Private Wars
Written by Greg Rucka
Published by Bantam

Greg Rucka’s Queen and Country wasn’t like most comic book series. Another comic serial about a British spy would likely be a superficial pastiche of James Bond clichés, but in the hands of Greg Rucka, Queen and Country was a taut, psychologically challenging, procedure-oriented game of political maneuvering and morally debatable (in the best sense) international intrigue. And the heaviest emphasis was on the personal demons endured by the series’ lead agent, Tara Chase, as she coped with the internal stress of assassinations, carefully planned missions gone awry, and the loss of several colleagues.

The series took a strange twist, in my opinion, when Rucka chose to write a novel about one of Tara’s missions (A Gentleman’s Game). The comic book incarnation went on hold, returned briefly, but felt slightly off-kilter when it did, as if too much tragedy had confronted Tara beyond its pages and she didn’t quite fit back into the format. Rucka’s most recent foray into Tara’s life, the prose novel Private Wars, however, finds Tara’s life and adventures slipping comfortably back into the world of the unadorned written word.

Private Wars concerns itself with Tara’s efforts to lift a potentially sympathetic political figure out of Uzbekistan. It might be an easy job, except there are divergent political agendas at work within the British government, and Tara’s effectively going against U.S. expectations for the region.  As might be expected from Rucka, it’s a tense read, dramatic and tragic.  There’s nothing within that rewrites its genre, but it’s all delivered by a dedicated craftsman who understands pace and character.

As he’s done in the past, Rucka stuffs Private Wars with complex personal agendas, crafty political gamesmanship, and surprising plot twists. In anything, he’s probably outdone himself this time. Tara’s reasons for being in Uzbekistan aren’t what she was told, and when things go to hell, she quickly finds her entire mission turned completely upside down.  Similarly, her boss Paul Crocker has sent her on a mission he didn’t intend for, and he finds himself attempting to turn a political minefield to his own advantage.

Probably the most interesting writing Rucka’s able to pull off is switching up allegiances effectively and convincingly. CIA rat Aaron Tower turns out to be an okay guy when you’re on his side. Incoming Uzbeki president Sevara Malikov never truly leaves behind her manipulative, self-serving ways, but she offers glimmers of humanity in the guilt she tries to hide when dealing with her family, as well as in her capitulation to U.S. demands to improve humanitarian conditions. Only ex-KGB operative Zahidov skews ever-so-slightly toward simplistic comic book villainy, and even there, Rucka imbues him with a palpable nationalism, a recognizably overzealous sense of pride, and a more sad devotion to a love that won’t be returned to him.

Still, Rucka’s best work comes from the comparison and contrast of Tara Chase against her initial rescue target, Ruslan Malikov. Single parents, both widowed by the murder of their partner, Tara and Ruslan are both torn from their children, driven by regret and rage, and their final scene together leads one to wonder: is there any real difference between them? That human angle adds depth and human connection to Private Wars’ racing plot, leaving readers not only breathless, but hopefully moved and with something much more human than your typical thriller.

Essential Dykes to Watch Out For
Written & Illustrated by Alison Bechdel
Published by Houghton Mifflin Harcourt

I recently talked about reading Gilbert Hernandez’s Luba, noting that the book is effectively the sequel to Palomar, one of the two most affecting comics I’ve read in my life. The other most-affecting comic is Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home, a staggeringly literate memoir of her coming out and her relationship with her deeply closeted father. After reading Gilbert Hernandez’s follow-up to his masterpiece, I went back to read Alison Bechdel’s creative lead-in to her own masterwork.

Dykes to Watch Out For, a newspaper strip that ran in independent gay and lesbian newspapers and online from 1983 until 2008, when Bechdel put the strip on hiatus to focus on her follow-up to Fun Home, chronicles the lives of a group of (mostly) lesbians. It balances political commentary against a long-running, often humorous, occasionally sad soap opera of romantic, professional and personal entanglements.

The Essential Dykes to Watch Out For compiles the majority of the post-1986 strips, when Bechdel began introducing her extended cast and moved the strip away from its early gag-a-day format. Now, those early strips … well, they’re a little choppy. Though Bechdel had been penning the strip for three years already, her art remained stilted. The character work showed some charm, but only occasionally rose above ordinary. It was a slow build, but by 1990 – with 18 more years worth of strips in the book, so there’s lots and lots of good stuff left – Bechdel had captured the elusive voice of an artist with something true to say.

As the strip grew more assuredly artistically, the depth of the characters grew exponentially. Perhaps the quality of the line work allowed Bechdel to show ideas that had always been brewing in the strip but never communicated clearly. Her ability to depict characters across the entire spectrum of experience added humanity to their storylines. Many comic book artists can illustrate highly detailed scenes, moments of exquisite carnage and impossible perspectives, but through it all, most of their characters continue to shout obscenely or cry melodramatically.

Bechdel’s lines are simple, but deep. Reactions come through with subtlety and nuance, and she’s able to balance her artistic accomplishments with characterization that is apparent without having to explain itself. When Clarice becomes enraged at Toni, the character’s sniping ire manifests that rage in clear, simply human terms.

