Dear reader, life is too short for crap books.

Showing posts with label Comics. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Comics. Show all posts

Thursday, October 30, 2008

Prayer Pimples for Hairy Fishnuts?

So here I sit, hiding from my colleagues, because the second to last "Opus" got me choked up and weepy. And now my eyes are all red and I'm dreading someone walking in and asking me what's up, to which I will have to reply, "I just saw the Starship Enterpoop, and the two hours I spent every Christmas Eve from ages 9-12 reading old Bloom County books by the wall heater before finally falling asleep came rushing back at me like a damn freight train."

(Why yes, as a child I slept with a stuffed Opus instead of a teddy bear. Didn't everybody?)

I don't think Breathed is going where it looks like he's going with this - and if he does go that route, I'm sure it will be excellent, in a heart-rending kind of way.

Or, rather, I think I know where Opus will end up, I'm just not sure how he's going to get there.

What I do know is that Opus seems to be stuck in an animal shelter at the moment, and I will probably spend some time this Sunday reading old my old Bloom County books either way. And possibly sobbing like a small child with a skint knee.

Thursday, April 17, 2008

"You Can't Have a Negro": The Ten-Cent Plague by David Hajdu

The Ten-Cent Plague: The Great Comic-Book Scare and How It Changed America by David Hajdu

On one side were Americans dizzied by Red paranoia and terrified by the perceived threat of juvenile delinquency. On the other, a burgeoning field for young artists that offered nearly total freedom and creative control. Postwar America was just the right place for the gory, irreverent horror, crime, and romance comics, and at the same time, no place at all.

For years, the hundreds of titles produced by publishers like EC, National/DC, Marvel, and Timely were devoured by young readers, and either ignored or dismissed by the adults who weren't writing and drawing them -- something juvenile, but benign that kids would eventually grow out of. But then, the grown-ups started to pay attention, Fredric Wertham published the methodically shoddy, but polemically brilliant Seduction of the Innocent, and things got messy.

Hajdu's The Ten-Cent Plague is a cultural-historical examination of the crackdown against comics and the emergence of the Comics Code, which lamed everything up good and proper. This is what the book purports to be about, but it is also the least interesting part.

What makes The Ten-Cent Plague worth checking out is its exploration of the rise of the comics publishing houses, and the writers, artists, and publishers who determined their courses and individual styles. After the Comics Code put many titles off the rack and publishers out of business, literally hundreds of people were forced out of the comics business for good. For the book, Hajdu interviewed over 150 of these individuals, as well as comic book readers -- the very people who were excluded from the studies of the 1940s and 1950s that "proved" a link between comic books and juvenile delinquency.

The brightest spot in the book is Hajdu's account of EC (Entertaining Comics), the most notorious of the horror and crime comics publishers. Formerly Educational Comics, EC became the home of Shock SuspenStories, Weird Fantasy, Tales from the Crypt, and most enduringly, Mad, when science teacher Bill Gaines took over the business after his father's death. Gaines was an unlikely, and at first, unwilling leader, but he gradually became caught up with the fervor of his artists, and eventually became one of the industry's biggest defenders and champions. When the CMAA told him to edit one of his stories, saying, "You can't have a Negro," Gaines called up its head, Charles F. Murphy:

"Gaines said, 'Fuck you,' hung up on Murphy, and published the story intact.

'That was Bill's last act as a comic-book publisher,' said [Al] Feldstein."


Though EC's gruesome illustrations (for example, a baseball player hitting a ball with a severed limb) were found notably offensive by Wertham and Co., their war comics, edited by Harvey Kurtzman, refused to glamorize war. Hajdu writes, "Parents no doubt watched their children reading Two-Fisted Tales and Frontline Combat and figured that the kids were being spoon-fed jingoism, unaware of the books' diet cynicism toward the American military and sensitivity to the impartial cruelty of war."

And how could you not love a company that sent out the following call for writers?:

"You should know this about our horror books. We have no ghosts, devils, goblins or the like. We tolerate vampires and werewolves, if they follow tradition and behave the way respectable vampires and werewolves should.

We love walking corpse stories.

We'll accept an occasional zombie or mummy.

We relish the contres cruels story...

No cops and robbers stories. Virtue doesn't have to triumph over evil."


