If fiction can be likened to a high–a “vivid, continuous dream,” as John Gardner put it–comic books were my gateway drug. I discovered the Marvel and DC Universes at age 13, and spent hundreds of hours (and dollars) exploring them. This was the early 1990s, a heady era for superhero enthusiasts. There was Todd McFarlane's "Spider-Man", Rob Liefield's "New Mutants", Peter David's under-appreciated "X-Factor" and the pitch-black Batman book "Legends of the Dark Knight". Surveying these offerings at my local comic shop, I felt lucky to be alive in my time. The clerks told me I had an Englishman named Alan Moore to thank.