like X-Men is going to be far lower than the per issue cost of a less popular title that sells maybe only 5,000-10,000 issues a month. Basically, there's bulk discounts for larger print runs.

All of which is to say that the numbers I'm going to be throwing out here are by no means definitive. They're a rough ballpark at best, and only meant to illustrate the general idea. So with that being said...

Let's start by looking at what kind of changes in page size are we talking about in the first place? It can't be much -- I mean, all my comics still fit in a long box, even if I have to get slightly different bag sizes. In the Silver Age, comics were 6.75" x 10.25" but now they're 6.625" x 10.25". That is 1/8 of inch (about 5mm) difference along one edge. That barely seems consequential, right? Well, let's then take a look at costs.

All US publishers combined printed 150,000,000 individual comics in 2022, with total sales at $1 billion US. Marvel accounted for 38.6% of that, or about 5,790,000 issues with sales of $38.6 million US. Printing costs will vary widely, of course, but depending on the volume of comics you're printing, a large publisher list Marvel can expect to be between $0.25 and $0.13 per issue. We'll average that out to $0.20 to make the math easier. Information on actual profits is even more sparse, particularly since all of the major publishers have been bought by corporations, but the data I have points to a per issue profit of between $0.90 and $1.42 per issue. Let's round that off to a dollar (again, for some easier math) -- that would put Marvel's profits specifically from their 2022 published comics at about $5.8 million US.

If we're talking about $0.20 for a 24 page book, that comes out to 8/10 of a cent per page. But if shaving off 1/8" saves you, say, 1/10 of a cent, then you're looking at 7/10 per page. Or $0.17 per book. A savings of 3 cents that gets added directly to your profits. Your dollar profit per book is now $1.03. Over an entire print line from a whole year, that comes to nearly $175,000!

Now, when you compare that against $5.8 million in profit, that doesn't sound like much. But that is $175,000 with effectively no extra effort. You're cropping one side of the page a little tighter, and that is done on the printer's side, not the publisher's. The artists can work in exactly the same way (although I'm sure they'd appreciate knowing a little bit more is going to get cropped), the file set-up and proofing process would remain unchanged... the only difference is that the printer moves the blades a fraction of an inch on their printing press, and they only have to do that once. From the publisher's side, the most effort they'd have to expend is maybe a couple phone calls or emails to let some of the key folks know there's slight change in the dimensions.

But that's why publishers have changed comic book dimensions over the years. It's a simple cost savings measure to the tune of hundreds of thousands of dollars every year. If I could save 3% of my biggest expenses every year without actually having to do anything different, I know I'd sure leap at the chance!

Here are this week's links to what I've had published recently...

Kleefeld on Comics: Al Williamson's Star Wars
https://ift.tt/RbuvZPF

Kleefeld on Comics: About Bob...
https://ift.tt/PWYFAeV

Kleefeld on Comics: The Impact of Judgment Day in 2026
https://ift.tt/LQpl9z0

Kleefeld on Comics: Not Enough Creative Outlets
https://ift.tt/vpC0odI

Kleefeld on Comics: Boatload of Batmen
https://ift.tt/nCwQGam

You ever stop to consider how many versions of Batman are running around in your head? Almost irrespective of how many/which Batman stories you've actively sought out over the years, there's bound to be at least a few distinctly different versions up there.

Off the top of my head, here are some of the ones inhabiting my brain:

• The original Bat-Man
• The rather sanitized, if kooky, Batman of the 1950s
• The "New Look" Batman of 1960s and '70s
• Adam West
• The dumbed down version from The Super Friends (which, in my head, kind of blends with the Filmation version, as well as the one that had a guest appearance on Scooby-Doo)
• Frank Miller's Dark Knight
• Michael Keaton
• Bruce Timm's animated version
• The more-or-less current continuity Batman

Those are just the ones I'm familiar enough with to recognize easily. That's obviously not all of them, and not all of these are my favorites. But they all inhabit my brain, and inform what I think Batman is supposed to be. Some of the imagery I accept, some I discard. I have to, since many of these ideas of Batman are at least partially contradictory.

In my case, the "New Look" and Keaton versions of Batman are the strongest, with the Dark Knight running a close third. Consequently, I think of Batman largely in terms of how he was depicted in the comics in the 1970s, with his Bruce Wayne persona largely informed by Keaton's performance. The Dark Knight angle just punches up his raw power a bit, so he's a little more willing to brawl than the karate expert I grew up with. That's who my Batman is.

And yet, I'm still able to keep all those Batmen separate in my head. I can sit and watch one of the cartoons or read through the latest comics offering and not get bothered by the fact that this Batman doesn't precisely match the one in my head. The closer he does come, of course, the more inclined I'll be to become engaged with the piece and enjoy it. The further from my version, the less likely I'll care.

I think it's a fascinating prospect, though, that I can juggle distinctly different versions of one character in my head and actively keep them all separate while at the same time amalgamating them into a sort of gestalt Batman.