Don MacPherson Comic Reviews

What makes this such a compelling read is that while prejudice and racist cliches are the catalysts, the real story is about self-image and self esteem. I'm a white kid from Atlantic Canada rather than an "American Born Chinese,"but I can easily identify with Jin's sense of isolation and Danny's embarrassment. We've all felt those ways, rightly or wrongly; what's different for everyone are the causes of those feelings. Even the monkey god's journey of empowerment and later rediscovery of his cultural identity are elements that one can easily find in one's own life. The meticulous quality of this graphic novel's construction is eclipsed only by the honesty and universal nature of the subject matter.

I've enjoyed American Virgin from the very first issue, but it occurred to me after reading this issue that I'm only beginning to understand it now. The book has been a brutally frank examination of western culture in terms of religion, sexuality and media, but now I see that this is actually a rather traditional parable about a prophet being tested by God. Adam's story mirrors those from the Bible of people God tasked with impossible and socially embarrassing missions or destinies. Abraham was asked to sacrifice his son purely on faith. Joseph was asked to accept a wife carrying a child that was not his own. Angels don't come down and ask men and women to do great things and lead people; they ask them to do strange, inexplicable things. They prove their faith and worth by overcoming what's asked of them, not by achieving. Adam is in the same position here, complete with angelic messenger.

I could write pages about what I think Mazzucchelli is talking about in this book. At times, his meaning comes across as abundantly clear, and at others, there's a surreal tone that makes meaning elusive, even fluid. And the ending... the ending alone is enough to keep readers debating about the artist's ultimate message, I'm sure. This is without a doubt the most amazing comics experience I've had all year, and it's a safe bet that this book will top critics' best of 2009 lists in a few months. This is a must read for fans of intelligent, finely crafted comics.

There are no answers forthcoming in this first volume, but Little definitely lures the reader further into the melancholy, miserable world of Chiaroscuro, using that mystery as a strong and effective lure. I sincerely hope it won't be long before Little continues this opus.

Writer Jason Aaron brings this war story to a satisfying and fitting conclusion. As always, the parallels and contrasts between the two protagonists' tales serve as the greatest appeal of the book. Aaron's script and plotting challenge his audience, and the complexity of the storytelling, tempered with its down-to-earth characterization, is quite thought-provoking. Billy Everette's character finds redemption as a soldier in this concluding issue, but in finding his courage and overcoming his fear, he loses himself and any chance at a normal life. Cameron Stewart's art conveys the choreography of the climactic battle perfectly. We can see the mechanics of the battle unfold with crystal clarity, and he manages to convey the chaos in a slow-motion mode that drives home the art and the drama of the ugliness of the violence. Not surprisingly, The Other Side proves to be an ironic tragedy. The dedicated soldier with a loving family is denied his return home, while the reluctant weakling is h

While Brubaker entertains with his deconstruction of the classic Archie characters, what the story is really about is how one lives life. Here, Riley has for an easy life. While he denies it, he's clearly in part drawn to Felix because of her money. He marries for convenience, not for love. It's not to say that he never felt anything for her, but that she represented what he wanted to reject: his small-town life. Riley wanted out of his own past, but now, he wants back in, away from the dark place he inhabits now. The problem is that he's using the ugliness in which he's been immersed as a means to achieve his ends.

When it comes to the American Revolution, what one usually sees from American storytellers is, understandably, a fairly one-sided view of that period of history in which the men fighting for the American colonies' independence from the British monarchy are glorified and hailed for taking the first steps toward creating what would be a world super-power. But Schweizer doesn't glorify any player in this drama, nor does he denounce any particular side in the conflict. More importantly, he demonstrates there were more than just two sides. The idiom "there's two sides to every story" almost always proves to be false; there's always more than two. The truth is made up of a polygon of viewpoints that shape the real story only when all sides are assembled. Schweizer recognizes this fact, incorporating neutral parties such as unaffiliated colonists, native American tribes and others into the mix.

By accompanying him on a trip to this strange but all-too possible vision of Manhattan, Brian Wood also takes the reader around the world and through time. We visit My Lai in Vietnam, and we spy on soldiers in Abu Ghraib Prison in Iraq. Wood offers no judgments about the past war crimes, the memories of which this story elicits. He does acknowledge the unjust horrors that have been carried out in the midst of war, but he also acknowledges that in many instances, they're committed with regular joes who have been immersed in Hell on earth. They are ordinary people in circumstances that would drive any ordinary person insane.

In reaction, Hundred goes on to question why he - and by extension, the establishment in general - have given a pass to some forms of periodical publishing while making environmental demands of others. One character offers that the argument is moot, that there's no future for newspapers or comics. Perhaps that's Vaughan's final word on the subject, I don't know. I don't entirely agree with it, but it's wonderful fodder for debate and discussion. Anyone who an interest in comics, the responsibilities of those in publishing and the future of print ought to give this collection of dead plant matter a look, whether or not he or she's familiar with Ex Machina.

