With the news of Gail Simone stepping down from writing “Wonder Woman” still fresh on my mind, I got to thinking about Marvel’s attempt to celebrate women in comics with its new limited series, “Girl Comics.” I have to give Marvel credit for trying this with all the potential for it to be a flop. Aside from the inherent mixed bag quality of any anthology, it’s got a lot going for it. The best thing of all, I discovered the writing talent of Valerie D’Orazio and I’ll discuss her own one-shot, “Punisher Max: Butterfly” a little later in the column.

Back to “Girl Comics.” At first, I thought about what could be wrong with it. For instance, there are two profiles of women trail blazers at Marvel back when Stan Lee’s hair was jet black. That seemed like a creaky “You’ve Come A Long Way, Baby” sort of salute. But, even if it is, I’m really glad they did it because the two individuals, Flo Steinberg and Marie Severin, are definitely worthy of recognition. It’s been a “man’s world” like forever and we’re still evolving as a society. Whenever you have something like Marvel attempting to show its human side, that’s cool.

Another problem seems to be that weird pin-up of She-Hulk by Sana Takeda. It goes to show what happens when you depict a character but you stray away from the quality of the character and turn it into a mere sex object. Even the anatomy is off. You’ll notice that She-Hulk has two left feet. Apparently, the drawing has caught She-Hulk just as she’s had a mishap while skipping rope and has fallen and the rope, moving at hyperspeed, has bound her legs together.

Is it possible that Takeda is commenting on the awkward state of today’s woman? Does she see She-Hulk, as a woman, cursed instead of blessed with formidable strength and sexuality? Instead of being in a position of authority, does Takeda see She-Hulk as doomed with having the classic impediment of “two left feet”? Or is it just a playfully sexy scene? And where does fit alongside her other controversial work? It would be interesting to hear from her.

More than likely, Takeda just fell into the same old patterns that began when it was only men drawing unhealthy depictions of women. These type of drawings are obviously alive and well today. Some publishers seem to focus on the cheesecake with less thought given to the writing. Hopefully, that will improve. The subject of sex is not the problem but how one works it. At least DC and Marvel tend to have solid narratives and standards, right? Of course, the top publishers are working towards the highest levels of excellence. That said, this makes this sort of drawing stand out even more, like a big green sore thumb. I don’t think it was meant to open up discussion but was ill-conceived. Maybe, in a proper context, it could work but not in this case.

And then there’s the question of whether these comics are supposed to have a unique female sensibility or whether they just happen to all be created by women. The introduction by Colleen Coover implies a special female viewpoint with its panels of various superheroines. The stories that follow veer off into unexpected directions and seem to defy easy categorization that keeps things more lively and less obvious.

I love the fact that we basically get from this comic a little concert made up of all sorts of awesome talent. You’ve got G. Willow Wilson opening up the show, all her “Air” fans especially thrilled, as she and Ming Doyle riff on Nightcrawler with a most surreal story. And so on the down the line. Trina Robbins and Stephanie Buscema give us a less than perfect Venus who lets herself get caught up in the glitz of the fashion world. There’s Valerie D’Orazio and Nikki Cook’s excellent Punisher story. Lucy Knisley provides a nice comedic Doc Oc tale. Robin Furth and Agnes Garbowska give us a neat Fantastic Four fairy tale. And Devin Grayson and Emma Rios give us a nuanced story about the love triangle between Cyclops, Phoenix and Wolverine.

So, true believers, go get yourself some “Girl Comics” and, while you are at it, get a copy of “Punisher Max: Butterfly,” also published by Marvel, a most excellent read both in the writing and the art. Valerie D’Orazio pulls you in right away with her quirky narrative and the art of Laurence Campbell is just as inventive, does not miss a beat. This is like the magic that Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips keep conjuring up but all its own. Turn to any page and you’ll find something refreshing in crime fiction.

The story revolves around a professional assassin known only as, Butterfly. We get deep inside her head to discover her motivations as she’s willing to put her life on the line to reveal a greater truth. We see as Butterfly struggles to write and then finally bring out into the world a book that reveals the inner workings of organized crime. The world of hired guns is played up for all it’s worth but we can see that this story aims for more than just one note.

D’Orazio and Campbell work together to really move the reader, especially on the theme of what happens when someone is negated as a human being. With impeccable timing, we see characters go from being alive to suddenly having blank slits for eyes. This device works extremely well since Butterfly is a character we can connect to.

It’s that human factor. If you don’t have that, you’ve got nothing. Honestly, why would anyone, creator or reader, want to aim lower? Given the opportunity, most people want high quality work. Things can stand in the way of this, of course, like ignorance. The truth is that, no matter what the content, it is the quality stuff that will be the most stimulating. It seems like an easy enough concept but one that, just as easily, gets overlooked. The appropriate attention to detail will always be appreciated in the long run whether the character is Madame Bovary, She-Hulk or Wonder Woman.

Little Nothings: Uneasy Happiness
Written & Illustrated by Lewis Trondheim
Translated Joe Johnson
Published by NBM

Trondheim’s comic diary remains a true comic treat. Each page acts as a stand-alone observation on life, as seen through the mildly sardonic, self-deprecating prism of one of the world’s best cartoonists.

In the third collection of Little Nothings, Trondheim continues his world traveling, hitting Angoulême, Fiji and Italy (Florence and Venice, specifically) and wry observations on life. Exhibiting the same hypochondria and view of the world through geek-tinged glasses that marked previous strips, Trondheim continues to find small pleasures in a world of sharks, poverty and other problems bigger than him.

A handful of strips seem to suffer slightly from culture divide, but Trondheim’s brilliance lies in his ability to uncover the undeniable humanity in himself. He remarks how old friends are getting on, only to reflect that he must be getting on as well. He obsessively sets his luggage locks to zeroes; he’s astonished by his own optimism and theorizes over the evolution of suppositories. Every success is offset by a self-loathing criticism, and every failure is countered by a sense that tomorrow offers more opportunities.

Watercolor adds an element of soft and human reflection to each strip, a lightness suited to Trondheim’s easy-going observations. His anthropomorphic figures are well designed, easy to recognize, and subtly expressive. Trondheim erases divides such as nationality or race, leaving us with the interactions and observations of a duck-man. His panels, lacking borders, spill out into the world, enforcing the reality of his observances. It’s just great art, perfectly suited for his deadpan delivery, yet sufficiently emotive to carry the most subtle emotion.

