It Came From the NYPL

Alan Moore’s Complete WildC.A.T.S
Written by Alan Moore

Penciled by Travis Charest, Kevin Maguire, Ryan Benjamin, Jason Johnson, Dave Johnson, Kevin Nowlan, Scott Clark, Aron Wiesenfeld, Jim Lee, Josh Wiesenfeld, Mat Broome, Pat Lee & Rob Stotz
Inked by Troy Hubbs, Randy Elliott, Sal Regla, Trevor Scott, Scott Williams, Art Thibert, Terry Austin, Hakjoon Kang, Andy Owens, Harry Thuran, Tom McWeeney, John Nyberg, JD, Bob Wiacek, Dexter Vines, Richard Friend, Mark Irwin, Luke Rizzo, Sandra Hope, John Tighe, Richard Bennett, Jason Gorder & Scott Taylor
Colored by Wildstorm FX, Bad@$$ & Alex Sinclair
Lettered by Bill O’Neil & Comicraft
Cover art by Charest
Published by DC/Wildstorm

A while back, I borrowed Wild Worlds, a collection of Alan Moore-written odds-n’-ends set in the Wildstorm universe, from the library, and it was a mostly terrible reading experience. Eventually, despite Wild Worlds, I decided to borrow the other major collection of Alan’s Wildstorm tenure – his slightly-over-a-year long turn on Jim Lee’s WildC.A.T.S series.

Reading the stories, I’m couldn’t help but think … — so y’all know I’m a big Neil Young fan, right? These books – Wild Worlds and Complete WildC.A.T.S – remind me of Neil’s early and mid-1980s output: amazing artist, really terrible work.

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It Came From the NYPL

Grandville
Written & Illustrated by Bryan Talbot
Published by Dark Horse

Bryan Talbot’s one of my favorite cartoonists. Even if Alice in Sunderland wasn’t one of the five greatest comics of all time, the mind-bending Luther Arkwright books or the hippie-dippie fun of Chester Hackenbush would place Talbot high on my personal favorites list.  Grandville, his steampunk, “scientific-romance thriller” from 2009, didn’t really grab my attention, however. I wanted to read it; it’s Talbot after all, but the genre elements didn’t really appeal to me. That steampunk thing just isn’t my bag. So I kept checking the library and finally (and I mean finally, I’ve been checking regularly), the library got it in stock and I borrowed it.

It’s pretty much the perfect library book. Grandville‘s fun, a whole lot of it. Anthropomorphized animals, a stylized steampunk Europe setting, fast action, a few good plot twists and plenty of danger make it a worthwhile thriller. Talbot’s always been a terrific artist, and his expanding mastery of modern coloring only enhances the speed and tension of his line work during the book’s many chase sequences, fistfights and gun battles.

The plot’s not exactly wholly original – and it’s an entirely plot-driven book – but Talbot adds a few wrinkles to keep it interesting. In short, Grandville‘s the perfect library book – a rock-solid adventure by a favorite cartoonist, but one that I probably won’t want to revisit frequently. If steampunk-based, government-murder conspiracy thrillers are your thing, this book’s among the best of its ilk. And even if it’s not, Grandville‘s a really well crafted comic and recommended. If you’re lucky, you can find it in your local library and find out for yourself if it’s a keeper or a borrower – either way, it’s worth the time.

It Came From the NYPL

King: King of Comics
Written by Mark Evanier
Published by Abrams

Jack Kirby is, of course, the most important and influential artist in comic book history. He, along with a few contemporaries, created the visual language of the comic book page; the sheer volume of his pages boggles any imagination; and he’s created, co-created, or radically reimagined about two-thirds of the commercially viable characters (even Superman’s carried the influence of those Jimmy Olsen stories for a long, long while) to appear in superhero comics over the past forty years.

So clearly, the world really needs a proper biography of the life of a man who did more for comic books than anybody else. Fortunately, Mark Evanier is available for the job. Kirby: King of Comics, which I recently borrowed from the New York Public Library, does a wonderful job introducing readers to Jack Kirby, the man. We’ve known his work, but most of us have never had the opportunity to meet the person.

