Venus was one of several heroines introduced by Marvel at the tail end of the 1940s. Her title underwent a curious sequence of transformations in comics genres in its 19-issue run, starting as a glamour comic, becoming a romance comics, then a science fiction comic, and finally a horror comic. Throughout her run, Venus always remained the same character: the Olympian goddess with the power of Love, who came to Earth from the planet Venus to live among mortals for a while. It’s interesting to speculate how these adventures jibe with the modern day Marvel Universe. Yes, I know she was involved in the origin of The Champions, and I’m aware that Jeff Parker later retooled the “Avengers of the 1950s” from What If? #9 into the Agents of Atlas, but those appearances are almost mutually exclusive. The most obvious explanation is that she’s not an Olympian goddess at all, but really one of Jack Kirby’s Eternals. That’s not the tack Jeff Parker took, but I guess that’s the difference between a professional writer and a fanboy. Still, it’s fun to imagine that there’s a little bit of truth in both versions of her backstory, especially when one considers one of her early antagonists was none other than Loki. I’ve been curious about this series most of my life, and whereas I expected to enjoy it, I didn’t expect it to fire my imagination to the degree it has. The Marvel Boy, Black Claw, and now Venus Marvel Masterworks make an excellent complement to Jeff Parker’s (now sadly defunct) Agents of Atlas. Volume one collects the humor/glamour/romance run, but the best is yet to come. After the title switches to science fiction/horror, Bill Everett takes over as artist!
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"I can only confirm your suspicions about Roberto... but I can help you no further!" (Why he can help her no further he does not say.)
I hope the makers and players of adventure-quest role-playing games don't hear of this sort of thing. I could see it becoming a trope.
"Roberto's hypnotic hair dryer" made me think of the Beatles song "Maxwell's Silver Hammer."
VENUS #14:
First Story: "Fountain of Death" - This story is pure Everett. He's not only doing the art and story but the lettering as well. (The giveaway is the slanted boldfaced words.) He has also added his signature to the splash page. The story itself is ridiculously insane tale of a German rocket scientist who flies his spaceship to Mars in search of the legendary Fountain of youth. Whit and venus first meet Baron Franz Heinrich while on a date at the Embassy Club, where he is bragging about his upcoming space flight. Venus thinks there might be a story in it, so the next day she goes to his lab, volunteers to accompany him, and he agrees.
After days in space and days searching for the fountain after landing, Venus becomes frustrated at their lack of success and demands to be returned to Earth, but he refuses. She calls upon Jupiter for help, be he informs her that Heinrich has already found it. By the time she returns, a Martian named Azrael is also there, telling Heinrich that the fountain belongs to him. They fight, Henrick kills Azrael and throws his body into a crevasse. Fearing the retalliation of other Martians, Heinrich and Venus flee to Earth without even taking a sample of the fountain's water.
Hammond asks Venus if she is ready to submit the story, but she tells him it is not over yet. Then they go out on a date. Back at the Embassay Club, Heinrich is being ridiculed. He flies into a rage and rushes out into the street, but Venus and Whit follow him. she tells him, "Listen to me! I want you to think heard! I want you to remember the Martian, and what he told you about yourself! And then I want you to think of someone who might believe your story, and share the Fountain of Youth with you! Think, Baron--think!" Heinrich seems to take this advice to heart, and thanks Venus profusely. Whit observes that, "He took off like a ruptured duck," which is an odd turn of phrase I have never heard before. Speaking of unfamiliar phrases, When Hammond asks Venus if that is the end of Heinrich's story, she replies, "I'm afraid we'll have to wait a day or two before we can write '-30-' at the bottom of the last page." Although I can figure it out in context, I looked it up and learned that "'-30-' has been traditionally used by journalists in North America to indicate the end of a story or article that is submitted for editing and typesetting." I'm sure Cap has heard that phrase before (and probably Commander Benson), but I never had. Is it still in use?
Anyway, two days pass and Whit and Venus pay a visit to Heinrich. He has now reunited with his estranged wife and is deleriously happy. Later, Venus explains to Hammond, "There's an ancient legend, Whit, to the effect that, if a mortal desires and covets the unattainable, and ruthlessly pursues it, he will be challenged by a certain dark, sinister party. If there is any good yet to be done on earth by the mortal, he will win the fight--otherwise--KAPUT! The name of the Baron's adversary was Azrael!" whom Hammond immediately recognizes as Judeo-Christianity's "Angel of Death." They cannot use the story, of course, because it is too fantastic, but Venus observes that "just between you and me and the library shelf, it makes a pretty good yarn, doesn't it?" It does indeed.
"-30-" isn't much in use any more, as it was primarily used during the days of hot lead. It's really only used by ink-stained wretches like me to indicate when something is finished. I use it when I sign off at night at The Daily Memphian, and everybody gets it, although I imagine some had to have it explained to them.
I just read a text story titled "Thirty" from the first issue of EC's Extra! about a newspaperman writing his last story from aboard a sinking ship. It ends...
"He breathed deeply, tapped out the familiar '30' to wind up his story, then looked at the clock. Finished just in time. A good job. The best in the world. He lit a last cigarette, then swirled in his chair to gaze resignedly out the porthole, his legs sloshing in the water that was rising rapidly to his knees and would soon be over his head. 30 "
"Taking off like a ruptured duck" used to be a more common phrase in the days following World War II. The ruptured duck was a slang term for the honorable discharge medal, which had an eagle on it that people thought looked like a duck in distress. "Taking off like a ruptured duck" meant rushing to leave with the eagerness of someone who was just mustered out of the military. It would have been in common use during the time Everett wrote that line, and he would certainly have had a ruptured duck himself, having served. I heard it once or twice in my youth, possibly from veterans, but more likely from old movies.
Ah! I did not know that! Thanks!
This is the WWII honorable discharge lapel pin
A ruptured duck! Thanks, Richard. (Who says comic books ain't educational?)
I learned everything I needed to know from comic books!
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