Thompson's commentary adds so much to the reading experience that I actually felt this was the superior publication as compared to the first hardcover volume of 1950s-era strips I have on my bookshelf. In that volume, the strips really have to speak for themselves, but Thompson's footnotes here bring so much more to the equation. It's also interesting to see the evolution of Schulz's character design and style. Charlie Brown looked a bit different when he debuted as compared to the icon we know today. The same holds true for how these familiar characters behaved in their early days. Unseen Peanuts will be of interest not only to fans of the craft of comics but to anyone who grew up with Charlie, Snoopy, Linus et al.

I think what I most enjoyed about Friends With Boys was it wasn't about what I thought it was going to be about. The title leads one to believe it's about a girl meeting new, male friends as she enters the public school system for the first time. But it's not about that. Instead, she ends up befriending a girl, Lucy. So then I thought it was about how Maggie had only been friends with boys (her brothers), so the title was meant as a bit of misdirection. But Maggie also becomes friends with Alastair, Lucy's brother. It wasn't until the book's climactic ending the true meaning reveals itself, and it's thoroughly satisfying. All the clues are there. Friends With Boys is ultimately a story about the importance of family as a foundation for who we are and the lives we choose to live. Friends With Boys stands out as Faith Erin Hicks' finest work, and given the strength of her past projects, that's saying something.

Given the look of the art and the cosmopolitan tone of the writing, I'd assumed Roy was an established European creator. I actually inquired with publisher Ed Brisson about the origins of the book; I had a hunch this was actually a reprint of a well-received European comic. To my surprise, I was informed that Simon Roy is actually a Canadian comics creator who's just starting out. This is a powerfully effective and thoroughly impressive debut from a young, new talent. Roy - whom Brisson tells me is only 20 - exhibits maturity and a level of craft beyond his years. He's a real find, and fans of comics or just strong storytelling ought to seek out Jan's Atomic Heart... and his future endeavors as well.

The over-the-top aspects of the story are amusing and even briefly thrilling on occasion, but the quieter moments are those that exhibit the greatest strength. The friendship between Joe and his masked friend Pete is simple and straightforward, and it's completely believable. The more intimate connections - between Pete and his mermaid charge, and Anna and Max - seem heartfelt, and they help to balance the surreal side of the book. Graham's vision of a wonderworld of the future is fascinating, but the strong, convincing characterization serves as the real heart of this topsy-turvy tale.

While I enjoy his writing, there's no denying that Petersen's greatest strength as a storyteller stems from his richly textured artwork. He has an incredible eye for nature. Though his mice behave in a human manner, they always look like mice. There's a simple, soft approach in the backdrops and landscapes that make for an interesting contrast with the rich detail of the various animals. Petersen with a talent in the industry without equal, and it's wonderful to see that he's apparently got no shortage of Mouse Guard stories to tell.

Hickman sets a perfect pace in this opening issue, introducing each character clearly while still setting the stage and advancing the plot. When politics, science, religion and war converge, the result is no simple scenario. However, Hickman spells out the complexity of the situation clearly, but accessibility doesn't lead to oversimplification or a patronizing tone. The writer conveys the science-fiction elements in a convincing manner; the notion of time travel as presented here comes off as plausible rather than fantastic. He's also granted the characters distinct, believable voices. Perhaps the most interesting sequence in the story is one that's almost entirely text-based. The debate among the cardinals and the pope about what to do with their new technology is compelling. They don't seem like madmen or even intense zealots. Instead, there's thoughtfulness in their discussions, but there's passion and trepidation as well.

Power Man and Iron Fist just went from being one of the most fun comics Marvel is publishing right now to one of the most important comics in its lineup.

Cooke portrays the dangerous world in which these characters exist as oddly alluring but at the same time, they're clearly living depressing lives. Parker is ultimately a survivor, someone who chases after what he needs rather than what he wants. Parker is incredibly impressive and intimidating, but he's also a pitiable figure. While this piece of crime fiction is fascinating, with its clever twists and examination of the tricks of the criminal's trade, the reason it's such a captivating read is that it's such a thorough, well-crafted character study of a broken but strong man.

As strong as Vaughan's writing is, I think artist Fiona Staples tops him by bringing his visions to life. This is absolutely one of the loveliest comics I've seen in some time. I've seen Staples' work on covers and in an issue of Jonah Hex not too long ago, but those fine efforts pale in comparison to what the Canadian artist has accomplished here. Alana is absolutely loveable, but like the other characters, there's a rougher look at play in her design as well, thanks to Staples' loose style combined with softer colors. There's really not a single character design in the book that's not appealing, from the "robots" to The Will's feline companion. This is as close to a flawless comic book as one might find. The only thing I can find wrong with it is its generic title.