Evanier’s biography is a loving effort, with the author’s affection for Jack apparent on every single page. Insight into Kirby’s work ethic, motivated by his need to provide for his family, comes through clearly, as does Kirby’s enthusiasm for telling stories and the comic book medium. When it comes to Kirby’s battles for recognition – monetary and public – Evanier takes the high road, avoiding most blame. Martin Goodman, Jack Schiff and the money people are the clear villains of Kirby’s life. Many of the industry-based anecdotes have been heard before, but the book is largely about Jack as a man, how he struggles on, always bringing home that paycheck for his family.

An oversized hardcover, King: King of Comics provides readers with hundreds of pages of artwork and illustrations. The book’s dimensions showcase the drawings beautifully, allowing the detail and power to really come across. It’s a very attractive book, complementing Evanier’s affectionate tribute.

Kirby: King of Comics isn’t quite essential – it’s too reverent, but it’s a loving tribute to the most important creator in comics history. Mark Evanier’s done a fine job illuminating the man behind the creations, providing readers with a book well worth owning, or at least worth a visit to your local library.

It Came From the NYPL

Cross Game v. 2
Written & Illustrated by Mitsuru Adachi
Translated by Lillian Olsen
Lettering and touch-up by Jim Keefe & Mark McMurray
Published by Viz

In Cross Game v. 2, Mitsuru Adachi spends 280 of 350 pages chronicling a single baseball game. If you’re a baseball geek like me, it’s pure heaven.

The series’ overall arc, continuing from the first book, continues to revolve around high schooler Ko Kitamura developing into a baseball phenom, while his adversarial-cum-burgeoning-respect relationship with Aoba Tsukishima slowly evolves from childhood tensions into something more mature.

And, yeah, the emotional core of the series, Ko and Aoba’s relationship, is present in this book, but ultimately, v. 2 of Cross Game is devoted to Adachi’s astonishing ability to capture the magical moments of a baseball game on a comic book page. Using motion lines, severe angles, close-ups, quiet open panels of baseballs suspended in space, and angular poses that capture the contortions of charging fielders and off-balance throws, Adachi visually described the poetry of sports in static imagery.

Cross Game is, for this baseball fan anyway, a beautiful comic series; one I’ll probably begin buying before vol. 3 arrives in the U.S. But it’s great to know that I can continue to discover great series like this at my library; hopefully you’re all discovering similarly wonderful series at your branch.

It Came From the NYPL

American Splendor: Unsung Hero: The Story of Robert McNeill
Written by Harvey Pekar
Illustrated by David Collier
Published by Dark Horse Comics

This book is one of Pekar’s lesser known, but more affecting, efforts. Robert McNeil enlisted in the U.S. Marines in 1969 at the age of seventeen, and only one birthday later was shipped off for a year-long tour of duty in Vietnam.  In Unsung Hero, Pekar shares McNeil’s story with us, from a brief walkthrough of his childhood and scholastic career, into basic training, and ultimately through his military duty during which he won Navy Commendation Medal with Combat.

Pekar narrates the book from McNeil’s perspective, as if the reader is sitting down and listening to McNeil tell his tale. Occasional panels of McNeil as he appeared when the book saw print, 2003, enforce the casual sit-down nature of the writing. McNeil’s tale is very powerful, focusing on the conflicts between his own self-preservation and his desire to not fail his comrades. Threads of drug use and McNeil’s role in a collective of black soldiers weave through the saga, adding palpable humanity.

The artwork, sketchy but effective, enforces the narrative, but rarely adds much depth to it. The text, McNeil’s memories and insights, could almost stand alone. David Collier, however, does enhance the humanity of each moment with his impressionistic style and focus on capturing the emotional experience of McNeil.

Harvey Pekar may no longer be with us, but he’s left behind a deep body of writing, many of which we may have overlooked. I had missed out on American Splendor: Unsung Hero: The Story of Robert McNeil, and fortunately, the library helped me fill in that oversight. Hopefully your library can help you discover works by your favorite authors that you haven’t read.