Dykes to Watch Out For is unapologetically political, and anybody who doesn’t lean left as Bechdel does will probably feel put off reading it. Yet the characters each exhibit diverse and fairly argued perspectives within the strip’s liberal outlook. Mo and Sydney frequently argue everything from gay marriage to patriarchal standards of beauty, and both viewpoints are presented fairly and levelly. In fact, one of the strip’s most interesting and challenging moments comes when Bechdel introduces a conservative-leaning lesbian into the group’s community, and despite a few jokes at her expense (though no more than any other character is subjected to during the strip’s twenty-year run), she shows an intelligent and rounded vantage point on the world herself.

Fun Home is perhaps the greatest and most important comic book ever published. (Yeah, that’s maybe a bold statement, but the book is. Read it if you haven’t. Read it again if you have.) That level of brilliance doesn’t develop overnight, and the progression of strips during its twenty-plus year evolution shows that Alison Bechdel experimented, stretched and transformed herself into one of the most important cartoonists working today in the page of Dykes to Watch Out For. Essential Dykes to Watch Out For is absolute must-read comics.

Out of curiosity, do any of our Blog@ readers here use their library to borrow comics from?

Because I love doing so. Sure, a big part is that I live in a metro-sized condo and have finite storage space, and I’m planning for a spring wedding and have a finite budget, but even without those limitations, there are a lot of books that I appreciate reading but simply won’t ever read again. So why bother keeping a copy, or using the resources to print and ship a book that’ll lie in a box or on a shelf, unread, for the rest of its existence?

Anyway, I was just wondering if anybody else enjoyed discovering comics for free like I do.

Now, as I said, I love being able to read comics that I don’t particularly want to keep or reread, but I do sometimes find at the library comics that I’d read again and again. Continuing my recent obsession with Norwegian cartoonist Jason, I borrowed Fantagraphics’ translation of The Iron Wagon. Based on Stein Riverton’s same-titled Norwegian mystery novel from 1909, Jason’s version is described as a loose adaptation.  And it’s great.

The plot revolves around a writer tagging along with a detective to solve the mystery of the murder of an upper crust woman’s suitor in an idyllic rural community.

The tenor of the dialogue and the methodical pacing are evidence of the story’s early 20^th century origins, yet Jason still makes the story entirely his own. As with other comics of his that I’ve read, Jason’s The Iron Wagon moves very quickly, remains slightly absurd in even the most dire of situations – largely due to Jason’s peculiar anthropomorphic characters and deadpan delivery – and simply doesn’t take itself so damn seriously.

The ending, though predictable on a plot level if you’ve read this type of story, achieves a wonderful absurdity due to Jason’s downbeat pacing. Jason’s comics are driven by plot, with character registering as an afterthought. By keeping the narratives short and the pace quick, with quiet, somber beats punctuating, Jason creates filled with eccentric worlds where anything goes. Even when he’s recreating a piece of period storytelling, his voice adds a freshness and lightness that makes even a haunting mystery tale seem entirely new and upbeat. In fact, there’s a downright comical element to the “haunting” scenes in this book.

All of which is to say that Jason’s The Iron Wagon is a rollicking good time, and exactly the sort of escapist adventure comics that I wish there were more of. I’m glad I can find them in the library, but Jason’s work is among the few borrowed comics that would’ve been worth the purchase price and required shelf space. It’s available at my library, and hopefully at yours too. If you haven’t read Jason, you really should check his work out.

Some thoughts on my latest borrowing from the New York Public Library:

Okay, first, a little bit of comic book blasphemy: I really don’t like the Fantastic Four. (It’s not terribly surprising; they’re among the 99% of DC and Marvel’s pantheons that I’d say the same about.) The characters’ creators, Stan Lee and Jack Kirby, authored some wonderful comic book yarns starring this family, but somehow, they established the characters’ voices so firmly, so rigidly, that nearly every creator to follow them onto the magazine has driven Reed, Sue, Ben and Johnny into cliché. Yet, as has been the case with others among the seemingly infinite number of comic book superheroes I’m cold to, occasionally a creator comes along who thaws my sensitivity to the sometimes mind-numbing repetition of good vs. evil and thematic redundancy of the superhero genre.

Walter Simonson’s Thor is among my favorite comic book series of all time. His work on DC’s Orion is, for my money, the last true, must-read superhero series. With this in mind, I came to Marvel’s collection of his early 1990s Fantastic Four run with mild trepidation, but hope that Simonson would join Stan & Jack and John Byrne as FF creators worth the price of admission.

Packing each story with time-hopping, dinosaur-battling, powerless, political, and outrageous adventures, Simonson could’ve inserted any character into these adventures and won me over. That he managed to find facets of the characters that I was able to enjoy is all the more impressive. Sharon Ventura, a character I’d never read an appearance of prior to vol. 1 of this series, has several terrific scenes, a twist on the classic “Ben Grimm tragedy,” given sufficient uniqueness when viewed through the prism of her character. Ben’s role as the team’s surly uncle is perfect, and Simonson’s patter between Reed and Sue made them seem like an actual couple for one of the rare times in their history.

