Or maybe you think we will all be reading the collected Christopher Priest in 30 years instead?
In 30 years, if man is still around and not enslaved by giant glowing eyed cockroaches, Chris Priest will probably be read.
Of the three comics that made me a “regular” comics fan in the 1990s, namely, Busiek’s AVENGERS, THUNDERBOLTS, and Chris Priest’s BLACK PANTHER, the Priest BP was the coolest.
It was like if Quentin Tarantino directed the BOURNE IDENTITY, and put in robot panther tanks and flying subs. Priest defied the idea that books about ethnic heroes don’t appeal to the mainstream, because his Panther was so competent, so mysterious, that his appeal transcended race.
Priest’s Panther is one of the few fictional characters that, on reading about him, I find myself saying "man I wish I was him" (along with Howard’s Solomon Kane and Steven King’s Gunslinger).
The Panther was dignified, quiet and cryptic. He always behaved according to a plan. The book was narrated from the perspective of the Panther’s sidekick, a Young Republican Alex P. Keaton type that was the world’s whitest white man.
And the Panther’s amazing stuff. His teenage karate chick sidekicks, the energy-daggers, the vibranium soles that let him fall sixty stories and land safely on his feet. The book had mysteries and international conspiracy. In short, a must-read.