COSMIC CURMUDGEON

Late September saw the release of The DC Universe by Keith Giffen—which is a sampler of some of the brilliant work my much-missed friend and frequent creative collaborator produced for the company. I wrote an intro for the book and you can read it below. Enjoy!

When my son was three or four years old, he had what was called, for obvious reasons, a Bubble Bear. You’d squeeze the plastic bear’s belly, his head would pop up, and a stream of bubbles would emerge and drift off across Creation (or at least the living room). I’ve often thought of that bear when people ask me about Keith Giffen, because Keith was essentially the same as the bear: squeeze his belly and, instead of bubbles, a stream of remarkable ideas would cascade out.

Okay, you didn’t squeeze his belly—he’d probably slug you if you did—but it didn’t take much to get endless characters and concepts flowing out of Keith’s head. The man possessed one of the most formidable imaginations in comics. Scratch that, I’d put Keith’s imagination up against anyone’s in any field. He was a story machine, a massive, and genuinely impressive, creative dynamo. I’ve often called him the Jack Kirby of my generation of comic book creators and, given my respect for Kirby—the preeminent god in my comic book pantheon—that’s not a statement I make lightly. 

 
If memory serves (and I can’t swear that it does), Giffen and I first worked together on a Doctor Fate mini-series that I wrote and he drew (Keith being Keith, he continually threw in amazing visual bits and surprising twists in the tale. He was never “just” an artist). This was a little before we were put together, as a writing team, on Justice League International. We didn’t know it then—how could we?—but that began a collaboration that lasted for more than three decades. After Keith passed, I made a list of all the books we’d worked on together—JLI and its multiple spin-offs, Booster Gold, Justice League 3000, Metal Men, Larfleeze (and the list goes on, at DC and elsewhere)—astonished at the volume of work we produced. 

 

Did I say work? Collaborating with Keith was more like two kids playing in a sandbox. I’ve often said (and I’m sure his other writing partners—which include Paul Levitz, Robert Loren Fleming, Tom and Mary Bierbaum, and Jeff Lemire, to name just a few—would agree) that it wasn’t the project that mattered when I was working with Keith, it was the collaboration itself, the joy of creating something together, bouncing ideas back and forth, trying to top each other, and having tremendous fun doing it. (I remember when Keith called me up and said DC wanted us to develop a new twist on Scooby-Doo called Scooby Apocalypse. If anyone else had called with that suggestion, I might have hung up on them. But it was Keith, I immediately said yes, and SA turned into a wonderful three-year gig: one of my favorite Giffen-DeMatteis collaborations.) 

 

Keith had no creative ego. He loved it when I added story elements and character developments that weren’t in his plot and, in the following issues, he would build on what I’d done, give it all a uniquely Giffenesque spin, then throw it back to me.  It was like a game of tennis, but with ideas instead of a ball. Together we created something in our work—an offbeat and very specific tone and attitude—neither of us could have done alone. (Keith always encouraged his creative partners to revise, expand, alter. He’d have been disappointed if we’d just parroted what he’d done.)  

 

Keith and I eventually achieved a kind of mind meld. I’d take a quick look at a Giffen plot—usually drawn out as a kind of mini-comic, with layouts that looked like a combination of Kirby and Harvey Kurtzman, with guide notes to let me know where the story was going—and I was off. I didn’t have to think about it, I just built on the rock-solid foundation Keith provided, got the characters talking to each other, and let them surprise me. And, I hoped, surprise Giffen, in turn. 

 

Over the years we got to know each other not just as fellow professionals, but as friends. What was he like when he was away from the computer and drawing board? Smart, incisive, and so damn funny he could have had his own HBO comedy special. And the man loved playing the curmudgeon (imagine, if you will, the bastard child of Harlan Ellison and the acerbic Dr. Cox from Scrubs and you’ll have some idea of the Classic Giffen Persona). It was a wonderful performance, but that’s what at least half of it was: a performance. Beneath that carefully-cultivated, apparently-cynical shell was a thoughtful, heartfelt family man and consummate pro. A loyal friend and generous collaborator, who’d go out of his way to champion fellow freelancers. (Please note I said half of it was performance: There’s no denying Keith enjoyed indulging the other half, saying outrageous things and basking in the stunned reactions.)

  

It’s been more than two years since he passed away, but I still can’t wrap my head around the fact that we live in a Giffenless universe. Keith had his share of health issues, but he was such a feisty, resilient, tenacious guy I was sure he’d outlive us all. Whenever life knocked him down, he’d get up again (and sometimes that getting up wasn’t easy)—then shrug, make a joke, and start working on another comic book. And, who knows, given his mischievous, some might say wicked, sense of humor, it’s always possible he faked his death and right now he’s sitting on a beach somewhere, ever-present cigarette in hand, blowing smoke-rings, basking in the sun, and laughing at all of us. (Okay, that’s not true. But wouldn’t it be wonderful if it was?)

I’ll end with my wife’s words when she heard Keith died. “He was,” she said, “like a character out of a Keith Giffen story.” I can think of no higher praise. 

 ©copyright 2026 J.M. DeMatteis