Simonson jams each issue with a zany, anything-goes plot style that keeps the reader engaged on every page, and his art is up to his usually high standards. One meta-level highlight is seeing Simonson’s dinosaur-like signature at the bottom of a splash page depicting a more ferocious lizard bearing down on the team. The offbeat political humor of a two-parter that finds the FF in a parallel world where the Cold War is about to go hot, and Dan Quayle as president, well… the references are a little aged these days, but the tongue-in-cheek quality still plays effectively.

If there’s a problem with Fantastic Four Visionaries: Walter Simonson vol. 2, it definitely lies in some of the peculiar decisions made by Marvel’s collected editions department. The book contains only five issues – two two-parters, the Cold War dramedy and a dinosaur island romp – one of which is a fill-in issue by creators named neither Walter nor Simonson. If the issue were important to the unfolding Simonson storyline, I could understand its inclusion, but it’s a fairly ordinary “dark night of the soul” melodrama starring the Torch, the sort of thing that Stan Lee did much better. Essentially, the issue has no place in a Walter Simonson Visionaries book. With only five issues, one that doesn’t belong, this trade is very light and not quite up to its cover price. Fortunately, I and many other lucky readers can still experience the good times of Walter Simonson’s Fantastic Four via their local library.

Since discovering the work of Jason in the New York Public Library (see my thoughts on his book I Killed Adolf Hitler several weeks ago), I’ve been anxious to get my hands on another of his comics. After reading The Last Musketeer, I’m now looking forward to a third Jason comic.

The Last Musketeer tells of Athos, last of the fabled three musketeers (one deceased, one retired), and his efforts to save the world from Martian invasion. Like my previous exposure to his work, I find it hard to talk about without spoiling too much of the story. Jason’s books are entirely plot-driven, yet delivered with a dry, morose humor that gives the narrative an offbeat tone. Coupled with his ear for snappy dialogue, Jason’s plots become surprising romps that mash up divergent adventure clichés.

After an initial attack on France, Athos finds two Martian scouts, slays one and forces the other to take him to Mars where he can prevent further attacks. Falling in with a small band of rebels who disagree with the antagonist stance taken by Mars’ leadership, Athos fights to discover the secret leader of the Martian revolution and to destroy the ultimate weapon aimed at his home world. Science-fiction has a long history of swashbuckling, romantic adventurers, heroes of the Flash Gordon/Han Solo mold. Athos’ origins in the older world adventurism of Alexandre Dumas seem no impediment to fitting the character comfortably into this outer space romp.

All told, Jason’s books, including The Last Musketeer, are pure escapist fun romps. Having so many of them available at my library, a great resource for discovering new comics (and books, and music, and…) and saving cash, is just perfect. I’ll be looking for more of Jason’s comics, and hopefully more readers will also check his stuff out. You may even be able to borrow it from the local library.

The library is a great place for readers to discover comics, and it’s a great place for comics readers to check out things that they want to try without spending their hard-earned cash. I’m looking at comics that I find in the New York Public Library system.

As a long-time adorer of Jill Thompson’s artwork, and owner of the entire Scary Godmother library, I was very intrigued when Thompson’s new series, Magic Trixie, came to my attention.

After taking the first book of the series out of the library, I’d definitely recommend it for young readers. Though its thin plot lacks the depth of great children’s literature, Thompson’s playful artwork and silly storyline is engaging to read.

Thompson sets up a nice theme, revolving around Trixie’s being too young to do the things she wants but too old to get all the attention ladled on her baby sister. The family dynamic works, and Trixie’s school friends are effective. The character designs are charming and fun, exactly what you’d expect from Thompson. Magic Trixie is a cute book. It’s not a great book, but it’s definitely worth a look if you can find it at your local library.

I’d never read one of Rene Goscinny and Albert Uderzo’s famed Asterix books before, and figured it well past time to correct that oversight. I knew that Asterix is a famed children’s adventure series, but that’s really about all I knew going in, so I had a little hesitation, but plenty of anticipation as well.

In Asterix and the Great Divide, Asterix and his allies find themselves aiding a neighboring village that is split by two men’s claims of leadship – literally split. They’ve dug a trench through the middle of town! Schizophrenix, the only townsperson to not choose a side in the great debate, has the barrier slicing directly through the middle of his home, which adds some light slapstick when he need to cross to the kitchen or bedroom.

As the names may suggest, Asterix and the Great Divide is heavy on the silly puns, and it’s definitely a book for kids. The humor leans toward the silly, the villains are comically inept, and the art bright and clean. But it’s a very sharp book for kids. The heroes win through a combination of innate virtuosity and creative problem solving. Artistically, Uderzo’s fun designs, bright colors and slapstick pacing suit the story nicely, keeping things just as lively and upbeat during the talking sequences as during the battles.