Lewis Trondheim is one of the world’s most respected and acclaimed cartoonists.  Little Nothings remains his most personal work, a collection of observations and personal outlooks, self-effacingly and ironically (litter is better when it’s biodegradable!) hilarious. So long as Trondheim continues creating work as strong as Uneasy Happiness, the comics world will be a bright place.

Forbidden Worlds
Illustrated by Al Williamson
With Frank Frazetta, Roy Krenkel, Angelo Torres, John Severin, Reed Crandall
Published by Pure Imagination

It’s great, really it is, that Greg Theakston dedicates so much of his time to cleaning up and preserving old comics work by classic illustrators. He’s published volumes of “minor” work by Jack Kirby, Alex Toth and Williamson (among many others) in the past, and it’s always great to see their work preserved.

Without knowing the quality of the source material, it’s hard to guess how difficult the task was for Theakston. Most of the art looks quite good, clear and sharp, though a few pages are blurred or appear to have lines dropped out. It’s understandable; some artistic flaws were noticeable in Dark Horse’s Al Williamson Hidden Lands as well. (ISG’s Al Williamson Adventures and Flesk’s Al Williamson’s Flash Gordon both offered higher quality work, but had original art or higher quality proofs to work from). The painstaking reproduction isn’t matched, however, by the mediocre production of the book itself.

The stories, by uncredited writers (a small disappointment), are a mishmash of genre mediocrity, but Williamson makes the pages shine with fluid layouts and detailed illustrations. Light and shadow dance gracefully through the pages, mostly westerns, but with a few science-fiction yarns thrown in to unleash Williamson’s Alex Raymondesque sense of design.

Most perplexing to me, because frankly I’ll take any Al Williamson artwork I can get my hands on, is Theakston’s choice to include Cheyenne Kid #10 in Forbidden Worlds after he’d already included the exact same story (with better clean-up, actually – an early page is pixelated in Worlds) in Al Williamson Reader the year prior. It’s not a particularly good script, and the reproduction in neither volume is particular outstanding.

Forbidden Worlds has its pleasures – any book of Al Williamson artwork does, especially when he’s abetted by talents like Frazetta, Krenkel, Torres, Severin and Crandall – and kudos to Theakston for putting in the work to restore and save all this wonderful artwork. Regardless, this particular collection is mostly for hardcore fans only.

The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
Written by L. Frank Baum
Comic script by Eric Shanower
Illustrated by Skottie Young

Colored by Jean-Francois Beaulieu
Lettered by Jeff Eckleberry
Published by Marvel

Superb. Really, it’s just superb.

I mean, that’s really no surprise. The source material’s strong; I didn’t read it until my mid-20s, so it never had a chance to impact on my life as it did on Eric Shanower’s, but L. Frank Baum’s novel is still a whimsical treat. And having Shanower handle the script? Brilliant move. He’s not only a first-rate cartoonist (his Age of Bronze is arguably the best comic being published today), but he’s also an Oz connoisseur of the highest order (check out his Adventures in Oz). He understands the material and treasures it, and he knows how to tell a story in comics.

When the book was first announced, the choice of Skottie Young as illustrator concerned me, but I see now that Young is an ideal choice to capture the light-hearted absurdity of Oz. I love being proven wrong. Young’s loose line work and bigheaded exaggeration breathe charming life into all the characters, filling each with expressiveness and cuteness rarely seen in mainstream comics.

Young’s storytelling, moving from panel to panel, is basic and clear, opening the story up for casual readers, and his use of splash pages to drive home the big moments – the first appearance of Oz’s forms, for example – makes for several powerful moments. The sketchbook section at the end of the book shows that the creators considered many models for each character, and they chose well in every case. The pussycat Lion, the straw-stuffed, slightly askew Scarecrow, the mustachioed woodsman, and the innocent youth of Dorothy Gale, each is designed to create immediate empathy and allow for maximum expressiveness.

Colorist Jean-Francois Beaulieu adds a fairy tale softness to the entire book, though in certain sequences, notably within the Emerald City where greens run amok, the coloring threatens to overwhelm Young’s line art. On other pages, the soft palette lends an ethereal quality to the Kansas prairies and forests of Oz, and the muted aesthetic adds a creeping dread to the Wicked Witch’s domain.

By hewing to Baum’s novel, readers are treated to a much more involved and detailed journey than they’ve experienced in any screen version. Each of Dorothy’s companions receive ample opportunity to exhibit the very trait they claim to lack; the Lion in particular received short shrift in the 1938 film, and his bravado after being captured by the Wicked Witch is a great moment for the character. Small touches about Ozian life and big, fun, childish ideas – such as the Emerald City being green only because everyone wears green goggles! – are retained. The result is a strong reminder just why The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is considered a classic, and proof that Shanower and Young made the correct choices in being as true to the source material as possible.

Garnering critical accolades and bestselling status, Shanower and Young’s take on L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz deserves every scrap of praise it’s received.  The creators honor Baum’s work, with Young making the characters his own without going too far from W.W. Denslow’s original illustrations. Whimsical, adventurous and just a hair creepy, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz remains a true classic.

The many virtues of one-named Norwegian cartoonist Jason’s work are well documented, but one of the less talked-about pleasures of Fantagraphics’ publication of it is how nice the books themselves look as objects.

Individually, the slim, 10-by-7-inch-ish volumes are all well designed and attractive looking, but all lined up next to one another on a shelf? Oh boy, that makes for a fine looking half-a-foot or so on one’s book shelf! So uniform, so orderly, so…perfect!

And then Low Moon came along, and while it’s contents were rock solid, Grade A, tip-top, master-level cartooning, the format itself broke the streak—it was shorter, squatter and much thicker. It was still a beautifully designed book, radiating that pleasant sense of positive aesthetics that comforts a bibliophile’s heart just know it’s around, but it broke the harmony of the Jason section of my book shelf.

Thank God then for Almost Silent, a new collection repackaging some of Fanta’s older Jason books—some of which are no longer in print in their original format—as an anthology the same size, shape and design as Low Moon. Problem solved!

(And yes, I realize I’m using a pretty broad, silly definition of the word “problem” here, and that I’m lucky that something like how graphic novels look lined up on a bookshelf is one of my worse problems on any given day).

