The consequences of comic book deaths vary wildly. Once in a while a death in comics is fundamental to the story, and the consequences are lasting. Such is the nature of origin story deaths. Peter Parker’s uncle is a prime example. The death of Uncle Ben is a formative contribution to the life of Peter Parker and the origin of Spider-Man. Anytime you see Uncle Ben you know his death is near, and that Spider-Man becoming Spider-Man depends upon it. This is also true of Bruce Wayne’s parents, and a host of other non-super heroes and villains.

The killing of non-superheros in comics often occurs for the purpose of plot or story motivation. Uncle Ben dies so Peter can be Spider-Man. The Wayne’s die so that Bruce can become Batman. These are familiar occurrences. The death of heroes is a much trickier subject.

Despite the occasionally high body count in some superhero comics, it’s quite unusual to see a named, recurring character die. This is true of both heroes and villains. Batman can’t go about killing his enemies every month, nor can he be killed and brought back to life to start every issue. Comics are not video games. The genre depends upon the continued presence of heroes and villains, who build relationships over decades, complicating the characters and their interactions while constantly re-imagining them. What is a hero, and what is a villain, how individuals and teams change over the course of a title, these are among the most fundamental story elements in the last 25 years of comic books. And these elements require our characters to live.

Which has the unique result of making death-even in a violent medium like superhero comic books-a really big deal. The occasional release of special issues, mini-series or arc-interrupting narratives that declare the impending death of a hero are often unrolled as though nothing like it has come before. These are events.

These deaths are also, almost always, temporary.

There have been some pretty famous deaths in comics. Superman died. In the early 1990’s DC Comics ranThe Death Superman, in which Superman is killed by Doomsday. It’s quite excellent and moving stuff. And while there were several books written in the wake of Superman’s death, (the many arcs are now gathered under the title The Death and Return of Superman) they never matched the original story because in them the necessary complication must arise: Superman can’t stay dead. The DC Universe cannot not have Superman.

Thus, Superman was resurrected, and in his resurrection came another quirk (Superman’s return from the dead altered the doorway between life and death) allowing countless other heroes an opportunity to die and come back again. The lasting effect of which is this: if doesn’t matter if heroes die, how do you make readers care about the death of heroes?

The most successful hero’s death in my estimation is the death of Jean Grey. Jean Grey is a mutant with telekinetic powers, a student of Charles Xavier, the love-interest, and eventual wife of Scott Summers (Cyclops), and also a love interest (before and after her marriage to Cyclops) to Wolverine. She dies as Jean, and is resurrected as the Phoenix. Then, as the Dark Phoenix she dies again. And though her death is impermanent (she is a Phoenix, after all) the consequences of her death are felt deeply within the X-Men.

Pretty much everything that takes place in The X-Men following Jean’s death carries the weight of her death, in a way that the death of Superman could not muster. Cyclops’ doubts about his capacity to lead the X-Men ripple with her death. His relationship with Emma Frost is complicated by her jealousy of the dead, now glorified Jean. Wolverine’s jealousy of Scott (she chose Scott, in the end) creates a division in the X-Men that will never be overcome. Xavier’s loss of his star pupil and substitute daughter affects everything he does in his school. Her death, even if impermanent, brought real consequences to the X-Men and the Marvel Universe has done well to treat Jean’s death as a serious subject. When necessary, of course.

Because she’s also alive when necessary (remember, Phoenix). And that is the what makes comic book deaths so tricky. What does it mean to kill a superhero and how, as a reader, should you feel about it? When a publisher decides to kill a superstar character, how much should you care?

Which brings us to The Death of Wolverine. A four part series, written by Charles Soule ,drawn by Steve McNiven, and beautifully colored by Justin Ponsor, The Death of Wolverine #1 hit stores this week.

Marvel has been teasing this book for months now, and to be honest, I didn’t know if I cared enough about the concept to bother. There’s only so many mega major events from Marvel I’m interested in spending my time on (I decided to do so primarily because I’m a fan of Soule’s).

When I bought #1 the clerk at my comics shop said, “Death of Wolverine. Now that’s sad. I’m sure that this will be the last we see of him.” It was a joke, and he thought it quite funny. Probably the 59th time that morning he’d made it. Because, though Wolverine may die, we all know this is not the death of Wolverine.

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The set up for the end of the most iconic comic book figure of the last 20 years is this: Wolverine’s mutant powers include rapid healing. Everything he does and is, is based on his body’s constant healing factor. He has survived hundreds of years, lived through Nagasaki, and had an indestructible metal grafted to his skeleton. And he has lived through all of this because he can heal.

Or, he could. Before.

The Death of Wolverine opens with Logan visiting the Fantastic Four’s Reed Richards, who explains to Logan why he’s not the same Wolverine any longer: His healing power is gone. “Your entire physical structure is built around the fact that you can rapidly heal from almost any injury,” Richards says.

Which matters because Logan’s body is basically a giant injury. He is literally full of metal. His bones are radioactive. He’s likely going to develop leukemia from the nuclear bomb he was exposed too, and his claws are essentially open wounds, filling his blood with bacteria every time they are retracted. This is what it means to be Wolverine without the healing power: a sick man.

It’s important to note, if you are unaware, that Logan has matured in recent years. He’s reopened Charles Xavier’s school, now named the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning. He’s put away some of his more violent ways, and has become one of the prominent faces in mutant leadership. When Reed Richards tells Logan in #1, “You’re important, Logan…the world needs you,” it is as much Wolverine’s transformative leadership role as it is his Weapon X reputation that he speaks of. The impending Death of Wolverine is not just the loss of Wolverine, but of an icon, leader and teacher.

While Reed looks for a way to reactivate the healing power, Logan just has to lay low, and no matter what, don’t use those claws. The problem in this scenario is the story for the rest of #1: word gets out that Wolverine can’t heal, and the world of enemies will come to, finally, kill him. Logan retreats to the woods of British Columbia and sets about killing everyone that comes to kill him.

Which by the looks of it, is a lot. This is a high body count book, which is notably because it is recalling the old Wolverine back into the world. But don’t worry too much the fate of Logan. Whatever happens to bring down Wolverine in #2-4, I doubt we’ve seen the last of him.

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