Asterix and the Great Divide is a lark - a fun, fast-moving, twist-filled adventure. For this reader, it skews a little younger than my tastes, but I enjoyed visiting the land of Gauls and expect that I’ll be purchasing the whole series when I have children of my own. Asterix is sharp comics, and I’m glad I was able to discover it at my local library.

Ah, there’s nothing quite like a Bronze Age DC comic to explain the generation gap circa the mid-seventies to you. In addition to the awkward homoeroticism of Batman, Jr. sitting on Superman, Jr.’s palm while the young half-Kryptonian swims them across a swamp, there’s nothing more awkward than writer Bob Haney’s hip lingo.  See their frequent references to each other as “baby” or Clark Jr.’s claim that “guess we both had the same need” when they meet up in the initial installment.

The stories themselves are a mix of standard mid-70s DC adventure fare (with Bob Haney’s snappy dialogue and solid Dick Dillin artwork) and unnerving generation gap conflicts between the parental heroes and the young, coming-of-age heroes – typically the young heroes impetuousness loses out to their fathers’ smarmy know-it-allness. Honestly, these are the sort of comic you either like, despite their flaws, or despise despite their off-beat charms. Me, I kinda like them, but I wouldn’t necessarily recommend them to anybody.

Dick Dillon handles most of the art with a solid professionalism, while Curt Swan, Rich Buckler and Kieron Dwyer fill in ably when called on. Denny O’Neil scripts one story, and can’t resist turning in a real downer of a yarn that completely misses the silly fun of the Super Sons. Fortunately, Haney got back in the saddle to ignore Denny’s story for a short story from the controversial Elseworld’s 80-Page Giant #1.

All together, it’s a strange ride, and not something I’d suggest hunting down if you’re not a fan of this type of superheroic nonsense, but if you’re looking for something a little offbeat and bizarre, you can possibly find Superman / Batman: Saga of the Super Sons at your local library.

Jim Ottaviani’s true-science comics are among the most interesting and educationally valuable comics being published today. Wire Mothers: Harry Harlow and the Science of Love, a collaboration with artist Dylan Meconis, doesn’t quite measure up to the best of Ottaviani’s efforts, but it’s still a valid peek behind the curtain at how science helps us understand the world around us and, as this book explores, even our human relationships.

Wire Mothers, operating as part of Ottaviani’s “science of the unscientific” series, tracks Harlow’s work with baby rhesus monkeys to discover how infants bond with a mother figure and, ostensibly, how love is formed. Ottaviani couches the story in an interesting framing sequence, enabling Harlow to relate his own academic experiences as he prepares for the biggest presentation of his career. In this case, however, the frame – combined with the juxtaposition of Harlow’s personal and professional life, and his encounters with respected psychologists of the day – adds a layer of confusion to an already jumpy narrative.

Harlow’s theories and his experiments – inhumane as they may have been – are fascinating, as are the telling ways that his own life reflect the need for love and affection that he studied. Illustrator Dylan Meconis does a solid job breathing life into Harlow and the major figures in his life. One sequence, Harlow’s Christmas Eve lock-out, was slightly difficult to follow, but the visual storytelling was effective by and large.

Even if it’s not up to Ottaviani’s usual standards, Wire Mothers remains an intriguing book, and a solid example of comics’ potential as an educational tool. With any luck, we can all read more about the life and research of Harry Harlow at our local libraries.

Darwyn Cooke’s Batman-themed collection, Ego and Other Tails, was my latest New York Public Library borrowing. I’m not super-familiar with Cooke’s work, having previously read only his Catwoman book (included in this collection of material) and Spirit stories (quite good in the beginning, got a little too serious and graphic toward the end and lacked the humor Eisner infused the strip with), but I’ve been feeling like a superheroic flight of fancy lately, and Cooke’s earned some more pages. Plus, I’m always curious to see what books lurk in the library to hook impressionable readers.

Well, the bulk of this collection is still Cooke’s Catwoman graphic novel, Selina’s Big Score. When I first read it years ago, I thought it was just okay. Well done and something you don’t see in superhero comics, but maybe a little too derivative of just about any caper film. Rereading it now, I find myself liking it much more than I remember. The dialogue is sharp, the character designs strong, the storytelling precise – except during the actual train robbery, when the pacing is deliberately cranked up and things pop across the page as quickly as possible, making the pages a little jumbly, but effectively so. It’s easily the highlight of Ego and Other Tails.

The other yarns, including the titular Batman: Ego, are solidly crafted, but rarely anything special. Ego has a nice conceit, Batman vs. Bruce Wayne in a mental showdown over a particular botched case, but the psychological issues don’t feel entirely compelling. The outcome is too easy and obvious. Still, it looks nice, and it was Cooke’s first comics work.

Four short stories round out the set: two black and whites, one drawn by Cooke with Paul Grist writing, one written by Cooke with Bill Wray drawing. The Wray story is funnier, with a goofy sense of humor and a nice bigfoot cartoon style. The Grist story is stylish, a snippet of a chase and capture, made enjoyable mostly by Cooke’s great artwork and ink washes. “Date Knight,” a Cooke and Tim Sale collaboration, is a Batman/Catwoman lark, a twist on courting ritual by way of a superhero rooftop chase, quite fun, and the finale is another Cooke Solo tale, with Batman showing up a couple supporting players from Selina’s Big Score early on in their careers.

