Let’s cut the polite librarian act.
For years, we’ve danced around the question with careful, academic disclaimers. “Art is subjective.” “You can’t compare Maus to Amazing Spider-Man #122.” “It depends on what you mean by ‘best.’”
But let’s be honest: Every comic reader has had that 2 a.m. argument. The one where voices rise, beer bottles become gesticulating weapons, and someone eventually shouts, “There is no fucking possible comic best!” fucking possible comic best
I’m here to argue the opposite. Not only is it possible to identify the single greatest comic ever published, but doing so is essential. We need a Mount Rushmore. We need a heavyweight champion. We need a book you can hand to a non-believer and say, “Read this. If you don’t get it, you don’t get comics.”
So, after 15,000 hours of reading, re-reading, and arguing, let’s answer the impossible question: What is the fucking possible comic best? Let’s cut the polite librarian act
When you can’t book a flight, open a travel comic.
The scene: Jimmy finally meets the father who abandoned him. An old, frail man in a nursing home. They don’t hug. They don’t even talk about the past. They just sit. Then Jimmy’s father says, “I used to dream about you. I dreamed you were a little boy. And I was a good father.” When you can’t book a flight, open a travel comic
Jimmy says nothing. The next panel is a close-up of his hand. Trembling. Holding a paper cup.
That’s it. No explosion. No confession. Just a cup and a tremor. It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen in any medium. Fucking possible comic best means making sadness feel physical.