Given that this issue doesn't boast the extra pages at no extra cost the first one did, I figured there was no way this issue could prove to be better than the previous one. Boy, was I wrong.

Scarlet clearly plays two roles in her own story, that of the victim and of the heroine. But she also fulfills a third key role - I see her as also being the ultimate villain in this drama. The audience understandably sympathizes with, empathizes with and pities Scarlet. Circumstances and the system have transformed her into the destructive yet influential force that she becomes in this issue. She's out to fight corruption, and she does so unforgivingly, unrelentingly. But that determination and skewed perspective are what threaten to make her the villain to all, not just those who abuse power. There's an undertone to her call to arms that she sends to the public that leads me to believe she's going to take a "if you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem" approach to her mission. It's one thing to attack those who are tainting the system. It's another to destroy those who either don't agree with you or are apathetic. I wonder how widely Scarlet will cast her net in he

MacIsaac's work has been billed as gay porn, and there's definitely plenty of explicit homosexual sex depicted in these pages. That prospect may make some uncomfortable, but MacIsaac's main purpose isn't to arouse or shock his audience. The sexual components of his storytelling are there because they speak to what drives the characters, what frightens them and what helps them to find themselves. Ultimately, the gay sex is simply part of their lives, just part of what they do that makes them human - now what makes them different.

However, one needn't be a history buff to follow and appreciate the story and characters. There's a classic enmity between Charles Lord and Montglave that not only motivates the characters but drives the story forward. Like Chantler's artwork, there's a certain simplicity to the good-guys-versus-bad-guys plot that's appealing, but the creator uses that simple conflict as a foundation for a more complex structure. He divides the characters into smaller factions, making for multiple plotlines and character threads that only converge in a climactic battle scene. Chantler also offers up a couple of interesting twists that took me off guard. The snivelling nephew proves to be made of sterner stuff than the author led us to believe, and he also adds a new dynamic to the relationship between Charles Lord and Simon that really brings a thematic conflict to a brutal conclusion.

The juxtaposition of Billy's and Dai's stories not only spotlights their significant differences but the common ground they share. Dai may be braver and more focused, but we see they both come from small communities, from similar nuclear families. While Billy's training may be lacking in how people are treated, the military facilities at Dai's people's disposal pale in comparison. The ultimate message is about how important attitude and ideology are in waging a war, but I'm fascinated by the connections - both subconscious and thematic - between these two protagonists.

Innocence is a vital component of this book. Morse portrays himself as a cute little animal to convey that innocence, and the reason seems to me is that he wants us to see that he still feels like a child in the world. He's making things up as he goes along and doesn't fully understand how it all works. At the same time, that child-like perspective is a blessing, as it allows him to see beauty in the simpler things. The ultimate point of the book seems to be that innocence is an inherent component of creativity. The point is made more subtly in the earlier part of the book, but the final few pages serves as Morse's overt statement on the issue. It's almost a manifesto, but really, it's a promise from a man to his son as well as a note of encouragement from the father to himself.

Reading King City and following characters such as our slacker-kid cat master and the masked Pete as they embark upon their capers remind me of my youth, as I followed a friend into weird and intimidating places that opened my eyes to the existence of a whole other world lying underneath the one I knew. It's like that visit to an after-hours club where you don't really belong, but in which you manage to have an incredible night that serves as the fodder for a story you'll be telling for the rest of your life. King City takes its readers to that place, where one's wide-eyed wonderment is mixed with a sense of intimidation.

Above, I mentioned a particularly poignant scene set in a hospital room, where an ailing Law Chantler lay dying near the end of his life in the late 1990s. He's watched over by one of his grandchildren, and she hears him mutter about his time during the war, apparently reliving a harrowing moment. I was fascinated, and honestly, I wanted to know more about the man's struggle late in life and how the war changed him and haunted him. But that wasn't Scott Chantler's purpose with this book. It was to chronicle his grandfather's journey through that dark but important segment of history. The short scene set in the 1990s served to demonstrate how that journey, even so long after its end, was an ever-present element in the man's life. That scene served to speak about the war, not to explore the experiences that came years after.

Ultimately, this book isn't about what it takes to make a relationship work and whether or not it's meant to be. I think the greater message is that whether it's Forever or For a While, the collection of the experiences alone is the reward. The prize isn't the storybook ending but the story itself. The juxtaposition of the two final scenes says it all: the good definitely outweighs the bad.

The central theme of this issue " and a defining characteristic for this interpretation of Animal Man " is compassion. Buddy Baker is compassion given form. He cares for the crazed individual who puts sick children at risk because he sees sickness in him as well, not malevolence. Buddy's a symbol of compassion for animals. He's all about caring for others, but he's still presented as a regular guy. He's not sainted, and he doesn't sacrifice who he is or his other roles to exercise that compassion. Perhaps the point of the opening story will be about sacrifice, or about a challenge in which compassion has no place. I don't know, but I can't wait to find out.