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The Splendid Magic of Penny Arcade: The 11 ½ Anniversary Edition
Written & Illustrated by Mike Krahulik and Jerry Holkins
Published by Del Rey

Admission: I don’t enjoy Penny Arcade, so I was a little bit surprised and concerned when this book showed up in my mailbox. As I find video games to be (largely, there are exceptions) interminably boring, Penny Arcade might as well be in Latin for all the sense it makes to me. The less game-oriented strips sometimes entertain, but still, there’s a divide, a sense of the world through a zombies-are-cool prism that I just don’t possess. And that’s fine; I’ve often said that if every comic appeals to me, somebody’s doing something wrong. I still recognize the quality of the artwork and the skillful pacing of the jokes that aren’t very funny to me. Fact is, Penny Arcade is a monster hit, and deservedly so.

To celebrate its success and give fans a peek behind the curtain, Del Rey has worked closely with its creators Jerry Holkins and Mike Krahulik to create The Splendid Magic of Penny Arcade: The 11 ½ Anniversary Edition. Now, with an anniversary book of this nature, it’s clearly a product for fans, but credit must be given to the careful and fun-loving job done assembling the book.

Each creator is treated to a light-hearted biographical treatment, including comments from their parents and wives. Character overviews are provided, explaining how intended throw-away characters evolved into recurring tangents. A large section explains how Krahulik and Holkins created the Child’s Play charity to raise money for children’s hospitals (and provide some entertainment for the kids!), and time and pages are also given to the duo’s PAX gaming convention. There’s even a section wherein they describe feuds with various persons, and yeah, it’s a little self-congratulatory.

In the book’s final section, Holkins and Krahulik offer some of their favorite strips up, sometimes briefly touching on the personal reasons that make it stand out to them, other times just pointing and laughing. Each offers remarks on the strips via their Penny Arcade avatar, which for non-readers such as me, is baffling and impossible to keep straight; fortunately, longtime fans will certainly enjoy the banter and insights.

If you’re a fan of Penny Arcade, The Splendid Magic of Penny Arcade will be a great supplement to your experience with the strip.  The book has a strong design and packaging, and all the sections – even when a bit self-serving (but really, isn’t that what this sort of project is all about) – are treated with a good sense of humor and affection.  It’s a book for the fans, and it’s something I suspect most of them will enjoy very much.

Voice of the Fire

Written by Alan Moore

Photo Plates by Jose Villarubia
Published by Top Shelf

There’s a cliché in the rock world, stating that anytime the guitar player for a successful band goes out on his own, his first solo effort is characterized by noodley overplaying, muddy overdubbing and all-around excess at the expense of the his former group’s songcraft. I hadn’t really thought of how this notion might apply to the creation of comics, but in the case of Alan Moore’s 1995 novel Voice of the Fire (I have the 2003 hardcover reissue from Top Shelf; a softcover edition is currently available), that cliché comes true.

Working in collaboration with talented illustrations such as Stephen Bissette, Dave Gibbons, Chris Sprouse, Kevin O’Neill, J.H. Williams III and others, Moore’s reputation as the most talented of comics writers is nearly unimpeachable. In Voice of the Fire, freed of the shackles of collaboration, able to let his words carry the full weight of his vision, Moore lets loose without restraint.

Voice of the Fire’s reputation as a difficult read is well earned (that I’ve finally finished with it to write this review nearly seven years after buying it from Chris Staros at a Pittsburgh Comicon should tell you something; my most recent and first successful reading of the book took nearly three weeks; I’m not an exceptionally fast reader as these things go, but I’m not slow either: three weeks to finish 284 pages is a long, long time). Tracking the history of Moore’s hometown, Northampton, England, beginning in 4000 BC until the then-present 1995, Voice follows no clear protagonist (except perhaps the notion of the city itself) and individual chapters connect in only oblique ways – hallucinatory visions of other characters sometimes, but more frequently thematically and through mythical references.

Much of the book’s legend stems from the first chapter; set over 6000 years ago, “Hob’s Hog” is narrated by a young boy, cast out from his tribe following his mother’s death, in a preliterate language. The novel’s opening line, “A-hind of hill, ways off to sun-set-down, is sky come like as fire, and walk I up in ways of this, all hard of breath, where is grass codlings on I’s feet and wetting they”, serves notice that surviving Moore’s opening gambit will take incredible resolve. As for the tack of Moore in writing such an inaccessible passage, I think most readers (and writers) will give him credit for tackling the notion of narration from a character older than language; the technical and creative challenge of finding and maintaining the voice is handled with astonishing aplomb. Other readers…, well, they’ll find the assault on their comprehension aggravating, high-handed and insulting. What good is writing if a reader cannot read, they may ask. Neither side is right or wrong; it’s simply a fact of the novel that you should know if you’re to attempt passage between its covers. Consider it noted.

In truth, the book’s success and failure have little to do with “Hob’s Hog.” Eleven chapters and over two hundred pages follow, and though they may not achieve the glamour of the jambling, thorny difficulty of the opener, each installment supports all of the strengths and faults of Moore’s prose writing.

Without an artist to mediate Moore’s language (even his comics scripts are legendarily detailed and lengthy), Voice of the Fire careens wildly from beautifully moving descriptions to over-wrought and over-heated walls of language, and back again. Passages, entire pages, are shown to readers in extravagant detail, while the motivations behind every depraved lust are unearthed. It’s deep, powerful writing. At time, however, Moore’s prose slips into an exceedingly purple variety, using analogies that stretch comprehension and the rhythm of the writing. Also, he likes to compare things to piss. A lot.

Ostensibly about Northamption, a fiction that threads through the town’s history (you’ll recognize many names during the reading, such as Guy Fawkes, and you’ll swear that others are real even when they aren’t), Voice of the Fire is ultimately about myth vs. reality. Frequent references to previous chapters twist and distort the version read earlier in the novel. In the second chapter, a tale is told of a man who, having been told by his god to sacrifice his son, finds a hog and butchers it instead. Suffice to say, if you read “Hob’s Hog,” the hog’s viewpoint on the matter is quite different, yet fitting to the myth.

The final chapter is undoubtedly the book’s high point; continuing the first person narrative theme, Moore finds that he himself must become the narrator (the book is a fiction, not a lie), as he explores his own attempt to bind his hometown within the pages of his novel. Metafictionally, he describes the process of writing the final chapter, while discussing aspects of it with family and friends, and examining the evolving neighborhoods of Northampton.