Batman: Ego and Other Tails is a solid collection of material, a nice showcase for Cooke’s talents and a nice package for readers to discover in their local library.

Over the last few years, Norwegian cartoonist Jason has developed quite a following, but due to the combination of little time, fewer dollars and lots of other intriguing comics, Jason’s work has continued to escape my experience. Thankfully, with the assistance of the New York Public Library, I’ve finally been able to rectify my oversight of Jason’s work, by taking his delightful I Killed Adolf Hitler out.

The plot is perfect in its simplicity: a paid killer travels back in time to assassinate Adolf Hitler, fails the job, and Hitler returns to the future. And somehow, it all ends up as a love story.

Jason delivers the entire story with a totally straight face, which suits the dead-pan comic timing nicely. There’s a killer and his girl and their awkward conversations, a time machine that needs 50 years to charge for a single trip, and just enough gun play to keep things spicy. The clean eight-panel grid pages keep the storytelling focused on the narrative, and the elegantly anthropomorphic character designs underline the subtle absurdity of the plot.

I Killed Adolf Hitler is a fun, silly and slightly creepy comic, a love story wrapped around a time travel paradox, dressed up with gun fighting.  In short, it’s a perfect comic book, and I’m very happy that I can find more work by Jason at my local library.  Hopefully you can too.

Jim Ottaviani has carved a nice niche for himself in the niche-ridden comics industry. Working with talented artists such as Zander and Kevin Cannon, Anne Timmons and Bernie Mireault (among others), Ottaviani has been writing science-based comics for nearly ten years now. I’ve requested several that I’ve yet to read from the New York Public Library, and the first title to be fulfilled was Ottaviani’s biography of Danish physicist Niels Bohr and his role in the development of the atomic bomb. Titled Suspended in Language: Niels Bohr’s Life, Discoveries, and the Century He Shaped, the book is a detailed walk-through of Bohr’s atomic discoveries and a revealing look at the philosophies and politics that later drove the man when his research led to the deadliest weapon in the world.

Suspended in Language manages to be both more interesting and more impenetrable than other Ottaviani books I’ve read. Bohr’s research and theories could, I felt, be presented a little more clearly, reinforced more often and, perhaps, possibly, illustrated in more representational terms. Overall, as a non-scientist, I found the theories often too technical and abstract to comprehend. Ottaviani does, despite allowing my eyes to glaze over occasionally, try to reinforce several key elements that come back to play a role in the ongoing physics revolution of the time, particularly the theories that play key roles in the development of weapons during World War II. He wasn’t as successful as I’d have liked, but there was an effort made to accommodate readers who simply don’t grasp the full implications of the principle of complementarity.

Leland Purvis provides the illustrations, and he does a good job keeping all the scientists physically unique. Sure, Albert Einstein is a cartoonist’s dream, but Werner Heisenberg and Otto Frisch probably don’t inspire the same type of caricature. Fortunately, Purvis is up to the challenge. Purvis also switches the camera angle frequently, keeping the scientific debates lively and engaging, and he mixes in mathematical and chemical formulae throughout the pages to accentuate the discourse and provide visual variety. The lively, loose line work also gives plenty of life to the pages.

So, overall, it can be a little tedious at time if you’re not scientifically inclined, but Ottaviani’s telling an important story here. Beyond the scientific value of Niels Bohr’s discoveries and theories, his role in unlocking the atom and attempts at influencing the policies of FDR and Churchill throughout the 1940s and 50s makes Bohr one of the most influential men of the past hundred years. It’s very fortunate that readers can learn about these social and scientific break-throughs in engaging, smartly written and well-drawn books like Jim Ottaviani and Leland Purvis’s Suspended in Language, which you can hopefully find in your local library.

The library is a great place for readers to discover comics, and it’s a great place for comics readers to check out things that they want to try without spending their hard-earned cash. I’m looking at comics that I find in the New York Public Library system.

First, my apologies of the feature’s absence in recent weeks.  The book I was reading is an absolute brick, and it took some time to get through it all.  So here we go:

Harold Gray’s Little Orphan Annie is one of the most recognized names in pop culture, and this brick of a book that IDW and the Library of American Comics published collects the origins of that iconic kid. The saga begins with Annie living at the “home,” accepting heaps of disrespect and scorn from the nasty headmistress, Miss Asthma. However, she’s taken in as a charity case by Mrs. Warbucks, who only sees helping Annie as a social maneuver, and then Annie’s life becomes one unending adventure.