Annihilator actually shares more than a writer in common with the afore-mentioned The Multiversity. Both comics explore the notion of writing as a reality-altering force, as tapping into unknown powers. In the DC event book, Morrison's script casts the audience in the role of power, as the script begs the reader not to take the characters further down toward a path of decay and corruption. In Annihilator, the story is about the written word given birth to something dark and menacing, or perhaps it's the creation using the writer to craft its gateway into existence. It's weird and intense and entertaining.

For this relaunch, Busiek brings back his everyman protagonist from the second Astro City series published by Image Comics back in 1996. Ben Pullam served as our standin, allowing the reader to walk the streets of Astro City and to look up and see the impossible unfolding above them. Now, Busiek is taking Ben in a different direction. He's no longer the everyman, the witness. Now he's becoming part of the mythic world that's been overhead for so many years. I like how Busiek is bringing the series full circle by using Ben as the central figure in this latest story, which also allows him to demonstrate things in Astro City are unfolding in real time instead of the frozen hourglass that allow Superman and Spider-Man to remain eternally young.

While the point of the storytelling is abundantly clear, the way in which Love opts to convey his meaning is darkly delightful. This is an African-American vision of such fabled stories as The Wizard of Oz and Alice in Wonderland. Southern and black culture factor, not to mention U.S. history, factor in heavily with Love's character concepts and designs. He mixes the worlds of magic and the mundane incredibly well here. This unusual and mature take on the child's quest into another world is mesmerizing. It's clear why Bayou caught the attention of the Zuda editorial board early on and why it's earned a number of awards.

If the recent Tokyopop release King City Vol. 1 hadn't been evidence enough, Brandon Graham shows here that he is a master of the science-fiction genre while also approaching it from a unique perspective. His characters are uber-hip, urban youth immersed in impossible, insanity-inducing circumstances who nevertheless manage to hold onto some sense of normality. While King City offered a distinctly American sci-fi setting (even though other international influences are apparent in the work), Multiple Warheads takes place in a colder, harsher backdrop that evokes memories of the Soviet Union in the 1980s (as do the place and character names). While Dead City, the locale for this first chapter, is a densely populated metropolis as well, Graham manages to instill a desolate, isolated feeling into almost every corner and alleyway. That cold, hostile setting serves as an interesting contrast to the vitality of the two main characters, Sexica and Nikoli. That contrast is further reinforced by

The smartest thing Cosby does with the property is limit the length of the stories. Yeah, he would have been limited in part by the format of Dark Horse Presents, but this is the sort of material that works well in short form in that anthology format. The extreme nature of the characters, plots and comedy seems to work well in small doses. Buddy Cops works as a drive-by hooting.

This graphic novel was also obviously crafted with an eye toward serial publication as traditional, periodical comics. The pacing and chapter breaks made it abundantly clear. That it was published as one volume instead isn't problematic at all, though. The chapters/individual issues make it easy for the reader to peruse the book in spurts. But then again, the characterization, artwork and storytelling are so engrossing, there's really no need for the pauses. I'm thrilled to add this touching volume to my bookshelf. Honestly, it's a shame it wasn't also offered as a hardcover edition. I would've been happy to plunk down an extra few bucks for an edition that had an even more permanent feel to it.

Courtney's rage in light of all of that cowardly behavior among the adults around her - people she's been told always know better than her - is completely understanding. Such anger in the face of hypocrisy is understandable for a young person, but what allows Courtney to stand apart is her refusal to stay quiet, calling the offenders out for what they are. We've seen Courtney's rebellious side and her perceptive nature before. What's more interesting is her interaction with her uncle in this story. In other Crumrin comics, she's had other authority figures against which she could revel or about which she could grumble. Now it's just her and Aloysius, and the kinship she feels for the old warlock comes into conflict with her natural obstinence. The new dynamic between the two Crumrins is intriguing, and I look forward to seeing how the relationship develops.

Brubaker's compelling characters and conflicts would be for naught if it weren't for the gritty, noir artwork provided by his creative partner. He captures the strength and determination that define both Lawless and his pursuer and the thoroughly corrupt nature of other players in the drama as well. He also does a nice job of depicting the femme fatales in the story, not only their beauty but a certain emptiness in their eyes as well. Val Staples's use of muted, almost unnatural colors adds to the atmosphere of tension. My only real issue with the visuals for this issue is the placement of the logos on the cover; they're too dominant, detracting from Phillips's artwork.

The apparent core premise of "The Crogan Adventures" is somewhat disappointing, in a way. The framing sequence - featuring a father telling his son of the adventures of one of their Crogan ancestors - indicates that further books in this potential series will feature other members of the title clan (and a quick read of Schweizer's website tells me I'm right, as a new Crogan book is forthcoming). While I welcome the potential for another installment of Schweizer's storytelling, I'm a bit disappointed the next one won't feature these pirate characters. Still, Crogan's Vengeance stands up well as a self-contained, one-off story, and my desire to see more of these characters certainly doesn't detract from the strength of the creator's work on this thoroughly impressive effort.