Really, I would have loved an entire book about this. Leave out the pseudo-science, the Congressional hearings, the comic-book burnings hosted by misled youth, but then again, you can't tell the story of EC, and other publishers like them, without them.

Hajdu seems to realize this, and Wertham and the Comics Code encompass only the last 75 pages of the book, and really seem a little thin compared to his vibrant chapters devoted to the writers themselves.

All I can say in the end, and unlikelier words have never passed through my lips, is, "Ah, to have been a 12-year-old boy in 1951." It would have been good readin'.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

Foobpocalypse Now

Well gag me with a hockey stick, folks, the "Fall of Elizabeth Patterson" just hit its nadir: the proposal we obsessive comic strip fans knew was coming and dreaded like ALF: The Movie has come to pass.

Proving once again how very wrong it was for her to move out of her hometown - nay, her parent's neighborhood - and date strangers, Liz and her high school boyfriend/sometimes mustachioed accountant have decided to "be engaged" in what must be the least romantic proposal to hit the comics since Andy Capp popped the question in a drunken dust-up with his soon-to-be long-suffering enabler.

This merely completes the downward slide that started when she left her teaching job in Canada's northern hinterlands, so it shouldn't really be a surprise for those of us - sad souls, all - who've been following For Better or For Worse lately. (I mean, they've already started drawing her to look like her brother, the "novelist".)

Still, I'd so hoped there'd be a late-in-the-game plot twist. But, alas.

You're dead to me now, Lizardbreath.

Thursday, March 06, 2008

Assimilation As Revolution: Incognegro by Mat Johnson

Incognegro written by Mat Johnson, art by Warren Pleece

"Race is a strategy. The rest is just people acting playing roles."
-- Incognegro

Near the beginning of Incognegro, the protagonist Zane Pinchback is arguing with his editor at the New Holland Herald. It's the height of the Harlem Renaissance, and Zane is itching to cover art and culture, and maybe turn out a little of his own. And he'd like, for once, to publish something under his real name.

As things are, Zane's name and face have to remain hidden from readers, who know him only as Incognegro, a light-skinned black man who uses his ability to "pass" to investigate lynchings in the South.

In the book's opening panels, we see Zane at a lynching he's powerless to stop. Instead, he walks poker-faced down the line of men waiting for their souvenir postcards of the murder, taking names and addresses. When his cover is blown, he narrowly escapes with his life, and returns to his newspaper determined never to return to the South again.

But then his editor confronts him with a news story off the wire -- Zane's brother, Alonzo, is being held in a Tupelo jail for the murder of a white woman. And Zane knows he'll have to go undercover once more, and this time he knows he has to bring back more than a list of names.

As Zane stands before a mirror, straightening his hair and making a few subtle alterations to his appearance, he says, "My camouflage is provided by my genes; the product of the southern tradition nobody likes to talk about. Slavery, rape, hypocrisy... Since white America refused to see its past, they can't really see me too well, either. Add to that a little touch of Madame C.J.'s magic and watch me go invisible. Watch me step outside of history. Assimilation as revolution."

It's a testament both to Johnson's writing, and to Pleece's evocative illustrations that meditations like these fit seamlessly into a heavily action-driven book.

Zane's friend, Carl, a fast-talking gambler with a flair for theatrics, insists on coming to Tupelo with him, and isn't prepared for what the Jim Crow South holds. However, while Zane is subtle in making his plots, Carl poses as an Englishman looking to buy land, and quickly makes connections among the town's residents, despite Zane's warnings to keep a low profile.

Gradually, the two begin to piece the case together -- Alonzo's bootlegging operation with a white woman, their secret relationship, Alonzo found kneeling by her mutilated body in the woods. But that doesn't even scratch the surface of things.

Zane has to navigate a landscape of Klansmen and hill people, where even the whites who fall outside the boundaries of "racism as the norm" have their own self-interested motivations for wanting to see the case disappear.

Incognegro succeeds on many levels -- as a work of accurately detailed historical fiction, as an examination of race and identity in the United States, and as a hard-boiled sleuthing story. Pleece's black and white illustrations are rich and precise, capturing the noirish feel of the book, while capturing subtle characterizations.

