Excerpt
PROLOGUE HE WAS NOT a god. He didn’t descend from the heavens or rise from some ancient prophecy. He was a kid from New York. A Jewish boy with a typewriter, a big imagination, and a knack for dialogue. And yet… Somehow, that boy conjured Olympus from a cramped office in Midtown Manhattan. His name was Stan Lee. You’ve seen the name. On comics. On credits. On cameos. A cheerful voice, a wink at the camera, a word — Excelsior! — like a magic spell. He became the most famous storyteller in modern memory, and yet most people still don’t know who he really was. Not the myth. Not the mask. The man. This book isn’t about superheroes. Not really. It’s about why they worked. Why they mattered. Why...