Annie finds herself in the care of “Daddy” Warbucks, a two-fisted tycoon (who apparently made his money as a weapons manufacturer during World War I and frequently hires a cast of suspicious thugs when he needs extra muscle to get Annie out of trouble!) for some time, before Mrs. Warbucks ships her back to the “home.” She’s farmed out as hired help, escapes to live on a farm for a short while, joins a circus, spends time as a hobo, and helps a small town banker thwart a band of thieves. Through it all, Annie’s upbeat nature inspires friends and her relentless curiosity and determination thwarts criminals and wrong-doers.

The strip is very well drawn, with big open eyes that draw readers in, and a lively line that pushes the excitable manner of its protagonist. The stories occasionally seem half-considered (see the random conclusion of Annie’s circus life), but are mostly solidly plotted and come to reasonable and satisfying denouements. If the strips do occasionally bog down in repetition, you’ll rarely find it in the perils Annie faces. It’s during the good times that readers are likely to find their attention wandering, as Annie or “Daddy” wool-gather about each other’s many wonderful attributes or how keeping your chin up will carry you through life’s hardships.

Little Orphan Annie is one of the most popular newspaper strips in comics history, and Harold Gray deserves nearly every plaudit awarded to him.  The strip is fast and fun, adventurous and full of heart.  It’s well drawn and only occasionally too saccharine.  And best of all, you can find these historically and creatively important comics in your local library.

The library is a great place for readers to discover comics, and it’s a great place for comics readers to check out things that they want to try without spending their hard-earned cash. I’m looking at comics that I find in the New York Public Library system.

Disaster and Resistance is important comics. I enjoy a fun, escapist adventure as much as anybody, but I also feel that as a human being, it’s my responsibility to pay attention to what’s going on in the world. Given my general lack of interest in most typical political discourse, smartly written and well drawn comics are a welcome option. Disaster and Resistance collect comics created by Seth Tobocman over the past several years, with a particular focus on the plight of the disenfranchised “slum” denizens in the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. He also visits Israel to gain firsthand knowledge of the living conditions faced by Palestinians and

Tobocman’s a good reporter, often illustrating people he’s met in headline-grabbing locales, and using their own words to explore the problems that they face from their own perspectives. If he has a failing, it’s what I think of as Michael Moore-ism. Even when you agree with Tobocman, he sometimes paints those he disagrees with (the Right, Corporations) as cartoonishly nasty caricatures, dismissing others’ perspectives as maliciously evil rather than looking into some of the greyer nuances between two polar positions. He spends a great deal of time examining perspectives of former New Orleans slum residents, however, exhibiting a far greater deal of care.

A powerful illustrator, Tobocman uses black & white, woodcut-style pages for many stories, but also mixes in full-color painted sequences. Each style suits the mood and temperament of the narrative unfolding, and his ability to capture abstract ideas in physical form is admirable.

A great looking comic that’s smart and examines the causes of disenfranchised and lost citizens of the world, Disaster and Resistance is a comic that we should all read. Even when you disagree with him, Seth Tobocman makes some great point and he’s trying to let you know about important people who are facing terrible circumstances. It’s good to know that we have cartoonists like this out there, alerting us to what’s going on, and that we can find their work in the local library.

The library is a great place for readers to discover comics, and it’s a great place for comics readers to check out things that they want to try without spending their hard-earned cash. I’m looking at comics that I find in the New York Public Library system.

Umbrella Academy: Apocalypse Suite is a collaboration between writer Gerard Way and artist Gabriel Ba. Apparently, it’s a big deal that Way, who has a rock and roll band, has written a comic. I must admit, I’ve heard not even a note of Mr. Way’s band; the praise heaped on his comic, however, did catch my attention and I figured I should check it out.

And I’m glad I did; this Way kid has some pretty serious comic book chops. Apocalypse Suite introduces seven children who are born under exceptional circumstances, with unusual powers. A scientist adopts them all and raises them to be the world’s saviors against a threat that he considers imminent. Decades later, the threat has never manifested, “dad”’s passed away, the public seems to dismiss the group, and the “siblings” are fractured and mostly incommunicative.

The character stuff is all pretty obvious if you’ve read a few superhero comics. The bad boy and the square-jaw constantly needle one another, yet learn respect before it’s all done. The one who seems most harmless is, of course, the most dangerous. Umbrella Academy is a heavily plot-driven comic, and fortunately, Way’s dialogue is sharp enough to keep the characters engaging if unsurprising throughout the wild, twisted ride that he’s set them on.

Ba’s strong art carries across all of Way’s great ideas – an orchestra whose oeuvre will destroy the Earth, the hero’s moon base, the outlandish villains, the striking character designs. Each issue is a fast-moving lark, an upbeat, humorous rollercoaster ride of sci-fi dizziness. Way’s not recreating the superhero genre: he’s just having an exceptionally good time with it, and so will you if you come across Umbrella Academy: Apocalypse Suite at your local library.

The library is a great place for readers to discover comics, and it’s a great place for comics readers to check out things that they want to try without spending their hard-earned cash. I’m looking at comics that I find in the New York Public Library system.

There’s always some creative person whose work you want to experience, a filmmaker, a novelist, or a cartoonist. It’s been on my agenda for a while now, but I finally uncovered a book of Spain Rodriguez’s from the library, and it happens to be a biography of t-shirt icon Ernesto “Che” Guevara.