The lasting durability of myths defines Voice of the Fire, a testament to the “truths” of history and the importance of stories in shaping our world. Moore’s wit and wonder provide lift to most of the novel, yet his indulgences also create sections that drag the book’s flow to a crawl and jar the reader from the world of Moore’s imaging. The end result is a flawed masterpiece, difficult, sometimes unable to clearly make its point, yet showing signs of wisdom and intelligence amidst the muck.

The commonality between the Greek heroes and gods of myth and the twentieth century comic book superheroes has been noticed, expressed and remarked upon so many times that it has long since become a cliché.

It therefore shouldn’t come as much of a surprise how at home the Olympians are in the native medium of the superheroes, and yet George O’Connor’s Zeus: King of the Gods (First Second), is an amazingly graceful story. It may technically be an adaptation, but it reads like an original work.

Part of that may simply be a matter of the Zeus and company being comic book superheroes before there were comic books or superheroes, but much of it has to do with O’Connor’s execution, the choices he made while making the book—many of them risky, most of them very smart.

This is the first of a planned twelve-graphic novel cycle, each covering a different Olympian, and O’Connor starts with Zeus, giving him an opening for the ancient Greek creation myth, and the chance to present Zeus in a far different light than the one he’s usually seen in.

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Yotsuba&! vol. 6 & 7
Written & Illustrated by Kiyohiko Azuma
Translation by Amy Forsyth
Lettered by Terri Delgado
Published by Yen Press

Oh, Yotsuba, it’s a treat to have you back. Life is poorer when you’re without a publisher.

When the series’ original English publisher discontinued Yotsuba&! in 2007, many readers were (including Caleb and I) were left devastated. What other comic offers anything approximating Yotsuba&!? Strips such as Dennis the Menace have explored similar territory, those gosh-darn kids and their crazy antics, but Dennis only touched Yotsuba&!’s hilarity during Hank Ketchum’s best days, and frankly never offered the witty, believable supporting cast or the innocently inquisitive scenarios that Kiyohiko Azuma has dreamed up for his heroine. And Calvin & Hobbes was more concerned with its lead’s inner world; Yotsuba’s presence on her family and friends is more pronounced.

Thankfully, Yen Press has stepped into the breach and begun translating new (and old, if you missed them the first time around) tales of Yotsuba. The move of publishers goes off almost flawlessly; Yen manages to explain the small handful of cultural jokes clearly in margin notes without unduly slowing down the pace of Azuma’s narrative. The characters’ voices remain consistent with the earlier translations, so readers won’t be jarred. The only bizarre change is that Yen’s translators have Yotsuba referring to herself in the third person; without knowing the Japanese, it’s hard to call this a “wrong” choice, but it’s a decision that often makes Yotsuba appear unintelligent. Although Yotsuba is easily described as innocent, gullible and utterly naïve, Azuma never portrays her as stupid.

The series follows five-year-old Yotsuba and her adopted father Koiwai, who live in a small Japanese town, where the precocious and inquisitive Yotsuba explores life for the first time. Many experiences should be within the worldview of even a five-year-old, but Yotsuba treats every single day with wonder and awe. In the sixth and seventh volumes, she attempts to recycle unwanted household items into useful products, gets her first bicycle, decides to deliver milk to her neighbor at the nearby school, and visits a working ranch.  Where she punches a sheep and makes her family applaud a cow.

Uncovering each new discovery with wide-eyed wonder, Yotsuba invites readers into a world of exciting novelty, where experiences astound, and friends and family offer good-natured teasing and similar astonishment at Yotsuba’s enthusiasm and energy. Azuma puts Yotsuba through emotional rollercoasters that only add to the cuteness and hilarity. The expressive exaggeration in Yotsuba’s regret and culpability when she “breaks” a bicycle in the bike shop (She pulls the seat out of the frame.) achieves the rare double play of tugging the reader’s heartstrings while producing out-loud laughter.

The supporting cast, Yotsuba’s slacker dad, family friends Jumbo and Yanda, and the family next door, don’t display tremendous range as characters, but each offers a new perspective designed to elicit a reaction from Yotsuba. The entire cast is grounded to recognize Yotsuba’s outlandish behavior, but then many of them encourage in their own ways. While they teach her about the world, Yotsuba often inspires ludicrous fun in her family.

Azuma’s open, emotive artwork perfectly captures Yotsuba’s vigorous awe, full of simply drawn, expressive exaggeration.  Each character is immediately recognizable and creatively designed to offer a range of befuddlement and bemusement at Yotsuba’s antics.

It’s just a crazy fun, cute, utterly wonderful series. Man, I’m really glad Yotsuba&!’s back!

The Sandman
Written & Illustrated by Joe Simon & Jack Kirby
(with additional at by Jack Burnley and Mike Royer)
Scanning and Restoration by Digikore & Rick Keene
Published by DC

Not too many properties associated with Jack Kirby whose names immediately make you think of something else. Heck, I think of Kirby when I hear Jimmy Olsen’s name. But, believe it or not, the Sandman wasn’t always synonymous with Neil Gaiman. The original incarnation came out of a pulp tradition, socialite Wesley Dodds wearing a trenchcoat and a gasmask, and blasting villains with a truth- and sleep-inducing gas gun. Within a few years, he’d transitioned to a fairly bland yellow and purple costume, taken on a teenage sidekick, and become a junior-grade Batman. And sales fell. Fortunately for Mr. Dodds, Simon and Kirby jumped ship from Timely and got the gig of revitalizing the flagging character and the sales-slumping magazine in which Sandman appeared, Adventure Comics.

Of course, the mag and the stories took off. DC’s recent hardcover collection of those nearly sixty-year-old stories presents readers a chance to rediscover these works from the formative cartooning years of two masterful creators.

Now the question is, do readers really want to experience these early tales? For comics historians and for Jack Kirby (or Joe Simon) fans, absolutely. For other readers, probably not so much.

On a story level, Simon and Kirby’s Sandman is thin. To be fair, most comics during the mid-1940s were far below thin, and Simon and Kirby’s scripts at least make coherent sense, a minor victory. But Will Eisner was doing more with fewer pages in The Spirit, and plenty of the classic strip artists created more sophisticated scripts in four-panel chunks, so Simon and Kirby can’t get a full pass. Basically every one of the classic stories revolves around gangsters with a robbery plot, frequently with a dream or sleep theme. Sandy, the Golden Boy (man, what a terrible name!), often fulfills the classic sidekick role by being knocked unconscious, distracting Sandman so that he too may be temporarily defeated and locked into some convoluted deathtrap.

