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.

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.

Jeff Smith’s Bone is one of the greatest comics of all time, so his new series Rasl obviously merits considerable interest. A far cry from the all-ages fantasy of Bone, Rasl’s protagonist is a slightly amoral, dimension-hopping art thief, a ladies’ man out for a buck wherever he can make it. The Drift collects the first three issues of Rasl, and it’s very hard to make any firm judgments from what’s between these two covers.

Plenty happens – Smith jams a lot into these three issues – but because he’s creating all new characters, establishing the rules of the Drift between universes, introducing alternate-universe versions of characters and generating the back story that drives Rasl, it doesn’t quite coalesce into a definitive image of where the series is heading. Because so much of what occurs is laying the groundwork for the character and what follows, you’re left feeling that The Drift is little more than stage setting - effective stage setting, but groundwork nonetheless.

Smith’s cartooning remains very strong. He knows how to use angles to maximize the drama of panel, without drawing attention to the layouts. The pace is casual, with plenty of panels on each page to convey information while still allowing room for moments of silent introspection or breathless action.

Based on Smith’s track record, most readers are likely to give him plenty of time to build his new world, and I hope that readers new to his comics don’t get impatient with The Drift’s casual setting up of future events. Rasl shows promise, though it’s too early and there’s too much territory yet to cover to make any universal proclamations. If you find it at your local library, check it out and look forward to future installments, because Jeff Smith’s proven himself a cartoonist to watch.

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.

This is the third of three reviews focusing on Jeff Lemire’s Essex County trilogy.

Although it’s the least of the Essex County books, The Country Nurse is still a very engaging comic. It simply had a high standard to live up to, and cartoonist Jeff Lemire didn’t quite match the subtlety of Tales From the Farm or Ghost Stories in this concluding portion of his trilogy.

Like Ghost Stories, The Country Nurse takes place in two time periods, following the lives of two young women – one a nun running an orphanage in 1917, the other a nurse working with elderly Lou LeBeuf. Lemire has an interesting two-page spread early in The Country Nurse which slyly spells out the theme of the book, a thread connecting a tapestry.

Flashing back and forth in time, Lemire finds two women whose connections run deep to the LeBeuf family, bringing them into Essex County and, in a sense as Lou’s health fails, escorting them on their way out. The 1917 segment is solid, but not particularly inspired – it seems a quick overview of Canadian frontier life that’s been explored by a number of Canadian cartoonists – including Chester Brown’s Louis Riel and Scott Chantler’s Northwest Passage. Lemire’s intent is completely different, a more personal, internal tale, but the nun’s temptation struck me, personally, as perhaps too obvious.

Nurse Anne’s modern-day life was much more compelling, though much of the appeal is predicated on having read the both previous volumes of Essex County, as Tales From the Farm’s and Ghost Stories’ protagonists Lou, Lester, Jimmy and Ken all have prominent roles in her life. Her own family issues seem almost an after-thought.

Nevertheless, if you can find the entirety of Jeff Lemire’s Essex County trilogy in your local library, The Country Nurse is a solid complement to Tales From the Farm and Ghost Stories, providing closure to the characters you’ll certainly love in the first two books in this story cycle.

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.

After talking about Jeff Lemire’s first Essex County trilogy book, Tales From the Farm, last week, today I’ll give a few thoughts on the middle segment of the inter-connected tales. Splitting pages between the modern day and the past, Ghost Stories uses Lou LeBeuf’s wandering, disassociating mind to draw connections between today and events of his family past. Retired, modern day Lou is a deaf old man struggling to hold onto his independence, arguing with his nurse and belligerently trying to remain in his home. In the past, Lou and his younger brother Vince were young hockey players hoping to graduate from semi-professional status to NHL stardom, torn apart by family matters, differing priorities and lost in seas of solitude.

Far more assured and nuanced than the first chapter of the trilogy, Ghost Stories is easily the most gripping of the Essex books, and among my favorite comics ever. Lemire adds natural humor to the confusion of the elderly people in current-day Lou’s life, while he adeptly mixes the pastoral setting of Essex County against the urban crush of younger Lou’s life in Toronto. The hockey sequences are exciting (and I don’t like hockey), yet the emotional sequences are quietly brutal.