In an author's note, Johnson describes his inspiration for the book as growing up "a black boy who looked white." He and his half black, half Jewish cousin played games as children where they pretended "to be race spies in the war against white supremacy." Then, in college, Johnson learned about Walter White, a former leader of the NAACP, who posed as a white man to investigate lynchings in the South. Johnson writes, "It was as if my little childhood fantasy had come to life."

Check out the recent interview with Johnson at Racialicious, where he discusses the possibility of a film adaptation, cultural amnesia, and why Incognegro is not a "tragic mulatto" story.

The New Pull List of Maturity (and Crime)


A funny thing happened when we got home last night after our weekly trip to the Golden Apple. First, staring at the stack of books, I realized that - with the exception of the new Buffy* - our entire haul this week was made up of crime books. Looking at our comics shelf, I then realized that "capes and tights" books make up the smallest chunk by far of our monthly buys.

Of course, genre is a tricky thing: does a book like Powers count as a crime-book-with-superheroes or a superhero-book-in-police-procedural-tights? (With Powers, I settled on the former; Peter David's X-Factor, a mash-up of noir detective with Marvel mutants, I would peg as the latter, if only because it gets hijacked every so often for company crossover slugfests.)

I have to admit I was a little surprised at first, and maybe a little saddened: it was, after all, Spidey, the X-Men, and (sigh) the West Coast Avengers that got me hooked on the medium. But on my recent trip home I had the occasion to haul a box or two of comics out of the attic and flip through them, and it pretty much confirmed the conventional wisdom that the early 90s were not such a great time for spandex and eye-beams, at least where the big two were concerned.

But then I looked down at the stack of floppies we had brought home and snapped out my nostalgia-funk immediately: there may not be much in the superhero genre that's doing it for me these days, but we're in the middle of an excellent crime comics boom-let.

So coming soon: crime comics reviews galore, where we'll be checking in with some old favorites and checking out some new obsessions.

Now if y'all will excuse me, I've got to track down this mope and make with the chin music until he canaries. . .

. . .oh, who am I kidding? I've got to get back to coding old newspaper editorials.

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* As regards a certain surprising (if not wholly unexpected) plot twist: I can't resist the easy joke. To wit: "I'll be in my bunk."

Wednesday, January 30, 2008

End of an Era: Y: The Last Man, Issue 60

Five years ago, I was a different kind of reader than I am now. I read NYT-approved literary fiction and important contemporary nonfiction, and I would never have been caught dead holding a detective magazine or a pulp novel. Or god forbid, a comic book.

But then, through a strange turn of events, I found myself in graduate school, working on a research project that necessitated spending a lot of time in comic book stores, interviewing customers and handing out surveys, although I knew next to nothing about comics myself. In the downtime, the staff at Capital City Comics in Madison discovered that they had an interested, uninformed party in their midst, and made it their duty to educate me about Frank Miller, Bendis, Bone, and the entire Vertigo catalog.

But my transformation to comics geek was completed the day that someone put the first trade of Brian K. Vaughan's Y: The Last Man in my hands and said, "You'll love this one. Everybody does."

And ever since, I've been trekking to the comic book store on Wednesdays to find out what happens next to Yorick Brown, Agent 355, Dr. Mann, and Ampersand. And for the past year, I've been sad every time I read an issue, because I knew that everybody's days were numbered, whether they lived to see the end of the story or not.

I didn't want Y to have its last issue set in stone. I wanted it to go on until I spent every issue complaining about how bad it was sucking, and how they should just hang it up before they embarrassed themselves.

But as things turned out, it was never going to be anything but my all-time favorite comic book, the first thing I read when I got home from the Golden Apple, the first thing I recommended to anyone teetering on the edge of comic book geekery, and it never, ever sucked. Not once.

And that's big talk. I mean, even Sandman sucked once in awhile.

Someday, I suppose another book will come along that I'll love as much as Y: The Last Man, but until then, my Wednesdays are going to be a little bit empty, and my trips to the Golden Apple a little bit less fun.

Thursday, November 01, 2007

We Are Weird About Funky Winkerbean

Brady's right -- something absolutely horrific must have happened to Funky Winkerbean between the ages of 36 and 46 because he looks a lot worse than he ought to. Behold.