As a biography, Che isn’t exactly unbiased. Spain’s clear affection for the man and his accomplishments are on the forefront of every single page, with barely even a passing mention of any controversies that Che was embroiled in during his time. Readers coming to it should certainly bear that in mind – Che is a celebration of a man’s accomplishments, not a rounded biography.

In that context, it’s quite effective. Spain’s clearly done his research, and he touches on all of Che’s major life moments, with particular time spent on the Cuban revolution and Che’s time in Africa. Artistically, it’s a very strong piece, with strong likenesses and precise panel-to-panel storytelling. He’s very adept at massaging sequences out to their natural climax, and he explores many facets of Che’s accomplishments in considerable detail.

Spain Rodriguez is one of the classic artists of the comix underground movement, and Che Guevara is one of the most influential counter-culture figures of the past century.  It seems fitting that one chronicle the life of the other, and under Spain’s careful pacing and attention to detail, Che is a worthwhile, if biased, ode from one legend to another, and you can hopefully find it in your local library.

The library is a great place for readers to discover comics, and it’s a great place for comics readers to check out things that they want to try without spending their hard-earned cash. I’m looking at comics that I find in the New York Public Library system.

Batman: Going Sane collects two separate storylines that appeared in the anthology series Legends of the Dark Knight, a pseudo-continuity comic series that allowed creators to play around in the Batman mythos without burdening them with the day-to-day restrictions of the DC Universe. The title arc, “Going Sane,” was written by J.M. DeMatteis, noted for his psychological storytelling, and penciled by Joe Staton. The second, shorter story features the words of From Hell and Fate of the Artist author Eddie Campbell and his co-writer Daren White, with art by Bart Sears.

“Going Sane” has a elegantly simple plot: the Joker believes that he’s killed Batman, so what’s left for him without his muse? Turns out that without a focus for his insane plots, the Joker opts to go sane. A day job, a fiancée, and a love of old movies keep him satisfied, despite those terrible nightmares that plague his sleep. Meanwhile, Batman, who fears that he’s losing his sanity as part of his ongoing battle against crime, recovers from the Joker’s assault in an idyllic upstate location, tended to be a lovely young female doctor. It’s an interesting idea, a touch over-written by today’s standards, but DeMatteis does a good job exploring the differing psyches of the two characters, particularly via their relations with the women they each share their time with. Staton’s art isn’t one of the story’s highlights, unfortunately, as his storytelling is difficult in places and the characters inconsistent from panel to panel.

Campbell and White’s script is entirely from the point of view of a young doctor working her first shift in the emergency ward, as the hospital gets far more than expected. The Joker’s planted three bombs throughout Gotham. The first one sends dozens to the ER, overwhelming the staff, testing the young doctor’s resolve. Batman defuses the second explosive, but during the battle, the Joker’s exposed to his own nerve toxin. Thus, Batman comes to the ER searching for an antidote so that he can learn the location of the third. Campbell and White do a fine job capturing the pace and technicals of the emergency room setting, and there’s a nice bit of detective work by Batman in deducing the third bomb’s location. It’s a bit predictable, but solidly entertaining.

Nothing in Batman: Going Sane is worth going out of your way for, but if you want a solid psychological Batman yarn, it’s worth a look if you can find it in your local library.

The library is a great place for readers to discover comics, and it’s a great place for comics readers to check out things that they want to try without spending their hard-earned cash. I’m looking at comics that I find in the New York Public Library system.

If you’ve read Mark Schultz’s comics (and you should), anything from his own creator-owned series Xenozoic Tales to his DC superhero work on Superman: The Man of Steel, you won’t be surprised to find out that Schultz is interested in scientific endeavors. Artists Zander Cannon and Kevin Cannon (who are not related, I am assured) have twice now collaborated with true-life science-driven comics writer Jim Ottaviani, on the paleontological Cowboys, Bone Sharps and Thunder Lizards (for which Schultz illustrated the book cover) and the outward-looking T-Minus: The Race to the Moon.

So perhaps it should be no surprise to find Schultz and the Cannons working together on The Stuff of Life. The Stuff of Life is exactly what its subtitle claims, a guide to the cellular workings of DNA and RNA, with particular attention paid to the knowledge that we’ve gained as a result of our study of the human genome. Schultz tackles genetic disorders, heredity, recombinant DNA technology and cloning, and he does it all in an orderly, clear manner. The Stuff of Life is wrapped around a framing device of an alien reporting his discoveries of human DNA to his superior, as the cute little asexual aliens are facing a genetic malady of their own and need to learn how others species have learned to deal with similar crises. It’s a great technique, since the alien ruler is able to ask questions and repeat information in a way that enforces the researcher’s lessons. Also, the Cannons make the little alien critters adorable, so kids coming into this will want to see what happens to them. Similarly, the Cannons do a great job finding visual means to depict the cellular processes that Schultz describes, using diagrams, anthropomorphic cells and organelles, and easy-to-grasp cartoons to support the hard data Schultz provides.

