In his introduction to the newly collected edition of Books of Doom, writer Ed Brubaker points to a brief backup story in 1971’s Astonishing Tales #8 as formative not only to his take on Doom for the book but on him as a reader and comics writer in general.
“. . . Though Some Call it Magic!” by Gerry Conway and Gene Colan would have served well had it been included in this collection; the story features Victor Von Doom battling demons in an attempt to save his mother from Hell; this is a major motivation for Victor in Books of Doom, though by no means the central narrative. Most importantly, it showcases how Marvel Comics has long understood that adding depth to their villains added value to them.
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Leagues of depth are added by Books of Doom, which originally released nearly 20 years ago. We were already firmly in a new era of comic book modernity – Brubaker’s own Captain America was running strong alongside books like New Avengers and the Marvel Knights-branded Daredevil and Wolverine, all books that seemed primarily motivated by the emotional modernization of classic characters. The whole Marvel Universe was taking itself more seriously than it had in nearly two decades; it was only a matter of time before Doom was more completely explored.
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The exploration of the character here is uncanny – for the first time, Victor’s entire life is laid bare, from birth to becoming a despot. We understand that, though always a clear monster of a man, Doom’s motivations were back-handedly altruistic. He didn’t become a dictator for the love of power but because he was desperate to overthrow a regime that had oppressed its people his entire life.
And, always, there is that tragic desperation to save his mother’s soul. That’s a surprisingly human motivation for a character often shown to be inhumane in his actions. This is perhaps unsurprising – Doom has often claimed that his actions are for the greater good; in 2024’s Blood Hunt (and, one assumes, the upcoming One World Under Doom), Doom manipulates Doctor Strange in order to save the world. That he’s saving it with self-interest in mind is of no doubt.
For a character so linked to the heroes he battles – Strange and, famously, Reed Richards – one might expect this book to detail those relationships as deeply as it catalogs Victor’s life as a boy and a freedom fighter; in fact, the book smartly avoids all but cursory interactions with them. His insistence that these people influence him whatsoever highlights Doom’s inherent egoism. Though Reed appears – and though we discover that Doom’s doctorate is in name only, inspired by Reed’s ‘doctor’ honorific – Doom avoids attributing him with any but the most insignificant of roles in his own narrative.
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And that should be understood: this is Doom’s story or, more pointedly, Doom’s version of his own story. Narrated by himself (kind of), with all his inherent biases and emphasis. There might be no narrator so unreliable as a power-hungry dictator.
Books of Doom felt like an instant classic back in 2006, and it reads as foundational now; it’s impossible to believe that Doom-centric stories written today could be written without the insight provided here. Brubaker does an exceptional job at making us care for this maniac, and artist Pablo Raimondi situates us deeply in a fully realized, concrete world. It’s the emotional depth, however, that sings – narrative and artwork aside, readers will definitely understand the mind of Doom.
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