Young Funky:



30-something Funky:



Gray-Skinned and Paunchy Funky:



Maybe he's drinking again.

Dorian Winkerbean

If you don't follow this sort of thing, you may be unaware that Tom Batiuk has jumped Funky Winkerbean forward about ten years. (Which somehow makes it now set in the present, which is really confusing, because Funky's cousin Wally was deployed in Afghanistan a few years back, so I guess now he was fighting the Soviets or something.)

Anyways, long story short, the main characters in FW are now in their forties. Today marks the first appearance of the titular Winkerbean, and all I can say is that the new character sketches did not prepare me for this:


If Funky is supposed to be a stand-in of sorts for his creator, I can only assume that Batiuk is looking great these days.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Funny "Ha-Ha" or Funny "Soul-Crushing Anomie"?

I don't know if, like me, you've been glued to the newspaper comics section to watch as Funky Winkerbean continues its downward spiral into the depths of depression (comic-book guy), cancer (Lisa), alcoholism (Funky), hearing loss (Mr. Dinkle), land mines (Wally), and all around mopery. But if you haven't, today might be a good day to start, as Les has started hitting the bottle and now his cat is talking to him.

I guess it's to be expected, given that the strip has previously featured talking rocks and talking leaves, but if that cat starts hanging out outside of Lisa's room, well, I think we all know what happens next.

Sunday, June 10, 2007

On "New Reader Friendly" Comics

Invincible #42, written by Robert Kirkman, art by Ryan Ottley

I've mentioned before that I feel somewhat betrayed by She-Hulk of late. You see, I ignored my staunch "No Marvel" stance to read about the wacky adventures of Jen Walters, and her foray into the world of superhuman law. And until last summer's Civil War crossover thing, the series did an excellent job of keeping the story focused, fresh, and funny.

But I should have known better. There's a reason I stay away from the boys and girls in tights, and it is that I have neither the time nor inclination to keep abreast of things that S.H.I.E.L.D did five years ago. I barely know who they are now, yet She-Hulk keeps insisting that I TRY to know, which is not what I signed on for.

But apparently, the comics industry is aware of this problem, and is taking steps to remedy it in the form of "new reader friendly" comics. These aim to catch readers up quickly, within the context of the ongoing story. Brady brought me the latest of these for the Image comic, Invincible, as an experiment to see what a mythology-hatin' comics reader would think.

I think it sucked.

The first five pages involved a bunch of astronauts talking about the main character, a college kid who happens to be, well... invincible. It was like reading the first chapters of the Babysitters' Club #482, Mary Anne and the Tainted Lunchables, where we learn that Kristy's stepdad is loaded, that Claudia has a creamy complexion despite her junk food addiction, and that Mallory is lame.

While Invincible #42 did manage to pack a huge amount of information in a relatively small space, it didn't do so in a way that made me want to buy the next issue. Which was probably the important part.

Weirdly, at the end of the issue there was a synopsis of the series written in straight-up prose that was actually good. Maybe if this went at the beginning there wouldn't be a need for so much clumsy establishing dialogue. Then again, if this went at the beginning, a new reader might just skip it.

In the sixth grade, all my friends were obsessed with a soap opera called Santa Barbara, which featured a huge and screwy cast of characters not entirely unlike the Marvel Universe. Tired of being left out of their lunchtime speculations about Cruz and Eden's kidnapped baby, I began to tune in. For the first two weeks, everything was terribly confusing, but I perservered, motivated at first by external factors (my friends), then later, by a genuine investment in the stories and characters.

So, I guess what I'm saying with that little anecdote is that "new reader friendly" comics are not the answer because becoming a fan of something has to take place naturally. You pick up a comic book because you like the reviews or your friends are all reading it or the art appeals to you, and after a period of initial confusion, you catch on. If the comic book is worth its salt.

Invincible only has 40-something issues, and that was too much to be handled gracefully. I'd hate to see what one of these issues would look like in Marvel-land. Then again, that's why they just restart the books every few years. All I'm sayin' is even Santa Barbara never resorted to such crude mercenary tactics.

Friday, June 01, 2007

Future Comic Geek Cred

It always bugged me that we got into (f'rinstance) Y the Last Man starting with #12 or thereabouts. It's either the indie snob in me or the mylar-bagging comics nerd in me, but I likes to get in on the ground floor.