Ultimately, Ennis's resurrection of Dan Dare is about honor and idealism. The stumbling bureaucracy in this sci-fi story is meant to mirror the corrupted governments of the West with which we're faced today. Dan Dare lives in a version of England that saw great men as its leaders. Digby laments the lack of leaders and the need for someone strong and true to step up. I couldn't agree with Ennis more. I look forward to future issues, as it seems that Dan Dare will be about how we can revisit the potential and greatness that was once only part of our history. Dan dreams of returning to a simpler, better time. So does Ennis.

The first chapter of "Twenty Questions" is incredibly well written, and if subsequent episodes are half as compelling and interesting as this one, I'll still be riveted.

The Silence of the Lambs vibe throughout the latter part of the issue is so obvious, I can't only assume it's a purposeful homage. Still, writer Paul Jenkins brings a new dynamic to the mix that makes it even more dramatic and engrossing. Clarice Starling had no history with Hannibal Lecter before she first questioned him in his cell, and she personally had nothing to lose in that initial meeting. Here, Kass Sage not only must face everything she loathes in the world but must acknowledge the fact she owes her existence to it. Ultimately, what makes this such an interesting story is that it's driven by characterization rather than the hunt for a serial killer.

Becky Cloonan really outdoes herself with her efforts on this comic book. The settings are meticulously detailed; St. Paul's Cathedral looks incredible here. It's incredibly easy to see this happening in the real world, because it looks like the real world. When it comes to the characters, she boasts a slightly simpler approach, given her Amerimanga style. However, the figures are just as convincing, because he captures body language nicely. I was also pleased to see that despite its move to a bigger publisher, the art on Demo is still presented in black and white. Furthermore, the creators still offer up text and sketches in the back of the comic to give their readers some insight into the creative process.

The final page, which features the big revelation about the true nature of this story, elevates this from a good, entertaining super-hero story to something special, something thought-provoking, something significant. No, I'm not alleging that a Dr. Strange comic is going to effect social change. But the plot development on the final page, the themes introduced in this issue and the title of the story itself all indicate that Vaughan is going to pose some interesting ethical questions that can prompt for personal and social reflection. I shouldn't be surprised that Vaughan has developed such a smart story. He remains one of the most important talents in the industry today.

It's fitting that the most successful and innovative of the Escapist spinoff comics should focus on characters that create comics, just as Michael Chabon's award-winning novel did. Dark Horse's initial decision to publish super-hero spinoff stories may have seemed like a natural way to extend Chabon's vision, but Vaughan has taken a far more logical approach to adding to the world of Kavalier and Clay.

Hundred's sci-fi power makes for an interesting contrast with the spirituality of the Vatican and the classic architecture that serves as the backdrop for this story. Also intriguing is the fact that such different entities have a powerful commonality: are both beings of great political power and responsibility. Really, this story arc is about the fundamental differences between the secular and spiritual worlds and how they hide common ground. Serving as a symbol of that approach to the storytelling is the story arc's title - "Ex Cathedra" - which is a religious play on the title of this series; it's different but similar. Vaughan's script achieves an excellent balance between the theological theory exposed at the end of the issue and more everyday, down-to-earth concerns. Hundred's banter with Bradbury early on in the story enables us to see the hero as an everyman, and his awestruck reactions to physical structure of the Vatican and its inner workings allows the reader to walk in his

Phillips brings a perfect noir, pulpy sensibility to the book that's a major part of its appeal. The characters' faces are thoroughly expressive and realistic, but he renders them in a somewhat simple way that makes their convincing and emotive qualities seem all the more surprising. While he employs an economy of lines to bring the characters to life, he brings a stunning of level of detail to bear in the backgrounds, which brings a strong sense of place to the mix, adding to the credibility of the incredible story. Perhaps more than any issue before this one, this episode of the series shows just what a vital role colorist Dave Stewart plays in the success of the visuals.

Perhaps Vining's greatest accomplishment with this book is how he manages to instill personality in the chimp characters without personifying them. The characterization is powerful and effective. We really get to know Ham and some of his chimp colleagues, and there's anthropormorphication of the animals. The writer/artist conveys Ham's intelligence and his primal nature quite well; it's a balanced approach and a solid one. Ham turns out to be a sympathetic figure and an admirable one. Is he brave? I don't know, but I sensed trust in how Vining depicts his behavior and reactions.

It was recently reported that the sales on Flashpoint #1 fell under the 100K mark and well below the numbers DC's main competition posted with its Fear Itself event book. However, those numbers reflect sales before the release of the spinoff titles such as this one. I suspect the strength of storytelling such as what's to be found in Batman Knight of Vengeance might serve as a boost to the Flashpoint brand in general.