It Came From the NYPL

Chew v. 1: Taster’s Choice
Written & Lettered by John Layman
Illustrated by Rob Guillory
Published by Image Comics

In discussing a previous Fables collection, I talked briefly about one of the many ways in which my preferences fly in the face of common comic fandom’s. Namely, comic fans at large tend to prefer ongoing serials, years of history, long-term commitments. My inclination is toward self-contained books or only-brief serials. Reading Chew v. 1: Taster’s Choice (the pun, I feel, would work better if the series’ hero made more choices) I was, again, reminded of this division between fandom and myself.

I liked Chew. It’s bizarre and strange, and not quite funny, but amusing in its own black-humored way. It’s hero, Tony Chu, is cibopathic, meaning that he gets psychic impressions from any food that he eats – and after being pulled into the FDA (a powerful organization in Chew’s world, where bird flu led to chickens being illegal and food crimes are the norm), his ability is frequently put to use by … how to put this delicately … getting clues to crimes through cannibalism.

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It Came From the NYPL

The Man in the Ceiling
Written & Illustrated by Jules Feiffer
Published by HarperCollins

Having recently read Jules Feiffer’s strong memoir Backing into Forward, I felt compelled to sample some of Feiffer’s children’s book output. His glowing regard for the form makes it nearly impossible to ignore the them, particularly given my high regard for his cartooning. So I checked The Man in the Ceiling out of the library, and it’s well worth it. It’s enjoyable for adults, and if you have younger children, I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Jimmy can’t throw or catch or hit a baseball; he’s basically a failure as boy. However, he’s a fantastic artist and dreams of becoming a famous cartoonist (the theme should be familiar if you’ve read Feiffer’s memoir). His uncle is a failure as a playwright, but finds success suddenly on his doorstep. And the only popular boy who notices Jimmy likes his drawings, but has “better” ideas about comic book stories. Mix an emotionally distant father learning to express himself, an artist mother who designs women’s fashions, a bossy older sister who encourages Jimmy’s artwork, and an adoring younger sister who pesters Jimmy to no end, and you have the framework of The Man in the Ceiling.

Feiffer’s engaging and fun prose possesses plenty of wordplay humor to keep adults reading to their children engaged, while the story itself explores the terrible heartache of creativity and failed creative ventures. Regular illustrations, both of the characters themselves and of Jimmy’s comic books, spice up the proceedings, adding humor and humanity. Through all the heartache of Jimmy and his uncle’s struggles, Feiffer uses dollops of humor to keep the book upbeat and pleasant. And while the subject of dreams lost and dreams compromised runs throughout, The Man in the Ceiling excels through Feiffer’s strong interpersonal dynamics, weaving a deeper understanding of all the book’s themes by exploring the complex connections between Jimmy and his family.

If I had young children, no doubt this book would be purchased and add to my library. For now, however, I’m glad I can explore the many creative avenues of talents like Jules Feiffer by finding excellent books like The Man in the Ceiling at my library. Hopefully you can find it at yours.

Air v.2: Flying Machine
Written by G. Willow Wilson
Illustrated by M.K. Perkar
Colored by Chris Chuckry
Lettered by Jared K. Fletcher
Published by DC/Vertigo

After it was recommended to me, I went to the library to check out the series Air, about an acrophobic airline stewardess who gets caught up in a massive conspiracy.  Vol. 1 wasn’t available, so I went straight into vol. 2, which was maybe not the best idea.  There’s clearly some groundwork that I was missing when reading this book, but it was still mostly entertaining and worth a look.

Flying Machine collects issues six through ten of the serial, and finds our heroine Blythe allied with a still-adventuring Amelia Earhart.  After Earhart’s history unfolds, much of the plot revolves around a mysterious ability called Hyperpraxis, an ability at which Blythe is naturally gifted, which allows the bending and folding of physical space.  A country called Narimar, which may or may not exist, comes into play, and Blythe’s love for a mysterious young man named Zayn underlines her every action.

G. Willow Wilson sets up a pretty compelling conspiracy, played with a supernatural bent, and she teases out new information at a good pace.  Conspiracies too often suffer from giving no consequential data, leaving the reader to feel like the mystery won’t ever actually pay off.  X-Files and 100 Bullets, I’m thinking of you.  In Air, Wilson feeds out more clues and more solid discoveries, yet keeps opening new doors to keep readers enticed.