Which is why I am now going to plug Guttsville and put you, dear reader, in a position to say "I liked that before it was cool."

The book, by Simon Spurrier and Frazer Irving, is set in the belly of Leviathan, where a group of convicts/settlers (swallowed on an ill-fated trip to Australia back in the day) have managed to survive, if not thrive, for several generations. They refer to that forgotten period before the giant fish thingy ate them as "The Drytime" and they are convinced that, like Jonah, they are being tested by the Lord. The wicked, in Gutsville, are hung over bile ducts by the Town Elders and digested by the creature. Our hero - the son of the town Ratcatcher - may have just found a way out, but it's a certain digesting for that kind of blasphemy and sedition.

The art in this six issue miniseries is murky and grotesque (in a good way) and the premise and writing are super inventive. The characters are a little stock, at least so far, but the issue ends with a twist that promises much fun ahead. All in all, a really nifty book.

The first issue is out on stands now, and those looking for a new high-concept comic that's a bit off the beaten path should check it out - especially if you ever thought Pinocchio kinda had a neat thing going there in the belly of that whale.

Friday, May 18, 2007

This One's a Thinker

My friend, Gwen, just read Pride of Baghdad, and totally hated its guts.

I always thought Brian K. Vaughan was beyond reproach when it came to the gender stuff. In the sexist world of comics writing, he's one of the good guys - he wrote Runaways, for cripes sake! However Gwen's reaction to the rape scene that takes place in Pride of Baghdad made me wonder, is Vaughan no better than the likes of Robert Kirkman and Brad Meltzer when it comes to "rape as plot device?"

On a first read, I didn't agree with her at all. Then, the more I thought about it, the more I thought the matter deserved more careful consideration.

Bookslut agrees with Gwen, its reviewer making the comment, "the rape is unnecessary for establishing Safa's jaded attitude towards freedom." Other reviewers had no problem with the scene. Karen Healey of Girls Read Comics (And They're Pissed) was surprisingly silent on the issue.

Thoughts?

Thursday, April 19, 2007

In Defense of Word Balloons

So Mary's feeling a little let down by the world of comics lately. Fair enough.

I agree with her in regards to The Walking Dead's little foray into exploitation - the response to which Kirkman handled about as well as a freshman in an intro Soc class trying to argue his way out of Census data that shows that, in 2007, men still outearn women by a significant amount for no good reason. And yes, She-Hulk has been treading narrative water of late. But as the alpha geek in our house, it falls to me to rebut as regards my sweetie's take on the state of the sequential art coming into our house these days. To wit: the following titles that are, or have recently been, kicking all kinds of comic fanny.

First off, Elk's Run was awesome, but that's a tale for a future post.

And yes, Y the Last Man is winding down but Ex Machina is really picking up the pace in recent issues, and I'm waiting for the next issue of both series the way that New Englanders used to queue up at the docks for the next Dickens installment.

Those caveats aside, here's what we at TBIFY have been reading and digging the heck out of lately.

David Petersen's Mouse Guard. The initial run of this series followed a trio of mice who patrol the borders of the mouse territories in the distant past, fending off snakes, crabs, and political insurgents. The first six issues are coming out in a collected volume this month, and there's a new run starting soon. The art is excellent, the concept and story are engaging, and I really can't say enough about this little series that could.
If you liked Watership Down, this book is for you.

Next up we have one for the social theory/philosophy geeks only, but one that both of us have enjoyed greatly: Action Philosophers. Like the "For Beginners" series, but funnier and more inventive, this one is for people who understand why "Plato Smash!" may be the funniest summing-up of Mr. "Myth of the Cave" that ever there was. And the issue where Jacques Derrida appears as the Deconstructionator (the last panels dissolve into photos of the artist and writer, as Jacques vows "I am always already back") is another favorite of ours, along with "You're a Good Man, John Stuart Mill." If you like very abstract reasoning, but wish that Das Capital came with more pictures of Karl chucking grenades at bankers, this book is for you.

