INHUMANS

A compelling examination of Marvel's second-tier characters.

By Jason Henderson     November 29, 2000

How in love with monarchy we are. In Paul Jenkins and Jae Lee's Inhumans, we get to occupy the walls and minds of a city of extraordinary people ruled by that elusive commodity, the good king. The king is a powerful and self-imposed mute named Black Bolt, and his rule is so bereft of evil that his subjects only begin to question his rule when their home is at the edge of ruin. And even then, they will only argue with him. The removal of kingship would never occur to them. And thank God, because they have ordinary humans outside their walls to show them the sorry alternatives.

In Inhumans, Jenkins and Lee take the second-string allies of the Fantastic Four and focus on them intimately, interpreting Attilan, the Inhumans' home, as a sort of Camelot. Born of earth, the Inhumans were chosen by the alien race the Kree for a sort of evolutionary experiment. For as long as they have counted their history, they have exposed themselves to the Terrigen Mists, a substance that unlocks their genetic potential in apparently random ways. After an event similar to a Confirmation, the child emerges from his or her mutation chamber evolved into something more: perhaps with wings, perhaps with long hair that responds to telekinetic command or perhaps, as is the case with Black Bolt, with a voice so powerful it can liquefy concrete.

The Inhumans occupy Attilan, a city protected by a dome of energy and placed at the tip of the recently risen peninsula that was once Atlantis. We learn that this is highly contested space, with forces as diverse as the Portuguese Army, the Russian Mafia and Prince Namor of Atlantis exerting force and influence over the islands. The outside world isn't sure whether or not the Inhumans exist, but they fear the powerful nation that may be hidden there.

The story focuses most of its attention on Black Bolt, who becomes a fascinating figure in Jenkins and Lee's revision. Jenkins employs a second-person narrator brilliantly, talking to Black Bolt: 'If you could speak,' he asks, 'what would you say?' We watch the king stand silently as the ruling family squabbles, first playfully about nothing, later forcefully about the fate of the kingdom. This is a man, his Queen Medusa tells us, who meditates every night to remove all events and emotions of the day from his mind, that he might sleep without opening his mouth and inadvertently destroying everything he loves. This is a son, we learn from Black Bolt's imprisoned, mad brother Maximus, who accidentally killed his own parents trying to stop a fleeing spacecraft, an act that left him horribly alone at the same time it put him on the throne.

He has so much to say, and so much to talk about. And he runs deeper than his family imagines. If Black Bolt is King Arthur, his Mordred is not his son but his brother, Maximus, who is the one chink in Black Bolt's armor. Maximus raves in a prison built just for him, but Black Bolt goes down from time to time, to stand on the other side of Maximus' mirror and listen to his brother hurl abuse and mad wisdom. When the armies outside the kingdom's walls stop puzzling over Attilan and start trying to destroy it, Maximus is the one with a plan that may sacrifice many but will return the crown he feels should be his.

Writer Jenkins lays out his story in layers, throwing us details to shift our view of the Inhumans and Black Bolt's wisdom. We learn that the Inhumans cherish their uniqueness, that no Inhuman is the same, and the one thing that holds them together is confidence in their laws and their King. He shows us Black Bolt as an admired and powerful rule, but then he shows us the disenfranchised of Attilan. There are ugly and unwanted Inhumans on the edges of the city. And down below, working the machines, are strong and simple slaves, bred to do nothing but take commands and work. Maximus has a plan to use them in his coup. We also meet children just now entering their mutated adulthood, and Jenkins takes time with them, showing us their prejudices and follies, so that we remember them better when the walls start to fall and people start to die under human shelling.

There are details here that make Inhumans something like a science fiction novel, with extrapolations never before considered. We get to listen to the thoughts of Lockjaw, the great dog like Inhuman who, however humanoid he was at birth, now is completely canine. The walls of Attilan are falling down and he wants to play, unless he's hungry, when he wants to eat. Another fine detail is the Inhumans' shock at the lack of support they get from the humans' United Nations, who they assume to be the human leaders. The UN is upset because the Inhumans have slaves, whether those slaves are bred to be slaves or not. Jenkins suggests they may be right. Humans, the outsiders in this book, are strange creatures; hateful and petty, and yet possessed of a glorious, untapped nobility, sort of the way Milton's angels viewed us in Paradise Lost.

This is an educated, clever bookJenkins knows his history and likes to drop it in, obliquely and directly as it fits the story. He shows us parallels between Black Bolt and Winston Churchill, who allowed a British town to be destroyed by the Germans rather than reveal too soon that he had the intelligence network to learn of the attack in advance. Even Reed Richards, who shows up on a talk show, quotes Churchill.

Reading Inhumans, I'm reminded of all of those stories of rulers that focus on the humanness of royalty, and how sad all of them seem to be, like Lion in Winter and Becket. This is a graphic novel that shows us a monarchy that fights to stand, and is prepared to make sacrifices for the greater good. The difference between Black Bolt and the rulers of those other stories is that in the end, Black Bolt apparently knows what he's doing.

Trade Paperback from Marvel Comics. Written by Paul Jenkins. Art by Jae Lee.