Kirby’s art is recognizable if you’re only familiar with his classic Marvel output or his 70s work, yet without many of the stylized excesses that later came to mark his pages. The angular, explosive layouts and the dramatic figures remain as strong as always, and in the early stories, readers can really see how powerful and detailed illustrator Kirby and Simon are truly capable of being.

After their Sandman run, Simon and Kirby went on to pioneer romance comics and create kid gangs and other adventure stories. During the 50s, they parted ways, but reunited briefly in 1974 for an all-new Sandman #1. This one, about a super-powered protector of dreams, lacks story cohesion, but introduces a few concepts and characters that undoubtedly influenced Neil Gaiman’s later incarnation. Kirby’s art is in top 70s form.

The reproduction could be better, frankly. Not knowing what condition of source material DC had, it’s possible DC did the best they could, but several pages look faded and blurred. The picture quality is far below that of the contemporary Spirit Archives or Plastic Man Archives, both from DC’s Collections department. I’ve long been a fan of the pulpy paper stock of the Kirby Omnibuses, though I wouldn’t mind a slightly sturdier version of the flat, pseudo-newsprint.

The Sandman by Joe Simon and Jack Kirby is a valuable peek into the creative development of two of comics’ most important and influential creators. Readers who are familiar with other 40s comic stories will appreciate the dynamics of Kirby’s artwork and the relentless plotting; readers unfamiliar with Golden Age storytelling will find the book a burden of predictable plots, typical hero/sidekick banter, deathtraps, and forgettable sagas of simplistic morality.

Marvel Masterworks: Amazing Spider-Man vol. 2 & 3
Written by Stan Lee
Plotted and Illustrated by Steve Ditko
Lettered by Sam Rosen & Art Simek
Color Reconstructed by Michael Kelleher & Kellustration
Published by Marvel

For the longest time, I’ve told myself that reading a run of Marvel Masterworks – specifically of Lee/Ditko Amazing Spider-Man and/or Lee/Kirby Fantastic Four or Thor – would be my next comic book archival priority. Of course, so many amazing archival projects have been popping up that I keep deferring the Masterworks – Will Eisner’s Spirit Archives, Kirby Omnibuses, and all these gorgeous compilations of strips by masters of the form such as Caniff, Raymond and Foster. Plus, there are Nexus Archives, E.C. Segar’s Popeye reprints, and dozens of other high-scale projects that seem to eternally delay my diving into the classic Marvel era.

Thus, Marvel’s recent decision to republish their Masterworks’ line in softcover edition, while not necessarily being the high-end format I’d prefer, fits in very well with my budgetary restraints at the moment. The second and third volumes of Marvel Masterworks: Amazing Spider-Man collect issues 11 through 30, plus two over-sized Annuals, of the legend-making stories by Spidey’s creators, Stan Lee and Steve Dikto.

I read a handful of these issues, years upon years ago. When I first got into comics, Marvel was publishing a monthly series titled Spider-Man Classics that reprinted those earliest issues, and I readily devoured them. Of course, the Classics serial ended after only 16 issues, which means that most of the stories here were entirely new to me.

Among the famed faces who make their first appearance in these books: Mysterio, Kraven the Hunter, The Green Goblin, the Molten Man, an obscured Mary Jane Watson (John Romita eventually gets the job of actually presenting MJ to readers for the first time), and the Sinister Six. But the really important aspect of these comics isn’t seeing how characters debuted; it’s understanding just why the characters held the appeal that they do.

Lee and Ditko manage several impressive feats here. I’ve always felt that part of Spider-Man’s appeal is how effectively Lee and Ditko follow the classic Superman superhero model, yet utterly subvert it as well. People recognize the classic superhero tropes: the newspaper job, the nebbish alter ego, the red and blue costume, elderly foster parents, yet Clark Kent always winks at the reader when things go wrong, letting us know it’s all in good fun. Poor Peter Parker, though, no matter his triumph over evil, always winds up lamenting a failure beyond his control. For the younger readers who grew up reading Amazing Spider-Man, often feeling the same way themselves, I can imagine it was a powerful moment to see a hero caught in the same emotional turmoil.

Sure, some of Peter’s dilemmas are overly melodramatic, but just as often, Lee and Ditko craft solid and legitimate lose-lose scenarios for our hero. Peter even spends an entire issue sulking, with nary a fight to be found. (Honestly, the issue drags a bit, but its intention was good.) The villains … well, they’re colorful and fun, a bit absurd and inept, but they play off Spider-Man effectively, allowing Lee and Ditko to come up with creative victories for Spidey and inevitable losses for Peter Parker.

The Fantastic Four’s Human Torch makes frequent guest-appearances that contrast his celebrity against Peter’s downtrodden nature. The contrast is one of the less heavy-handed themes evident throughout the book, which makes it also one of the series’ most effective.

Ditko’s artwork, despite a few moments of clear deadline haste, is very solid, a blocky style that suits its “square” protagonist to a tee, yet manages to sell the aerial, acrobatic action sequences. Lee’s dialogue is ham-fisted, but full of heart. The duo’s plots are creative, and one of the best (which presages the argument that would – by many accounts – eventually split the creative team), the revelation of the mysterious Crime Master’s alter-ego is pitch perfect.

In terms of quality cartoon storytelling, it’s not (close to) on par with the Caniffs or Eisners or Fosters of the cartooning world, but Marvel Masterworks: Amazing Spider-Man v. 2 & 3 retain a sense of invigorate energy and intelligence, combined with the subversive hero-who-fails motif that redefined and continues to define the adventure comic field.  One could argue that only a half dozen or so superhero comics have mattered in all the years since.

“From The Ashes” is a wonderful satire that picks its fights wisely and, unlike some political humor, will stand the test of time. You need to have a healthy sense of humor for this to work and Bob Fingerman has that going for him. He does funny right with his art and writing. On top of that, he can tell a good story. In the end, no matter what your political views, you can’t help but like the guy and get hooked into this book.

