After reading the gushing reviews here, I bought this book sight unseen (a personal rule I resolve never to break again, as returning these books to Amazon is a royal hassle). The beauty of the so-called "Silver Age" of comics (mainly, the 1960s) is the elegance and harmony of the art and story. This book is another one of that endless invasion of in-your-face, sliced-and-diced compilation pieces that seek to razzle-dazzle the viewer who doesn't think. Everything is piecemeal, with montages overlapping other montages, fragments of recognizable works blown up to Roy Lichtenstein proportions and overlaid with small, cluttered, unrelated tidbits. It reduces the work to Pop Art, like printing comic book panels as wall paper, or on kid's bedsheets, for a "campy" effect. I expected an insightful presentation of what made that decade's comics so meaningful; something coherent, at least. This book is for people with no attention span (maybe people addicted to video games), who don't even try to understand a story or appreciate a composition, they just want frenzied details flying everywhere so you can't sort it out, like a kaleidoscopic segment of "Entertainment Tonight" compiled by a "hot" editor. I especially hate magnified images that go off the page with no border, trying to give a "hip" look to the layout. The value of Marvel comics, especially, was their accessibility, their clarity, their visual solidity. The comics industry went into a tailspin in the '80s when it was overrun by immature artists who tried to confuse the viewer by losing the center of interest and get by on pyrotechnics. The text, consisting of a snippet of catty gossip about Stan Lee here, a fragment of anonymous, truncated, corny dialog there, is sprinkled throughout with unrelated "factoids" no more than two or three sentences long, often in the gimmicky type you see in "trendy" magazines about pop music. It has nothing to say except how smirky and post-modern it is to chop up pieces of the past in a pop-culture blender and splash out a meaningless jumble of images for people to idly glance at, without context or narrative direction. For the distracted amusement of superficial illiterates only, not for knowledgeable people who like the beauty of an image that hasn't been tampered with, or seek a legitimate history of those creative years.