Heavy on scientific jargon, the script is sometimes difficult going, particularly in the first chapter when Schultz breaks down cellular life and spends pages upon pages elucidating cellular reproduction and the myriad enzymes that enable cells and DNA to replicate. Less patient readers may be tempted to surrender during the early going, but Schultz does pull back on the technical aspects after the initial groundwork’s been laid, then discussing the scientists who’ve unlocked the puzzle of our DNA and the practical applications of this important information.

The Stuff of Life is essentially a science book in comics form, which makes it incredibly valuable to young scientists and those who’d like to know more about the practical benefits of scientific research into stem cells and cloning technologies. The information can be slightly overwhelming at times, but it is presented clearly and the important biological groundwork is laid early so that readers can understand exactly how this research can benefit humankind. After all, the alien Squinch race in Schultz and the Cannons’ book is facing a dilemma due to their failure to understand their DNA. How can we fail to use our knowledge as best as we can, particularly when you can find great comics like The Stuff of Life at your local library.

The library is a great place for readers to discover comics, and it’s a great place for comics readers to check out things that they want to try without spending their hard-earned cash. I’m looking at comics that I find in the New York Public Library system.

Kim Deitch is one of my favorite cartoonists, authoring strips that harken back to my childhood perspectives on the world (if my childhood outlook had more drugs and sex, that is). So much of his work explores the strange underside of pop culture, surprising familial connections, the borderlands of reality and the delight of sideshow freakdom, so of course when I learned that his father, a renowned animator, had created his own short-lived comic strip in the 50s and that Fantagraphics had collected the strip into one handy volume, I had to track it down.

The Real-Great Adventures of Terr’ble Thompson is really the precursor to much of the “kids and their imaginations” entertainment that cropped up, typified during my childhood by Muppet Babies. Thaddeus “Terr’ble” Thompson is the hero of history, called on by George Washington, Cleopatra and Christopher Columbus to right their problems when nasty old Mean Morgan tries to deter their historically documented triumphs. Through Terr’ble’s youthful perspective, Deitch plays with upbeat, surprising twists, such as Cleopatra’s father, the Pharaoh, turning into a tree because Mean Morgan put tree seeds in his food.  The strips may not be Earth-shaking, but the playful fun is hard to deny, as Deitch’s upbeat mangling of the English language and silly twists will keep readers of many ages entertained.

But like his son Kim’s work, Gene’s comic has a strange, and darker, undercurrent. You see, Terr’ble runs off repeatedly to save history, but his parents never meet his legendary friends and the kids in school just laugh when he tells his stories. Deitch never really answers the question, are all of Terr’ble’s real-great adventures only in his mind? It’s really up to the whimsy and imagination of the reader, but Deitch plays effectively with the balance between Terr’ble Thompson, hero of history, versus Thaddeus Thompson, eight-year-old neighborhood kid with too few friends.

Even if the story weren’t engaging and whimsical, Deitch’s surrender of the strip for a more lucrative and high profile animation job was a loss for cartooning. His lines are crisp and lively, open and warm. Very spare in detail, Deitch’s panels focus on the characters and their slightly skewed, one might say “childish”, anatomy that fits perfectly with Terr’ble’s view of the universe. During the course of the strip’s six-month run, Deitch seemed to grow more confident in the layout and pacing of the daily strip format, and it would’ve been a treat to see what more he could’ve done as a cartoonist.

If you come across any work by the Deitch family, Gene, Kim, Simon or Seth, in your local library, you really should make it a point to explore the worlds they’ve created.  Apparently, it all starts with good genes, and Gene Deitch’s The Real-Great Adventures of Terr’ble Thompson is the proof in the pudding.

The library is a great place for readers to discover comics, and it’s a great place for comics readers to check out things that they want to try without spending their hard-earned cash. I’m looking at comics that I find in the New York Public Library system.

French cartoonists Philippe Dupuy and Charles Berberian have spent many, many years chronicling the adventures of Monsieur Jean, a thirty-ish year old writer coping with bachelorhood, mooching friend and past-tense deadlines. Get a Life is a hardcover collection of the earliest Monsieur Jean comics translated into English by Canadian publisher Drawn & Quarterly.

It’s easy to see why Monsieur Jean has been a long-running favorite comic in France. Dupuy and Berberian have a stunning collaboration, full of understated life observations and wry, sardonic humor. Jean’s exotic internal life, filled with castles and dreams of very angry felines, contrasts the simple day-to-day of his waking mind, adding silliness and liveliness, but it’s Jean’s cabal of oddball friends, would-be girlfriends, parents and neighbors that manage to just about remind you of people you’ve met. It’s an impressive performance that showcases the everyday victories and defeats of a fairly ordinary guy.

If readers come across Get a Life at their local library, I’d encourage them to check it out. It may not be a favorite of all readers, but everybody will appreciate the quality of the craft involved, and I suspect that most will identify with many of Monsier’s Jean’s foibles during the course of his battles to keep up at work and in life.