It looks like Fingerman has done some soul searching regarding how he tackles the world of auto-bio comics. With a sense of modesty and irreverence, he gives us here a mash up of auto-bio, horror, sci-fi and political humor. In this case, Fingerman doesn’t think it’s enough to recount what’s already happened in his life. This book is a “speculative memoir” of what may happen and allows him to express his dismay with right-wing extremists, religious extremists and post-9/11 fear mongering.

It’s the end of the world as we know it and Bob and his wife, Michele, are alright, at least at first. All that peace and quiet instead of the mayhem they’re used to living with in New York City is therapeutic. All those annoyances, all the meaningless demands, all gone. Michele finally says goodbye to her dead BlackBerry, with a profound sense of relief. But a post-apocalyptic world isn’t all a bowl of cherries. The jolly couple go through a range of emotions and mourn the passing of loved ones just in time for their next challenge: cannibals.

The cannibals turn out to be foodies that don’t find Bob and Michele appetizing at all. Bob is rather insulted. He wants to pick a fight with the cannibals but Michele steers him away, just in time for: mutants. And later on it’s time for: zombies. And even later on, it’s time for: right-wing nuts. This really gets crazy when all these groups get mixed together. It’s all good fun in the spirit of MAD Magazine. Fingerman used to work with Harvey Kurtzman, the creator o MAD, and that influence has served this book well.

A healthy sense of humor is inextricably linked to a healthy sense of humanity. That’s a hallmark of MAD. Humor can be goofy, silly and offbeat but it also needs to be in touch with the human condition. If it were not for human folly, there wouldn’t be any good jokes. “From The Ashes” keeps to that ideal. It may seem loud and pushy at times but that’s part of being human and part of a book that rings true. In these times when we supposedly need to watch what we say, this book says it just fine.

“From The Ashes” is published by IDW Publishing. It is a trade paperback of 175 pages. And it costs $19.99

The Cartoon Introduction to Economics vol. 1: Microeconomics
Written by Yoram Bauman, Ph.D. & Grady Klein
Illustrated by Grady Klein
Published by Hill & Wang

Good news, Internets!  I’m back.

…

You could at least pretend to have noticed.  Thankfully I opted for the warranty on my laptop a year and a half ago, and the review I had planned to run here two weeks ago runs today, with a little assistance from an all-new motherboard.

So, on with the show:

If the ubiquitous XX for Dummies books were turned into a comic book, they’d probably be a lot like Yoram Bauman and Grady Klein’s The Cartoon Introduction to Economics vol. 1. The creators take big ideas, distill them down to rudimentary, everyday examples and manage to make most of their abstract material seem concrete and even somewhere on the fringes of exciting.

It’s probably not very surprising, since Bauman’s YouTube video has been stupendously popular, and he even maintains his own economist blog at http://www.standupeconomist.com, that the author has the creative background and intelligence required to convey information in clear order.

So Bauman clearly knows what he’s talking about, and – particularly in the early chapters – he’s able to consistently find simple examples that illustrate how supply and demand trend toward pareto efficient – that is, the best possible deal for both sides. (He later discusses how the world isn’t quite perfect, so we rarely achieve a true pareto efficient, but the economic theory is sound.) Klein complements Bauman’s lessons with a diverse cast of cartoony characters who cope with the consequences of supply and demand. Enhancing his illustrations with graphs and charts to explain where lines of seller and consumer interest intersect, Klein handles nearly all of the lessons adeptly.

The book’s delivery isn’t perfect; the chapter on marginals defies my best efforts to wring any meaning from it, often requiring leaps of understanding that I don’t have the mathematical groundwork to make. Nor has Bauman’s writing given me the theoretical understanding required. Fortunately, most of the higher-end math aspects are restrained to the book’s supplemental website. Subsequent chapters veer back toward solidity, but may occasionally stretch the reader’s limitations. But more often than not, Bauman provides clear examples and uses humor via puns and visual gags to keep readers engaged.

On the art side, Klein sticks to loose, cartoony character designs that are easy to recognize, if sometimes sloppily drawn. The animated style and exaggerated body language matches the tenor of Bauman’s upbeat, humorous writing, and Klein inserts dozens of tables and graphs to enforce the relationship of economic forces.  Klein also took a considerable hand in the pacing of the stories, and his cartooning experience shows on every page.  Although he’s not the financial expert of the team, this is a book that succeeds as much through his understanding of the comics form as Bauman’s knowledge of money.

Given the recognized educational value of comics, The Cartoon Introduction to Economics vol. 1: Microeconomics should find considerable life.  The writing is clear and lively, the art loose but bouncy and effective.  Schools and anybody looking to glean a little more insight into current recession-based headlines would do weel to give this one a look.

What Ed Brubaker is doing with Captain America, in this new story arc, is great stuff and don’t let anyone tell you different. As a casual observer, my big question as I became familiar with the title was whether or not Steve Rogers was really interesting. What would make someone want to care about him? The big one, Issue 25, doesn’t really tell you. And this last event, Cap Reborn and all, doesn’t tell you either. But, if you start at the beginning of the Brubaker run, “The Winter Soldier” story provides the hook. It’s way cool. Who will wield the shield indeed. Between Brubaker’s script and Steve Epting’s art, Steve Rogers and that shield fly! And then those first interactions between Steve and Sharon let you know there’s chemistry. Steve comes across as a tough but vulnerable guy. He’s stubborn, brash and likable. He does have a story to tell on a large and not so large stage.

Getting back to the new story, “Two Americas,” this is set on a smaller stage. We go from the grand and sweeping events of “Reborn” where we get a lot of big things going on for brief bursts to something more specific that can be rolled out and examined more closely. Allowing this story to unfold, I’m sure you’ll find something very worthwhile. A story that brings in the crazy version of Captain America from the ’50s to confront today’s Cap sounds good already. What an opportunity to speak to what’s going on in America today. How far have we come and how far do we still have to go?

To think of America as predominantly one beautiful landscape made up of white picket fences surrounding one gorgeous home after another, with two cars in the garage, a chicken in every pot and a joyful nuclear family dwelling in each is pure fantasy. It’s an American dream but not a reality. No, reality is far more complex and even scary for some. It’s scary for William Burnside, once a pudgy little boy from Boise, Idaho, transformed by the US government into an alternate Captain America in the ’50s. Things didn’t go quite as planned and William grew unstable, finally running away. He finds comfort among other outsiders, one of Marvel’s band of domestic terrorists going back to the ’80s, The Watchdogs.