Finally, DC/Vertigo's DMZ has upped the ante for politically astute comics, without sacrificing story for ideology. The series, set in the near future where Manhattan Island has become a demilitarized zone following a militia-led revolt against the Feds, follows a journalism student who inadvertently becomes an embedded journalist in the next US Civil War. As the series progresses, the scales fall from our hero's eyes and readers are treated - if that's the word - to a thoughtfully written "What if...?" story that imagines what it'd be like if we did to ourselves what we're currently doing elsewhere. If you liked Pride of Baghdad, 1984, or Brave New World, this book is for you.

Tuesday, April 17, 2007

Comics Are Letting Me Down

I can't help but wonder if my days as a comics nerd are numbered.

Only a handful of issues remain in Brian K. Vaughan's Y: The Last Man.

She-Hulk never quite extricated itself from this summer's Civil War crossover. Now, it's like all the other mushed-up Marvel universe comics I don't want to read.

Powers lost me when they made Deena psychotic.

I haven't quite forgiven Robert Kirkman for writing a ghoulish rape scene into The Walking Dead, then being a dick when a reader called him out on it in the "Letter Hacks" section of Issue 32.*

And lately, Bill Willingham is on my list. I love Fables - lots of women do. I can only wonder if Willingham suddenly discovered that he was writing a "girl comic," and then immediately set about trying to alienate his female audience to toughen up the book or something. Check out the recent set of posts on Girls Read Comics (and They're Pissed) for more on this (plus, a fun game of "Anti-Comics Feminist Bingo).

I guess I still have Buffy, but it seems like the magic's gone between me and my funny books. Sniffle.
_______________________
* The reader criticized Kirkman for having a strong, black, female character brutally raped by a white man (and yes, I agree with the reader on this one... it was unnecessary and a typically gratuitous comic book rape scene). Kirkman responded by saying things like, "I can't be held responsible for how black women have been treated in comics in general," "But when a white male is raped, I hope you're just as upset," and "Do you REALLY want every African-American character to be SAFE because I don't want to look like a racist?" Ugh.

Monday, January 29, 2007

For Worse. Definitely for worse.

Lest we at the premises of T.B.i.f.Y. Ltd. be accused of bibliosnobbery, favoring the book-like format of the graphic novel over other forms of sequential art, I present to you my review of Lynn Johnston's For Better or For Worse.

Let me start with the following observation about a very different author: Joseph "Mistah Kurtz, he dead" Conrad. The domestic hells chronicled so ably by ol' Joe - when he wasn't writing about boats or nutjob jungle dictators - were rooted in Conrad's own familial and marital woes. To put it midly, he and his wife had a complicated relationship, and I like to think that the outlet of fiction saved them both from a tawdry murder-suicide.

I point this out because I am equally certain that, were it not for the syndication of FBoFW, some poor Mountie would have one day found himself unloading the corpsicles of Patterson analogues from a basement freezer on the outskirts of Toronto.

But instead of being fed poisoned poutine the Moose Family Robinson find themselves living out their lives in a 2-d world where Mom is always, always, always right and everyone makes the good decisions.*

Ordinarily, I wouldn't post just to talk smack about somebody else's life's work, except Mike (the son in the strip) sold his novel. This is how he describes his book, the little Pynchon:

"Sheilagh Shaughnessy has married a soldier, but once he's removed his uniform he becomes a different man...The love he had talked about in England isn't something he really knows how to give. It was all talk. It was all promises - and she believed him."

No lie. There's also a bunch of stuff in there about World War II and sod houses and turnips.** It's apparently very deep and very moving. And he sold it on pretty much the first try, and got a $25,000 advance, because that kind of thing happens to first time novelists all the time.

And the local native people in the strip are unfailingly wise, serene, helpful, and vaguely mystical.

And the special needs girl in April's class. Oh, the special needs girl in April's class. Her...dialogue...is...written like...this...which makes no sense because though she is a little slow, she's not Captain Kirk. But she is also unfailingly wise.

What was once a strip I actually kind of liked has now descended to the center of the suck maelstrom. It's down there with Pluggers, those new Far Side one-panel wannabes, and the Family Circus. I want very much for it to go away, please, thank you, and have thought for some time it needs to be taken out behind the comic strip barn and shot. There's so much more I could say, but reading the strip makes me sad and kind of headachey.***

And here Mike has sold his @#(^#! bodice-ripper for at least 25 grand.

