Have you always been a fan of Dr. Strange? Or only until recently with the movie? Have you read the comics? --- curious anon :]
hey curious anon :-)
um, i first read doctor strange as a post-grad at uni in the (late!) 1980s, when i was doing a year of less study and more…um… chemical recreation (*hides*); a bunch of us got into uncanny x-men who were peaking then (in comics), and someone had copies of strange tales and i think the engelhardt run from the 1970′s?
back then- i think due to his dated and garish costume, the fact he looked like vincent price, plus the fact that marvel kept ending his run and starting with new writers / artists - doctor strange wasn’t very popular at all. but i was struck by the seriousness of his magic, his alienation and loneliness, and the fact that every time he met another hero he basically towered over them in terms of powers and intellect :-)
the late 1980s was also when the comic graphic novel was huge; we all consumed the dark knight and into shamballa was really popular with the arts students due to dan green’s amazing art. stephen’s conflict with himself, his loneliness in making decisions and most of all his moral conflicts stayed with me from reading that comic…
all of which is why, when marvel announced benedict was announced, i may or may not have cried… and it was so f*cking amazing when the writer of into shamballa himself tweeted this:
but compared to someone like @abz-j-harding i’m really just a Dr Strange tourist. i’ve only dipped in and out since the early 1990s. but i’ve always loved stephen; and BC as doctor strange is a perfect storm. and i blame the MCU for what our bedroom looks like now:
xxx (sorry when it comes to doctor strange or benedict; or worse, both, i can never answer succinctly)
waits for him at the water’s edge, waves lapping at her ankles. She,
like the tide ebbed and flowed, showing up like clockwork as the moon
began to climb into the inky murk that was the sky. Waits, she waits
and every night she would call for her love.
think she’s a ghost, pale as moonlight, something ethereal about her.
was something magical about the evening, the beach like a ghost town,
heart hammering so loudly against the curve of her ribcage that she
knew he could sense it—sense her.
then he would come, slithering and crawling, beaching himself against
the sand, writhing mass of tentacles and pulling himself up by his
C̲̫̞ l̛̻̗̭̘̟͕ ę̼ a̬̘͈̳̫
He would rasp, voice hoarse from disuse.
She would greet, before leaning down to kiss her love.
they would spend the night there upon that beach, curled into each
other until the moon began to descend once more and he too, like the
tide would return to the sea.