It’s not long before Bucky and Sam travel to Idaho in response to the violence crazy Cap and his new friends have already wrought. Of course, we’ve got a loaded situation here made worse with Sam, a black man from New York, dropped into a primarily white community of people who appear isolated and hostile to anything or anyone different from themselves. It looks like a powder keg ready to blow up.

And that’s the set up for what we can feel confident will be a compelling four issue story. Will Sam experience more hostility among people who seem to only see him as an Other instead of a person? Or is there room here for Sam and the natives to communicate? We hear so much in the media about America being divided but how often do we hear from those who are truly disenfranchised? What is real and what is fabricated? You know, something tells me that our friend, Ed Brubaker, will have some answers for us and he’ll keep knocking the ball out of the park with Captain America.

Cory and Eric’s father must just be constantly looking for an opportunity to delve into a complicated geopolitical topic and/or an excuse to tell the life story of one of his ancestors.

How else to explain the fact that when he and his wife end up refereeing a conflict between their boys, involving Eric stopping Cory from buying a particular type of candy, because the older, wise brother knew it contained an ingredient the younger one didn’t really like, he boils it down thusly:

You know, you boys aren’t the first to argue over this principle…You’re arguing whether or not one entity—in your case, a person, but sometimes we’re talking about a country—can take away another’s capacity to act on its own choices.

After a little back and forth between the four members of the family, the patriarch launches into the story of Corporal Peter Crogan of the Foreign Legion, who naturally had to face the issues revolving around the ethics of imperialism as part of his job, occupying and defending swathes of North Africa for France, whether the native people wanted him to do so or not.

If I were Cory or Eric, I’d be afraid to open my big mouth around my dad…or maybe not, depending on how great a storyteller he is.

Writer/artist Chris Schweizer cuts away from the kitchen scene set-up in Crogan’s March (Oni Press) to present the story of Crogan as an unfiltered comics story, so we don’t hear exactly what the dad says or how he says it, but he must know how to tell a story, given the wide-eyed, slack-jawed looks of awe on the two boys’ faces when we return to the kitchen after hearing about Crogan’s story.

Schweizer, however,  sure knows how to tell one.

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Aw thanks, Boom Studios! I didn’t know you cared! The publisher, which currently holds the licenses on a bunch of Disney characters and concepts and has been making fine use of many of them, has put together a heck of a Valentine’s Day present for fans of classic comics featuring the core Disney mouse and duck characters.

The 130-page, six-story collection is similar in scope and format to the publisher’s 2009 Walt Dinsey’s Christmas Classics collection, with the stories selected comprising a sampling of work from various eras, creators and countries of origin (In fact, every decade between the ‘40s and the ‘80s is represented by a story in here).

The highlight is probably the lead story, 1941’s “Love Trouble” by Floyd Gottfredson, Merril de Maris and Bill Wright. At 36 pages, it’s the longest piece, and features the story of Minnie finding a new, much taller, more charming, more talented and more well-off boyfriend than Mickey, Montmorecny Rodent (although he pronounces it “Rodawn”). Humiliated over and over, and unable to compete, Mickey fights fire with fire by taking up with a beautiful, rich, blonde mouse new to town, and then proceeds to couple-stalk Minnie and Rodent, driving Minnie insane with envy.

Given the way they behave to one another, and use other people (er, “people” probably isn’t the right word…), I’m not sure what the two mice see in each other, but I suppose they’re better off together than inflicting their social dysfunctions on others. Just I suppose I have now thought way too much about the love lives of two cartoon mice from a fast-paced, lovingly and energetically drawn screwball comedy comic strip.

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In those halcyon days of the early ’90s, in Brooklyn’s hipsterdom of Williamsburg, amid the Doctor Seuss hats and pierced nipples, there once stood a towering figure of a man ever ready for a stiff drink and a chance to see his art take yet undreamt of form. In that era, Millionaire came across as one of those guys with a streak of mad genius who could draw you anything for a little beer money. I knew a guy like that. You did too. But these guys never saw their ships come in. Millionaire did. And, no, he wasn’t just a lucky bastard. He made his ship come in by creating it himself, drawing every intricate detail of that vessel from stem to stern. And it would be populated by the most glorious creatures: Uncle Gabby, a deranged ape patterned after a dear alcoholic genius; the navy of alligators, suggested by a violent friend in New Orleans; and Drinky Crow, standing in for all of humanity, drunkard or otherwise.

“The Art of Tony Millionaire,” published by Dark Horse, is a serious, yet irreverent, mid-career retrospective of one of the best known and beloved cartoonists around. Read his comic strip, “Maakies,” in your local alt weekly and feel the rush of anarchy take hold. Read this book, full of honest recollections from the artist, and feel like you know the man. “Maakies,” by the way, goes back to when Millionaire drew a comic strip called, “Batty,” for a sports zine. The guy who put it together, Spike Vrusho, loved to yell out, “Maakies!” whenever he caught sight of the tugboats with the big M’s on their stacks coming into New York harbor.

Like any good coffee table book, along with a marvelous selection of comics and illustrations, this book is full of wonderful anecdotes you can enjoy flipping to in order or at random. There’s stories, for instance, about bumming around Europe as a young man. In Rome, he created one really good drawing of the Roman Forum, made a hundred prints, and proceeded to sell each of them to tourists who thought they’d just caught him as he was drawing the original. For good measure, full of youthful rage, he pissed in every famous Roman fountain he could find. With security tight for the two Vatican fountains, he had to piss in a cup and discretely pour it in during the day. Then there’s Berlin, where he may have stirred an international incident.

Before any of this, there was Gloucester, Massachusetts. Unsuited for college, and even less for a job as a dishwasher, young Tony hit upon selling drawings of his rich neighbor’s houses. “I always knew it was my bread and butter,” he writes. We can imagine him reassuring himself of this with each sale. “I always knew it was my bread and butter.” He also had his family for moral support. His father was an illustrator and his mother and grandparents were painters. When you learn that, to round out his income, he would go down to the wharves to draw schooners just as beautiful as the ones his grandfather drew, it might bring a tear to your eye.

It is the curse and blessing of the young turk to push and pull against society and hope to live to see another day. That was the Millionaire way of life. By the time he was forty, he decided it was time to cut back a bit on the rage. A bunch of his friends had hailed a cab. There were five of them and the driver would only take four. Tony crawled on the top of the cab, screaming through the windshield. The cab took off with him on top and he was forced to jump. Luckily, there were no broken bones. He could afford to bring things down a notch. He was now a featured artist in the “New York Press” and his life as an artist was tangible. He could probably sense the upswing in his life. “I always knew it was my bread and butter.”