As this is a trilogy of books, Ghost Stories ties back to Tales From the Farm, though Lemire doesn’t make the connection explicit until near the end, and even then he lets readers make the connection themselves. If you’ve not read Farm, there’s nothing in Ghost Stories that will leave you scratching your head. If you’ve read both, you’ll smile at the deeper understanding of Ken and Les you’ve gained by reading the lives of Lou and Vince.

Strong dialogue complemented by evocative, loose artwork brings the characters to life, each of them reminiscent of some you might’ve known.  It’s powerful stuff, and if you find a copy in your local library, I’d strongly encourage you to check out Jeff Lemire’s Essex County vol. 2: Ghost Stories.

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.

With Jeff Lemire’s profile rising higher on a seeming daily basis – his soon-to-be-released Vertigo graphic novel The Nobody and his recently announced Vertigo series Sweet Tooth – I found myself pressed to finally check out the acclaimed and popular Essex County trilogy of books that Lemire authored through Top Shelf Books during 2007-2008. Fortunately, I was able to get all three books from the library: today, Vol. 1, Tales From the Farm.

Young Lester lives on a farm in rural Essex County, a fictional setting somewhere in Ontario, Canada, with his Uncle Ken. Orphaned, emotionally disconnected, lost in fantasy, Lester wears a domino superhero mask and a red cape wherever he goes. Ken, well-meaning but unable to connect with the dreamer boy, struggles to find ways to relate to his only nephew, the son of his only sister. Lester’s closest friend is Jimmy, the slow moving and thinking owner of the local gas station and garage.

Subtle and quiet, Tales From the Farm explores the tension between dreamer and a pragmatist, from the perspective of both surrogate son and surrogate father. Casting no blame, Lemire allows both Ken and Lester’s vantage points to express themselves to readers, suggesting familial tragedies and secrets that underscore their tenuous relationship.

The artwork, powerfully chiaroscuro, has a sloppy, loose energy, yet a delineated clarity of strong page composition and character design. Lemire’s use of blacks and whites would be impressive coming from a 20-year veteran of the medium. Tales From the Farm is definitely one of the best comics I’ve read recently.

Next week, I’ll discuss the second book in the series, Ghost Stories.  But a tease: it’s better.  If you find any of Jeff Lemire’s Essex County books at your local library, definitely pick it up. Like me, you’ll probably decide that they belong in your personal 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.

Bernie Krigstein’s one of those comic book legends whose work you just have to read. It’s like watching a Stanley Kubrik film or listening to an Eric Clapton song – even if it’s not your thing, you just have to see for yourself.

Like Kubrik and Clapton, I find Krigstein a mixed bag, but I find few faults with the quality of this book. Over-sized, hardcover, assembled by editor Greg Sadowski, recolored mostly by Sadowski and Marie Severin, the book presents Krigstein’s art in full force.

The earliest stories reprinted here are mostly from Krigstein’s crime comics days, and the stories have the standard early crime comics motif: a criminal plans something evil, but his own character fault or some inherent flaw in his scheme lead to death. Krigstein does make most of the stories look good, however obvious their narratives may be. His panel compositions are strong and focused, and his use of shadow is often staggering, though I find the figures themselves somewhat erratic and backgrounds drop out far too frequently.

Later stories, Krigstein’s art explodes forward, becoming far more consistently striking than early efforts. The ECs (the revolutionary 1950s publisher EC Comics, that is) in particular showcase Krigstein’s fondness for jamming as many panels as possible onto a page (why hasn’t that lesson been learned by more of today’s artists?!), creating staccato bursts of information, tension and character. Sticking to tiered pages, Krigstein’s able to squeeze tons of information into all those panels without sacrificing any storytelling clarity, and each panel remains a succinct statement of the narrative. His figure work and backgrounds remain an occasional distraction though.