It seems to me Beaton is casting herself in the jester's role, humbly presenting herself as a goofy cartoonist rather than an artist making profound statements on history and culture. Both characterizations of the cartoonists are valid, as far as I'm concerned. Her work appeals on both a baser level and an intellectual one, explaining the broad reach she's had in a few short years online.

The poverty and totalitarian approach to corporate and civil security stand out as the most compelling aspects of Martz's story. Undoubtedly, he's been crafting this story for some time, so there's no way he could've foreseen the Occupy/99 Per Cent movement. But there's no questioning the experiences that unfold in Heaven All Day are what led to it. Of course, the protests point out, in part, the financial imbalances in Western society are untenable, whereas Martz's story ultimately has an encouraging message, I think. The engineer's perseverance wins out over the oppression he witnesses and experiences every day. Maybe one day we'll be able to say the same about the 99 Per Cent as well.

McLeod's distorted artwork suits the bizarre and absurd tone of the premise, plot and players perfectly. Perhaps what's most striking about his work here is how much it reminds me of the style of Joe (E-Man) Staton, with his elongated figures and exaggerated facial features. Despite the somewhat loose look of some of the linework, there's a strong sense of world-building at play. The artist seems to have a fully realized vision of what Kaptara looks like and where it will lead the protagonist. Kaptara is weird but wonderful, a delightful convergence (ugh, DC has ruined that word) of pop-culture influences and the unconventional, skewed perspectives of its creative forces.

That's what Brian Wood's story is all about. Megan ran from herself for years, and she did some awful things and witnessed the misdeeds of others along the way. Some of it was scarring, some of it was a lie, but it all led her to a final destination. It makes all of the experiences, good and bad, worthwhile. Megan also accepts that while she's responsible for her own happiness, she can't shoulder the burden of others' expectations and needs. It's an encouraging message overall, and it makes for a great payoff for what has primarily been a dark, sullen character study.

Of course, Hopey's journey is guided in part by her past, and more specifically, by her relationship with Maggie. Maggie is a permanent fixture of Love and Rockets, and she's clearly been established the perfect woman. She's kind, she's happy, she's intelligent and she's sexy. Maggie has a profound effect on the lives of all those she touches, it would seem. While her influence is apparent in Hopey's life, Hernandez offers a more pronounced take on the phenomenon when she shifts hears later in the book to focus on Ray and Vivian. Ray's greatest regret is letting Maggie go, while Vivian so wants to be Maggie (and be with her) that she's transformed that into jealousy, resentment and self-loathing. Vivian is the anti-Maggie. There's nothing stable about her, nor is she caring or intelligent. She's a wreck, but one that's fascinating to watch.

What makes Madame Frankenstein (which I feel should really be titled Mademoiselle Frankenstein, but it's a minor gripe) such an engrossing read is Rich's characterization. This issue focuses on the rivalry between protagonist Vincent Krall and Henry Lean, the well-to-do son of the rich man his family served for years. Henry's cruel bullying and sense of ownership of Vincent makes it easy to root for the latter, but what's more interesting is the fact that Vincent directs the same sort of behavior toward his late object of his affection and newly resurrected creation. Just as Henry uses Vincent to elevate himself, so does Vincent treat as a means to his ends. Vincent is both the hero and the villain of the story, and that dichotomous approach in the storytelling keeps pulling the reader in different directions.

Fegredo's expressive art really pops on the faces of the exuberant quartet tearing a swath through greed and the status quo across America. The detail in the backgrounds, in the speed effects and action are stunning, but really, it's the glint in Roscoe's eye, the mischievousness on Baseball's face, the adoration and admiration Rosa has on hers for her man - these elements humanize an impossible story.

As I noted earlier in the review, Baker leaves it to the reader to decide if Turner's snowballing throng of fury is a small army or a mob that's out for blood. It seems clear to me that Turner and his allies turn out to be murderers rather than soldiers. Innocents are slaughtered over the course of their two-day rampage, and those killings are carried out in such bloodthirsty fashion that one can't help but feel revulsion. But that sickening feeling is balanced by the reader's awareness of the horrors of slavery and how that practice continues to taint the sociological and political landscape in the 21st century. One has to ask if there is a justification, if the notion of "by any means necessary" is acceptable. Turner remains the hero of this story, but he proves to be one of its villains as well.