I think I'm going to write a novel now.

Out of spite.

------------------------------------

*It's also a world where everyone has the butt of a woman in her mid-50s who's had a job where she sat down a lot for several decades. Seriously, it's creepy.
** I pulled that from the "monthly letters" section over at the FBoFW website.
***For a more sustained critique, direct yourselves to the Comics Curmudgeon's FBoFW archives.

Tuesday, November 28, 2006

Awesome Blog

Via Girls Read Comics (And They're Pissed), I found this, the blog-memoir of a woman who worked in the comics industry and barely got out intact.

The series of posts entitled "Goodbye to Comics" reveal a decent hunk of the comics industry to be as creepily hostile to women as you've always suspected.

Check it out - she's a great writer, and you will be so righteously pissed at those comic book guys who pretend to be feminists, but whose ideas about feminism are generally limited to ass-kicking babes who keep their mouths shut and do what they're told, like the one you see here.

Don't even get me started on the messed-up gender politics of Preacher.

Thursday, November 16, 2006

A Rake at the Gates of Hell

Hang out long enough in stores that sell Fantastic Four t-shirts and scale models of Hellboy's stone fist, and you'll likely hear the rallying cry of "Comics: Not Just For Kids Anymore!". What is usually meant by this is that there are works that cover serious themes in fairly "literary" ways; not everyone in a comic, in other words, has a cape, web-shooters, or adamantium claws. Books like Art Spiegelman's Maus or Craig Thompson's Blankets, two recurrent poster children for the "comics-are-high-art" camp, are often then held up as evidence of the aesthetic maturity of comics/comix/sequential art.

But there is another sense in which comics are not just for kids anymore: some parents might take it amiss if their kids read a series whose protagonist's defining moment involved botching an exorcism and condemning the soul of a little girl to an eternity of torment in Hell.

(He did try to pull her back out of the clutches of the damned and all, but he only managed to grab her arm. And it kind of...uh...came off.)

John Constantine: Hellblazer is a comic, but it's certainly not for little kids.* The title character, initially created by Alan Moore in the pages of Swamp Thing, is a working class mage, a kind of populist Merlin in a shabby trenchcoat with a penchant for lager and Silk Cuts by the carton, a hard-bitten cynic rooting through the ruins of Thatcher's England whose outlook on life would make Raymond Chandler blanch. He is not exactly a good person, but for fans of noir antiheros, he's an endlessly engaging character.**


In Mike Carey and Leonardo Manco's All His Engines - a standalone graphic novel published for the benefit of non-readers who saw and maybe liked the Keanu Reeves film adaptation (which you and I will just pretend didn't happen) - Constantine finds himself traveling from London to Los Angeles investigating a mysterious illness that's leaving people in comas in both cities. Sleazy Hollywood demons, Aztec death gods who have emigrated north with their followers' grandkids, and Constantine's long-suffering driver/best friend/muscle Chas all come together in a plot that finds Constantine out of his element and right in it at the same time, double-dealing with the forces of evil while learning the hard way that L.A. ain't London.

All His Engines is a good introduction to the larger series; it requires very little in the way of knowledge of the series' mythology or backstory and provides a guide to the collected editions that Vertigo has culled from the series, which now numbers in the 200s. It also hits its marks in such a way as to suggest what the broader Constantine narrative holds, without simply rehashing the older, now classic stories.

Finally, the art is damn creepy, doing what prose often can't in the horror genre: squicking one out without becoming overwrought in the depiction of viscera and gore. I'm thinking here of the scene in which John is sucked into the chest of a demon who's made his body out of cancer cells. Gah.

If you like...
Stephen King and Ray Chandler in equal measure, or Firefly's Captain Mal in his darker moments, this book is for you.

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*I do have to admit, though, that sometimes I daydream about sending copies of Hellblazer to the children of the parents who are trying to ban Harry Potter, just to show them what they should be worrying about.

**On the one hand, he once tricked the devil into drinking holy water (in the form of a pint of Guinness) to save the soul of a buddy who'd sold it for the world's greatest collection of intoxicating potables. On the other hand, while John is smart and John is crafty, John is also prone to getting out of trouble by asking you to hold his place in the Infernal Beatings line for a minute or two while he nips out for another pack of smokes.