There are so many cartoonists who’ve done so much to reshape the comics we read today.  As a fan of the medium, it’s a privilege to have access to volumes like B. Krigstein Comics that we can use to observe the evolution of the comics form, and you can find this and other important historical comics 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.

Lewis Trondheim is really a can’t-miss cartoonist. I’ve enjoyed everything I’ve read by him, a claim I can make about very, very few fixtures in the comics market. Trondheim manages to tell stories for all-ages that are fast and funny to keep young readers interested, but filled with crisp dialogue and considerable moral questions to keep older readers engaged. Readers of every age are likely to be stunned by his endlessly surprising twists.

Astronauts of the Future tells of Martina and Gilbert, a pair of elementary school kids who believe that everyone around them are either robots (Martina’s theory) or aliens (Gilbert’s). It starts off as a precocious kid comedy, with our heroes attempting to prove their theories without getting into (too much) trouble. Of course, when they find out they’re both correct (I thought I was annoyed at NBM’s cover copy for spoiling the surprise, but it happens so early on that NBM’s claim of a shocking twist could refer to any of a dozen different events!), the world becomes a wholly new experience, one that justifies Gilbert’s ray-gun obsession and needs Martina’s creative leadership. The first of the European albums reprinted in this book from NBM Publishing establishes the world and circumstances. A second tale pits Martina and Gilbert against an alien invasion with a truly startling moral quandary.

Sometime Trondheim collaborator Manu Larcenet (author of the superb autobio Ordinary Victories) provides the artwork. Packing each page with information (usually around ten panels), Larcenet keeps every scene active, exciting and filled with drama and humor. The character designs are clever and cute – from people on the streets to alien ships, and Larcenet captures the broad humor of boys and ray guns, and the shock, terror and excitement of living among an aliens and robots.

Trondheim’s upbeat and lively dialogue keeps the story moving.  Twists come flying at the reader with rapid-fire pacing, and the subtle sense of family and belonging is built with strong, distinct supporting players that ground Martina and Gilbert in this wild sci-fi world.  Readers of all ages will find plenty of reasons to fall in love with comics if they’re lucky enough to find a copy of Lewis Trondheim and Manu Larcenet’s Astronauts of the Future in their 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.

Let’s start with an admission: I’d like to read more manga. I really would. It’s become such an inescapable part of the comics dialogue, a hugely important part of how future generations of cartoonists are going to approach comics, that I really feel we here at Newsarama should give it more bandwidth. It’s just that, for me personally, it’s really hard to commit to sticking to an 18 or 26 or 46-volume series. Most of my manga experiences have been a good start, followed by some thematic repetition, which leads to me inevitably taking the series for granted and spending my limited dollars elsewhere. (And lest you think the flaw is with manga, I’m the same with long-running American series – see my unfinished runs on Transmet, 100 Bullets, Y, etc.)

So a friend recommended Solanin, and he thankfully mentioned that this particular manga volume is self-contained, one-and-done, a stand-alone chunk of teen ennui and struggles with the inevitability of adulthood. Thankfully, because Solanin is really, really good comics. I can totally see why the kids love the manga when I read a book like this (actually, I can totally see why kids love the manga in general).

Writer and artist Inio Asano does a superb job exploring the mindset of five young adults, fresh out of school (well, four of them are), as they try to figure out where their dreams, relationships and ambitions fit into the “real world” of bills, rent and 9-to-5. With one couple as the central focus, and three other characters each getting a fair share of the narrative focus, Asano provides plenty of perspectives on the slippery quality of “the rest of your life.” Jobs, relationships and hobbies all seem to intersect in confusing jumbles that leave the characters indecisive about which string to pursue.

Using understated tragedy and spirited triumphs, Asano keeps the story moving quickly and prevents the daily turmoil from becoming turgid.  The characters’ voices are all crafted strongly and clearly, and the art is striking and clear.  For manga fans of readers looking to familiarize themselves with manga, finding a copy of Solanin at the local library is likely to be a treasure.

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.