I think the most intriguing aspect of this story is that so far, the "heroes" of the story do present the threat that the government fears. Tensen's actions in this issue transform him from the wretched, tortured, pathetic figure we first met into a monster, devoid of control or conscience. Ken Connell, though a victim of cosmic coincidence, is a time bomb waiting to go off, if the previous, uncontrolled manifestations of his power are any indication. Ken, Izzy and Jennifer are down to earth, confused people who are justifiably scared out of their minds, and that makes it easy to relate to them and to get on their side. But so far, the "super-heroes" do represent a dangerous Darwinian circumstance. I'm sure once the bigger picture comes into focus, the government types will proven to be in the wrong, and their fear-driven actions will end up being the real threat to mankind. At this point, though, Ellis has turned the usual dynamic on its ear, and his well-crafted, smart script makes f

Gillen sets up some clear parallels between the characters in this flashback book and the superhumans in the main title, but one needn't have read the previous newuniversal comics in order to appreciate this dark story. What's really fascinating is that there are no heroes in this tale, only villains. Nevertheless, it's easy to see the NSA agents view in the story. There's a logical reason for their actions, especially when one considers the strong Darwinian viewpoint that the central character holds. Even so, there's no overcoming the fact that the story ultimately brings the main protagonist in conflict with pure innocence. Gillen offers a riveting script built on a foundation of an ages-old ethical debate. This was easily the best comic book I read this past week, and it's got me excited about Marvel's other newuniversal titles again.

Hickmans artwork isnt the only thing that will earn him favorable comparisons to Brian Wood and his cutting-edge contributions to the medium. The political and social nature of his storytelling is part of it as well, but so is his in-your-face approach. Just as Wood has done with Channel Zero and DMZ, Hickman has climbed to the top of a building to scream through a megaphone, shouting truth, denouncing apathy and calling for action.

Delano's script is challenging. He doesn't draw a straight line from A to B to C. The "line" actually looks more like a Spirograph design than any straight route through plot points. You have to really want to know what's happening to these characters, what they're doing and why. Outlaw Nation isn't easy, but that's actually part of the appeal. The challenge of the book, the work is well worth it. Plumbing the depths of this complex tale of violence, immortality and the ultimate in dysfunctional family dynamics is a rewarding experience.

Brown, as the central character in this book, is intriguing. He's a study in contrasts. On the one hand, he seems to have moved beyond traditional emotional behavior. He's not jealous, he doesn't yearn for a lifelong romantic partner (anymore) and he's not the least bit embarrassed and secretive about his decision to pay prostitutes to fulfill his sexual needs. But the reality is that he's a thoroughly emotional being. When he first embarks on his quest for paid sex, he worries about running into acquaintances in a certain part of town. He worries about the feelings of the prostitutes with whom he's having sex. He's irked by those who misrepresent themselves and disgusted by potential sexual partners with certain body types. However, he suppresses those feelings. He even denies himself pleasure (or at least abbreviates his own pleasure) so as to avoid offending prostitutes or to avoid confrontation with them.

What's most interesting about this story - which is more of a captivating character study than anything - is the dichotomy of the central figure. Gillen script is about exploring isolation and togetherness. Penny B seems to this lively, hopeful person, and when she dances, she's quickly at the heart of a crowd that loses itself in music, fun and freedom. But Penny ultimately feels very much alone. While she loves losing herself in music and dance, it seems as though she also revels in how it draws others to her. She desperately wants a deeper connection with someone, but she's incapable of making it. She seems to have only one real friend, and she's completely removed from Penny emotionally. Even the fact that Penny serves as the narrator reinforces the solitary nature of the character. As Penny speaks to an audience no other characters acknowledge, she's isolated further. I don't know if we'll see Penny's larger, ongoing story as a part of this series, but even this passing glimpse el

While there are parallels in Miles's and Anna's lives prior to their meeting, there's a key distinction as well. In the "present," Anna is completely transformed. Physically, she's a different person, but emotionally as well. In the main part of the story, she's withdrawn. She feels invisible in her own home and connects with only one other person. But in the opening scene, she's an open book, completely exposed and revelling in the simple moments and joys life has to offer. She's grown significantly, but Miles seems to be pretty much the same. Hurd isn't saying that Miles had already matured. He's exploring the notion that Anna has had to do so in order to survive and thrive.

Polly's a fascinating character, and perhaps what's most interesting about her is that she's probably the most boring person in the first half of the book. Her classmates start out as precocious, curious, adventurous, not her. Polly's indecision and straight-laced nature make her an unlikely heroine, but also one to whom the reader can relate. She evolves not as someone who discovers courage and her true calling, but as someone who surrenders to the moment and tries her best to learn the lessons she's picked up in the past and while immersed in the impossible.

According to Tom Spurgeon, today is Jeff Smith's birthday, but he's the one who's delivered his readers a gift.

One of the greatest strengths of the script is that the notion of "super-powers" or "being special" never enters into any of the characters' minds. Tom's condition is an illness, a horror that's ended his life as he knew it. The only super-hero moment in the book is an accidental one, and the danger actually arises as a result of Tom's condition, at least indirectly. It's how Tom and everyone in his life react to his bizarre condition that makes the book so engaging and credible. When one woman in his life learns the news, it's not sympathy that arises. It's further resentment and blame. It's powerful and genuine, just like so many other moments in the story.

