Broken Arrow (Or: My Dear John Letter to Oliver Queen)

Dear Ollie,

I really don’t know how to start this. I mean, these kinds of things are hard enough without, y’know, sharing them with the entire internet. Which, now that I think about it, is sort of a cold move on my part. Sorry about that, man, but I’ve come too far to turn back now.

I guess this has to be quick so as to mitigate the pain — the Band-Aid method, if you will — so here goes; it’s over. I went into this whole “New 52” thing with an open mind and an open heart, but when I read Green Arrow #1 I felt… nothing.

We’ve been together a while. A long, long while. You were my favorite superhero before I even started reading comic books for real, before I truly understood the strengths and complexities of the medium. Guys like you and Captain America — who’s gone through his own fair share of changes in recent years — always seemed most appealing to me because, unlike Superman or Thor, you were true locals. You had a stake in the safety of our mundane earthly realm, and you certainly took your lumps as a result.

Remember when you were banished to that freaky forest in Star City? Remember when you found out that Mia was HIV positive? Remember that time you got blown up on that plane? Remember when you caught Roy shooting junk?

Okay, there were some good times too. Probably. I can’t exactly remember any of them, but I’m sure they were there. Still, without all those shared years of misfortune and political posturing we really don’t have anything. It’s as if our history has been erased. Because it pretty much has.

I know these kinds of drastic adjustments happen all the time in comics — I mean, have you run into Clark or Bruce… or friggin’ Barbara?! — but I never thought it’d happen to us. Things have changed. Everything has changed! And not in that suddenly-Peter-Parker-is-single-retcon sort of way either. Our time together is gone, Oliver. It’s as if it never happened.

I know it could be worse. You could’ve been yet another unfortunate victim of Jim Lee’s new body armor fetish. What’s up with him anyway? This is seriously getting into Rob Liefeld territory now. Can gigantic shoulder pads really be that far behind? But I digress.

I guess I feel like without our shared past you are just some dude with a bow. Just a bow and no real connection to me as a reader.

Essentially you’re Hawkeye! (Apologies to Lee and Heck.)

It’s this damn re-launch! I feel like it’s changed our whole dynamic. And the most painful part is, while I am keenly aware that our history has evaporated, you have no idea.

It’s like 50 First Dates. Only, y’know, at least slightly more entertaining. (Apologies to Sandler and Barrymore.)

The silver lining here, if there is one, is at least I know you won’t miss our camaraderie. Because as far as you know it never existed in the first place.

For my part, though, I’m still planning to make the most of this brave new world. I’m trying to see the subsequent dissolution of our age-old relationship as a chance to move forward. To see other people. If I am forced to start over from scratch, I may as well pick a new spandex-clad huckleberry.

I hear Animal Man‘s available, so maybe I’ll look him up.

That’s not gonna be weird for you, right?

Of course not; we’re different people now. You especially. But I’ll always cherish the good times, assuming I can come up with some, as well as the bad. Because they were ours.

So I guess this is goodbye. Take care. Oh, and if Prometheus suddenly waltzes back into continuity, just walk away, man. Seriously. That can only end in tears.

Best to you on your exciting new journey.

–Z