Grant Morrison: Oh, yes. I find with New X-Men, the more quickly I write them, the better they turn out. I had gotten to the point where I was writing an issue a day, but that really wasn’t turning out satisfactorily. Now, I’m producing an issue every forty-five minutes or so.
Paul Gravett: An entire issue. How can you do such a thing?
Grant Morrison: Magic. Literally.
Paul Gravett: Yes, well, I’ve been meaning to ask about that, since you’ve made your stance on magic well-known. What sort of magic are you talking about, exactly?
Grant Morrison: Well, the term “magic” encompasses many different specialties and disciplines, and –
Paul Gravett: No, I mean, when you say “I’m producing an issue of New X-Men every forty-five minutes because of magic,” what do you mean by magic, in that exact context?
Grant Morrison: In that context?
Paul Gravett: Yes.
Grant Morrison: Red Bull and crystal meth.
It gets better.
Alan Moore’s Letters to Penthouse Forum, Vols. I-IV: Don’t be fooled. These four volumes from Blood Money Press, enclosed in a lovely slipcase, actually detail only one letter, despite the title. Running a total of two hundred pages per volume, this letter comprises a sexual encounter between Alan Moore, two women, and a coatrack in West End. Volume I, for example, is a complete psycho-geographical and mythico-historical study of West End where the encounter happened, and apparently the digression on the evolution of coatracks (in Volume III) is a red-hot page-turner. There’s also an extensive endnotes section by the editors, contrasting, say, the original opening to the letter (“Dear Penthouse Forum: I recently ejaculated upon the face of History, allowing the orgasmic unfettering of shackled feminine mystery, and in many ways not only is Superman to blame, but Beano and a lecherously inclined coatrack as well.”) with one revised with an eye to publication (“Dear Penthouse Forum: I’ve always been a big fan of your letters but thought they were more than likely made up. However, something just happened to me that I just had to write to you about, and besides what is all of human history but a mutually agreed fictional construct, anyway? If it gets me and a very naughty coatrack a bit of action, who’s to say the world’s worse for it?”). No illustrations, but unless you’re as much a furniture fancier as Mr. Moore, that may be for the best. Four books in slipcase, five hundred dollars for all. Yikes.