An occasional complaint about Tintin is that he lacks depth. He has little to no background biography, is emotionally flat and morally boring.
He has no love life to speak of and only predictable and stale relationships with likewise one-dimensional characters. This criticism totally misses the point. Tintin is the perfect fictional creation for the imaginative young reader: the girl high in her castle tower, the boy in his secret jungle lair, me on my ship. Tintin is a world famous action star that his fans can instantly relate to without being pushed away by looks or age or muscle. He doesn’t kill, he doesn’t curse, he doesn’t drink. He doesn’t have Marlowe’s scornful wit or Bond’s secret number and charming misogyny. In this otherwise bitter brew of testosterone and rage, Tintin is an innocent existing in a whirlwind of synchronicity and delight. He is a character to be inhabited, not gawked at, judged or worshipped.