Gary Panter’s something of a legend in this field, so I felt it long past time to finally immerse myself in some of his work. Fortunately, the library had a copy of this over-sized hardcover collection, bringing together an entire epic (in only 40 pages!) of Panter’s most famous character.  And man, is it over-sized.  You can really dive into the huge artwork in this book, which probably has the largest pages of any comic I’ve ever read.

Without much idea of what to expect – Panter’s the “punk master of comics,” so I’ve gathered – I dove in and did my best to roll with the waves. Artistically, the book is great. Panter’s loose and scratchy, very cartoony, yet still full of solid details that ground the scenes and add palpable reality to the characters, settings and world of this Inferno.  Great designs and scratchy, kinetic action fill every single panel.

Sticking mostly to six-panel grids, and entirely to a three-tier layout, Panter constructs each page around a visual motif. Sometimes, it’s as simple as a static view of the scene, with the characters moving into and across a consistent background for all six panels. Other times, a trip on a river, for example, finds Panter moving images across both panels of each tier, adding an illusion of travel and time. Using strong visual lines, Panter moves readers’ eyes around the page very effectively as well, keeping every single page lively and totally engrossing.

So yeah, Jimbo’s Inferno is a truly beautiful comic book.  I just wish I understood anything that happened in it, because it was a totally baffling experience.  But maybe if you take it out of the library, you can help me figure it out.

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.

I have a few other NYPL articles in queue at the moment, but with this Watchmen film out (I haven’t seen it yet, so don’t ask what I thought) and the library having finally delivered a copy of this collection odds and ends from his Wildstorm stint in the late 90s, I thought I’m bump up this selection of less renowned Alan Moore comics.

One can only hope that fans of the Watchmen movie don’t find a copy of this book lying around their local library or bookstore. It’s simply not a good comic. Not good by any standard, but it’s particularly bad when you consider the name splashed across the top of the cover is the “greatest comics writer of all time.”

I like Alan Moore’s work a lot, and he’s typically worth the praise he receives, but the Spawn/WildC.A.T.S. crossover miniseries included in this book is practically a document of all the shortcomings of its era. The irony is that it’s everything Moore seems to hate about post-Watchmen superhero comics. Terrible, clichéd dialogue, abysmal art by Scott Clark, and a story with no worthwhile point at all. The entire plot seems to hinge on the thin, and short-of-brilliant, concept that by traveling into the token Sucky Future, the WildC.A.T.S. and Spawn are at a disadvantage facing the future (and evil) Spawn because – y’know, he remembers the battle from the perspective of his younger (not evil) self. It’s dreadfully thin stuff, and the ending comes from out of nowhere. Maybe regular Spawn readers found it compelling, but with nary a Spawn issue in my entire comics reading collection, I found it lacked set-up, emotional context or believability.  I can’t imagine any neophyte reader will feel any differently; there’s not a redeeming moment in the entire storyline.

There’s a Voodoo miniseries here, as well, that just lies there on the page, lifeless, pointless, utterly boring.  Moore seems to hint (very, very slightly) at certain mystical themes that he’d later explore in greater detail and to great effect in Promethea, but the Voodoo serial seems to exist largely for the sake of showing its protagonist’s pole dancing skills, literally.

Travis Charest does a superb job drawing a WildC.A.T.S. short story, one I suppose might’ve made some sense if I’d read Alan’s WildC.A.T.S. run. But I haven’t, so it didn’t. The Deathblow three-parter seems to function only as a loose framework on which Jim Baikie can draw pulp sci-fi imagery (the fun Baikie had is at least a minor virtue). The one-off Mr. Majestic story isn’t too bad, casting the hero as a wanderer and scientist at the end of time, traveling with the pitiful band of survivors still left to face the End of Everything. It’s sad, quiet and reflective, and has a bang of an ending, but it’s nothing essential and it’s certainly not worth paging through the rest of his drek to read.

So, Watchmen film fans, if you’re looking to explore the world of comics and you come across Wild Worlds at your local library, please find another place to start your searching.