The success that followed would flow from “Maakies” and evolve to full length works of exquisite complexity like “Sock Monkey” and “Billy Hazelnuts.” Like Crumb, he followed his own muse from a bygone era and imbued his art with a timeless grace.

You can’t rush anything worthwhile. That certainly holds true for comics. You can’t rush creating anything of lasting value and you can’t rush reading it either. That’s the tradition comics come from. It is what makes “Maakies” so darn good. The eye is teased to linger on some nautical detail or some arcane turn of phrase or some unusual use of body parts. It is a modern day miracle of comics is what it is.

“The Art Of Tony Millionaire,” 200 pages, hardcover, 9″x12″, $39.95, published by Dark Horse Comics

Graylight
Written & Illustrated by Naomi Nowak
Published by NBM

Visually, Naomi Nowak’s books always grab my attention. The trim format is easy to handle and carry, and her use of color and open design sense lend an airy, welcoming quality to each of her books. Yet much like her last comic, House of Clay, her most recent effort, Graylight, comes up short of my hopes for it.

Graylight follows one young woman and two men, engaged in something of a romantic triangle, while one of the men attempts to interview a reclusive writer, and the other, the writer’s son, acts on her behalf. Meanwhile, the mother, who happens to practice arcane rituals, wants to protect her son from the female outsider in town.

Problem is, these sordid intersections don’t really add up to much. None of the characters express much clarity of purpose, leaving the reader without a clear sense of what each wants or how another’s presence has affected him or her. The story’s magical undercurrent moves in and out of the narrative, and feels tacked on when it does manifest.

Nowak’s loose layouts, manga inspired, lend a dream-like quality to the story, which only enhances the haziness of the characters’ motivations. While the coloring provides effective ambiance, the elusive dialogue, open layouts and infrequent use of hard, clear background details fail to provide grounding for readers.

Graylight is a very attractive book, well drawn and visually appealing, but Nowak’s characters fail to come across as compelling or fully realized.  It’s almost a disappointment that she continues to pursue narrative-based comics, because it’s the storytelling aspect that tripped up House of Clay and Graylight.  Nowak’s visual talent is obvious, and hopefully she’s soon find a story she can sink her teeth more deeply into.

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.

When a knock down fight between Wonder Woman and Giganta suddenly shifts into a pair of women engaged in girl talk about dating and having brunch, that tends to put a smile on your face and makes you want to read more. That’s what Gail Simone’s writing will do to you. She is one of those special writers, like Grant Morrison, who, at their best, take super-heroes as the jumping off point for something unexpected and fun. If only Megan Fox were to read what’s going on with Wonder Woman lately, she might not think she’s so lame.

Let’s take a look at a true flash point in comics: Gail Simone taking over the writing helm of Wonder Woman. It has been and remains an excellent run. This is a particularly good time to start reading Wonder Woman during Simone’s historic take on the mighty Amazon. I jumped into the last story arc, “The War Killers,” and it took a little adjusting to all the Greek mythos but thanks to Simone’s pacing and the eye-popping art of Aaron Lopresti and Matt Ryan, I got hooked. Given that Simone has been writing this title since 2007, I was impressed with how the story still feels fresh. And then to go back and read the opening arc, “The Circle,” I was pleased to find the starting points of an epic saga.

I think that’s the best way to put it: a sweeping epic saga. When Simone took over as writer at Issue Fourteen, people took notice, including The New York Times. The hook may have been that we were finally getting an ongoing woman writer for Wonder Woman but it was also simply the fact that is was Gail Simone. Like, say, Joss Whedon, fans could rely on Simone for distinctive character-driven stories. It’s interesting to note the struggle that Whedon had in attempting to script a viable Wonder Woman movie. It seemed to him that there simply wasn’t much there to work with. Apparently, Simone found what worked but then went about forging new ground.

Simone was willing to get her hands dirty and till the very soil of Diana’s origins which had been left undeveloped. Since all the Amazon women on Paradise Island have foresaken men, they have also foresaken ever experiencing the birth of new Amazons from within their own ranks. They all feel a maternal instinct but resist it. Until, one day, the queen, Hippolyta, creates a child, Diana, from clay and magic. Allowing this “dragon” to trespass this Garden of Eden, sets off a fanatical backlash putting the lives of Hippolyta and Diana in danger. But, most importantly, for the long term, it anchors Diana’s indentity and gives readers and future writers more to work with.

Wonder Woman is a woman to be reckoned with. Mercedes Lackey expresses that eloquently in her introduction to Wonder Woman: The Circle. She points out that, since the Greeks, there’s always been a fascination and fear of the Powerful Woman. That goes a long way in explaining why writers have steadily marginalized Wonder Woman over the last sixty years. I think it’s safe to say that Wonder Woman, as powerful and iconic a figure as Batman and Superman, had not been working up to her potential. Much like Spider-Man, even more so, Wonder Woman was in bad need of a relaunch. That effort was underway starting with the question, “Who is Wonder Woman?” and ended with a botched attempt to answer it. And along came Gail Simone and she has been making things so much better, probably paving the way for an awesome Wonder Woman movie someday.

Wonder Woman is a case of Simone pumping fresh blood into characters and stories just like she’s done with Birds of Prey and Secret Six. If Wonder Woman is capable of taking down whole armies, then Simone figures she can handle the complexities of a sexual relationship. Wonder Woman can also reason as well as she can fight and turn a whole pack of raging gorillas into her own personal entourage. And, with the lasso of truth, she can turn the most evil Nazi into a crying child.

When the time comes, if the rumors of his taking over are true, Grant Morrison will be inheriting a revitalized and relevant Wonder Woman. It looks like that will be happening once Wonder Woman gets renumbered to #600 and a new kick off is set in motion. For now, enjoy what remains of Simone’s run. Wonder Woman #40 starts a new arc, “The Crows,” and comes out January 27. And if you need a pitch for Wonder Woman, then these now famous lines by Gail Simone will serve that purpose: “When you need to stop an asteroid, you get Superman. When you need to solve a mystery, you call Batman. But when you need to end a war, you get Wonder Woman.”