Tintin’s excursions across the Eurocentric globe struck me as incredibly romantic, as did the fact that he seemed to be able to move about at will, free of the oversight of any true parental figures, accompanied only by a faithful white terrier and an irascible, alcoholic and landlocked sea Captain. For a kid, the idea that young man could secure himself a job in an adult profession like journalism and operate essentially autonomously was wonderful. It’s a reverie that has fallen into disuse, apparently, as our increasingly litigious society has become less comfortable with the idea of minors with careers outside of show business. But I’m glad to see that the idea has survived healthily with Tintin for three-quarters of a century.
The greatest comic books of my life. Those and Asterik and Obelix. I should start collecting Tintins all over again. Good memories.
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