Wednesday, September 13, 2006

Run, Don't Walk

Pride of Baghdad written by Brian K. Vaughan
art by Niko Henrichon

After a 2003 bombing raid in Iraq, four lions escaped from the Baghdad Zoo. This book is about them, and it's great.

Vaughan's previous comics haven't shied away from sensitive issues, up to and including 9/11 (see Ex Machina). The problem that many writers have addressing hot button, polarizing issues is that they either bland it up with mushy platitudes that offend or please no one, or they sink their teeth so deeply into an ideology that it's hard to find the story behind the grand prouncements.

Vaughan's work doesn't have these problems. And needless to say, Pride of Baghdad is about a whole lot more than lions.

As added endorsement, let me add that this graphic novel was released today. At approximately 6:50pm, I was at Golden Apple Comics, having my copy signed by Brian K. Vaughan himself. By 8:45, I had finished it, and ran right over to the computer to write this.

If you liked...: WE3 by Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely or Watership Down by Richard Adams, this book is for you.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Cooking! To the Death!

Iron Wok Jan by Shinji Saijyo

The Goods: In this so-ludicrous-it's-awesome comic, a group of teenage Japanese chefs perfect the art of Chinese cookery and battle one another in one cooking competition after another for... hmmm... actually, it's never made entirely clear what they're battling for. Maybe glory or something. Our anti-hero, Jan, is the biggest douche you'd ever hope to meet. He's merciless to his rivals, worse to his friends, and isn't above poisoning the occasional judge. And each book includes recipes.

Thoughts: Actually, I loathe manga. I find it skeevy. However, knowing how much I love cooking and foodie stuff in general, a friend promised me I'd love this one, and she was not wrong. Saijyo throws enough twists into each contest to keep the bake-off premise fresh, the plots are goofily fun, and the female characters don't have that manga-Lolita thing going on.

If you like...: watching Iron Chef, this book is for you.

Thursday, March 09, 2006

Why I Love Wednesdays

In addition to being Veronica Mars night and the only day of the week that my husband and I both get home from work at a reasonable hour, Wednesday is also the day that I make a trip to The Golden Apple for my weekly pile of shiny new comics.

Here are a few I love:

Y: The Last Man by Brian K. Vaughan

In Brief: A plague wipes out every living male mammal on the planet, save one Yorick Brown and Ampersand, the helper monkey he's attempting to train. Yorick just wants to find his girlfriend, who's currently halfway around the world, but is instead placed in the protective custody of a secret agent named 355 and a geneticist to track down what caused the plague.

Angry Republican widows attempt to overthrow what remains of the U.S. government. Militias, pirates, and a cult of Amazons terrorize survivors. Travelling across the country takes months because most of the pilots, train conductors, and ship captains are dead, and the freeways are clogged with the cars of people who died during rush hour. And nerdlinger extraordinaire Yorick is not exactly the person you'd entrust with the repopulation of the earth.

Despite the grim scenario, this series is remarkably charming, sweet, and funny, as are its unlikely heroes.

The Walking Dead by Robert Kirkman

In Brief: Zombies!!!!!!

Another apocalyptic comic that makes Y look like a Sunday school picnic. The story picks up with a ragtag assortment of individuals who have survived the first wave of brain-eating, and are trying to find a safe place to settle down.

You know how in most zombie movies you can tell pretty quick who's safe and who's doomed? In The Walking Dead, all bets are off. Something like a third of the characters have been zombified so far, and Kirkman has said that he can and will kill off anyone, including the hero. So don't go getting attached.

100 Bullets by Brian Azzarello

In Brief: Imagine that The X-Files and The Sopranos bonded together to raise the illegitimate child of Frank Miller, and that's kind of what it's like.

Boiled down, this book is about getting revenge. Agent Graves appears on the doorstep of some severely wronged people and hands them a briefcase. The briefcase contains the identity of the person who ruined their life, evidence proving this, a gun, and 100 untraceable bullets.

It gets a lot more complicated, so I recommend buying this one in trade form rather than issue by issue. This comic is mind-bogglingly great, and it's easy on the eyes, too - arguably the best drawn, coolest-looking comic out there.