Blythe’s character is hard to read from this one volume.  The plot drives much of the book, leaving her attraction to Zayn unclear, and the concept of the naturally gifted adept is well-trod territory.  The conspiracy plays out nicely, but there’s not quite enough here to see if Wilson has anything new to say about the concept of the concept of the adept.

Solidly unremarkably, M.K. Perkar’s artwork carry Wilson’s story effectively, despite occasionally inconsistent illustrations and sometimes choppy pacing.  Silent reaction panels often carry too much weight, giving a herky-jerky effect to many pages.  Perkar, however, carries readers outside conventional reality convincingly, showing readers the edge of reality and the gridlines beneath our universe in a creative manner.

A few people, in mentioning this series to me, have compared it to the television series Lost.  For me, it’s a wasted analogy; I’ve never seen Lost (take it for what you will, most of you probably have seen it), but Air is a compelling supernatural conspiracy saga.  It’s not really my bag, personally (which is to say, I’d probably enjoy it over a single-volume, but might not have the interest to follow it for several years), but there is no doubt that Air v.2: Flying Machine is put together in a mostly dramatic manner and is a worth a look for fans of supernatural mystery.

Secret Identity: The Fetish Art of Superman’s co-Creator Joe Shuster
Edited & Written by Craig Yoe
Illustrations by Joe Shuster
Published by Abrams

In 1938, Joe Shuster and his friend and colleague Jerry Siegel sold their idea, a muscular alien in a blue leotard who fought crime, to National Periodicals for $130.  The boys, barely out of their teens and from depression-ravaged families, received one hundred thirty dollars.  For Superman, a character that netted National billions (and counting).

When the boys’ ten-year contract with National ended in 1948, they sued to regain control of their character, and they lost.  To exacerbate the lost suit, Siegel and Shuster became essentially persona non grata at their former home.  Siegel went to various publishers, hoping to duplicate his success, never quite doing so, but always managing to find paying work.  Shuster, with failing eyes that limited his artistry and ability to turn work around quickly, found surviving in his post-Superman life more difficult.

I explain all this only as background.  Certainly we can debate the merits of their signed contract against the loosey-goosey laws protecting creators in that era ad nauseum, but that’s not really the point here.  I have my feelings on the matter; likely you do too. We’re actually here to discuss a recently uncovered project that Shuster worked on in the mid-1950s to keep bread on his table.

Nights of Horror was a pulp publication, grade-Z erotica with a bondage and sadism bent, limited to only a few thousand copies printed locally in New York City and distributed through the seedy shops of Times Square.  Editor and explorer of the most bizarre crannies of comics history Craig Yoe discovered a copy of Nights of Horror and, stunned, recognized the artwork of Joe Shuster in it.  From there, he found an erotica collector (and college professor) with a complete run and verified that yes, the entire run of Nights of Horror featured Shuster’s illustrations accompanying the overwrought, plum-purple gasps of sexual violence.

Half of Secret Identity is devoted to chronicling Shuster’s story and the history of Nights of Horror.  Yoe presents incredibly compelling testimony tying Nights of Horror to mafia publishers, and a series of attacks and murders committed by unbalanced teens in Brooklyn.  In the paranoid, Red Scare-ified 50s, the scandal led to state House hearings.  Somehow, Joe Shuster slipped through the hoopla, probably relieved to remain anonymous, and his role in the publications has only come to light now.  It’s fascinating information, well presented and well documented.  Unfortunately, it veers away from Shuster and gives very few details about his later life, but his role in the scandal that built to the eventual Comics Code Authority makes for a riveting read.

The latter portion of Secret Identity finds a very, very brief overview of each issue’s stories, followed by reproductions of each of Shuster’s illustrations.  Personally, I’ve always loved Shuster’s artwork; he remains to this day my favorite Superman illustrator.  The figures are stiff and somewhat crude, but energetic, and nobody puts bolder lines on a page than Shuster did.  Shuster channels a Chester Gould-type minimalism, blocky figures, exaggeratedly curved women.  Coming from the exploitative arena of superheroes, his style adapts very well to the violent sexuality of Nights of Horror.

There’s no way to know what Shuster thought of this work – it was probably just a much needed paycheck – but even with his failing eyes, he clearly gave each page his best effort.  Secret Identity: The Fetish Art of Superman’s co-Creator Joe Shuster might be a book that Shuster never wanted the world to see, but it has a compelling narrative reconstructed by Yoe, great artwork from Shuster, and it’s an important document about how the comics industry has turned its back on its founders.

If you can find a copy of your local library, I strong encourage checking it out.

Scrublands
Written & Illustrated by Joe Daly
Published by Fantagaphics

Here’s another really nice thing about libraries: not only do they save you cash, not only do they prevent you from taking up huge amounts of your precious shelf space, but they’re also the best option going when you really want to sample something but aren’t quite sure about investing in it.

Many people have talked up Joe Daly’s The Red Monkey Double Happiness Book to me, and I’ve been wanting to check it out. Alas, the New York Public Library does not, to date, possess a copy. The library does carry a previous collection of Daly’s work, a 128-page compilation of various odds and ends, published by Fantagraphics in 2006. This book is titled Scrublands.

It didn’t really work for me. Having no real clue what to expect, I found Scrublands a mixed bag of unconnected strips. Ranging from three panels to forty pages, Daly certainly gives himself plenty of freedom to explore his material as he sees fit. If the material were better, it would be a more admirable quality.

The jokes don’t have any zing to them. Peculiar and surreal events occur, but don’t seem to provide any meaning beyond their oddness. The long, dreamy ramble “Prebaby,” which takes up nearly half the pages in the book, never coalesces into anything. Other strips skip right past funny and charge full-on into meanness when tearing down religious beliefs. Being an easy target only makes the joke harder to find.

And still, so many people have dug on The Red Monkey Double Happiness Book, I still want to read it.  Quite a bit actually.  Plenty of men and women have started creative careers with misfires after all.  If I’d liked Scrublands, I’d probably buy Red Monkey.  As it stands, I guess I’ll hold out for the library to obtain a copy.  File this review away for later, because I’m still anticipating another encounter with Joe Daly’s work.

My latest borrowing from the New York Public Library:

Tiger! Tiger! Tiger!
Written & Illustrated by Scott Morse
Published by AdHouse Books

I find myself wondering if the title of this book borrows from Kipling’s “Tiger! Tiger!,” though the tiger in Morse’s book comes through in significantly better health than Mowgli’s foe. Providing a philosophy on life does tie both stories together, however. Morse’s tiger, looking very similar to the protagonist of his Southpaw book, is actually Morse himself.

Taking the outward form of a children’s book with large dimensions, a sturdy hardcover and colorful pages, Tiger! Tiger! Tiger! provides a window into the inspirations for Morse’s own comics and work. Within these pages, Morse explains and examines his outlook on life, including his ability to “go inside his head” and how daily rituals such a jury duty (the bad ones) and fatherhood (the good ones) support and confirm his philosophy.

Morse’s key to life and creativity is to always keep a place within for the innocence of youth, retain the ability and willingness to daydream, and follow the threads of those mental wanderings to see where they take you and what connections develop between them. It’s not entirely profound and Morse presents his dissertation in form and manner intended for readers of any age, but it’s nonetheless a wise book.

Continuing with his traditionally angular, water colored style, Morse illustrates each page as a whole image, embedded panels throughout that support the structure and overall message. While he and his son appear as tigers, others throughout the book are depicted as humans, caught up in a web of worries and responsibilities.

As he spends his days working at Pixar, it’s no surprise that Morse is supremely effective at pacing pages and breathing unique life into his characters.  He balances the internal narration against evocative and impressive renderings that keep the reader engaged on multiple levels.

Tiger! Tiger! Tiger! examines Morse’s ability to disconnect from the world in order to find his creativity.  The book is an engaging, enjoyable journey through one man’s philosophical outlook, presented in a large, well-designed hardcover.  And, best of all, many readers should be able to find it at their local library, as I did!

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.