Seconds is an oddly dichotomous story. It's a grounded, coming-of-age story about a woman's difficult transition into being an adult and letting go of her past. At the same time, it's a thoroughly surreal story, with magical mushrooms, house spirits, manipulation of reality and journeys to other words bringing a pervasive weirdness that's incredible but surprisingly alluring. While the plot is bizarre and grows even moreso the deeper one makes one's way into the book, ultimately, there's a rather simple (and somewhat predictable) message at its heart. Mistakes are as much a part of our successes as the good decisions we've made along the way, and tugging at those threads of regret will inevitably lead to unravelling the entirety of our lives.

Hickman has only provided us with the most superficial glimpses inside the heads of these characters, but what he's provided just whets the reader's thirst for more information. This first issue essentially offers up a mystery. The question isn't "whodunnit?" so much as "whydunnit?" We're left in the dark as to Steadfast's motivations and operations, and I can't wait to find out more. The accountant and lawyers are clearly driven by greed and other base desires, so I can't help but think we're going to learn justice, greed or some kind of twisted social conscience drives the Steadfast characters. It could be something much darker as well, and I suspect the fun of the series will stem more from learning about these characters even more than watching them skilfully manipulate and investigate in convincing yet incredible ways.

My favorite moment in this book comes in a solitary panel as Billy quietly offers up what should have been an obvious assumption. He kneels before the wizard and believes his miserable life is possibly being touched by a divine power. It's a powerful but understated moment in the story that brings credibility and vulnerability to the plot and characters. That stands out as the best example I can find of the refinement of Jeff Smith's storytelling for this project. He could have easily taken a shortcut and just retold classic C.C. Beck Shazam! stories as others have done before him. He still captures the charm and innocence of that yesteryear feeling, but he also injects some great emotion and sensitivity.

Jeff Stokely's artwork is something quite unique but wholly effective and entertaining. His style looks a bit like a cross between the weird but simple approach of Jeff (Sweet Tooth) Lemire or Scott (Ancient Joe) Morse, and the kinetic, elongated lines of Rafael (American Vampire) Albuquerque's work. The designs for the sci-fi elements - from the giant tortoises making their way across a barren landscape to the steampunk weaponry - are striking and inventive, but more importantly, especially given the nature of the title character, Stokely conveys an over-the-top sense of action and motion. Despite its colorful title and protagonist, this comic book is likely to be overlooked by many, and it's definitely worth a look.

Just as satisfying as the script is the artwork from industry veteran Scott Hampton. We don't see nearly enough of his work these days, and his efforts here will be please newer readers who might not be as familiar with his work. I love how he brings a sexy quality to the main female character without sexualizing her. It's her confidence and swagger that are attractive, not her physical form. Hampton also separates Carmen from the rest of the characters (almost entirely men) with a brighter, softer color palette, but it's not a means to lessen her, to portray her as weaker somehow. Instead, it instills her with energy and draws the reader to her.

The writing is meticulous throughout the book, and I don't just mean in terms of the research in the 9-11 conspiracy Veitch expounds here. No, Veitch populates the story with remarkably sharp characters, and the minutiae of engineering, politics, military operations and other cogs that make the world go 'round. Veitch reinforces the convincing tone of the storytelling with some realistic visuals. Not only are the characters genuine in appearance (no super-hero body shapes here), but the more technical aspects are presented in meticulous detail. That speaks to the importance of veteran inker Gary Erskine's contribution to the book as well.

Pitarra's art on The Red Wing was fairly clean, in keeping with the sci-fi elements of the book. His efforts here boast a grittier tone that reflects the harsher tone of the script and the action in the story. His art here looks a bit like a cross between the styles of Frank (All Star Superman) Quitely and Carlos (Just a Pilgrim) Ezquerra. He instills a harsh tone into just about every element in the book, characters and settings alike. In contrast, the Oppenheimer character at the centre of the story looks properly detached and unique as compared to the other elements. In a world where everything is big (including the general inviting him to join the Manhattan Projects), Oppenheimer is slight, even small, but he exudes control, and in that, we sense his power.

Some short text pieces at the back of the book explain its origin and purpose, noting the narratives were taken from interviews with survivors of suicide attempts, but more importantly, it reveals The Next Day is much more than this graphic novella. It was also developed as "an interactive online experience" in partnership with the National Film Board of Canada. I haven't watched the online incarnation of the project, as I was more than satisfied with the strength of this comics component. It stands up incredibly well, as a cautionary tale, as a touching and heart-breaking examination of the dark side of everyday life and as a note of encouragement for those facing what they believe is the only choice left for them.

The most fascinating aspect of this comic book is Phillips' successful description of how dirty or hidden money is moved through channels to make it accessible and legit. At times, it feels like we're watching an episode of How It's Made about laundered money, only there's a lot more personality in the narration and descriptions. Phillips goes beyond the mob-movie cliches of money laundering and directs out attention to a wider yet more nuanced scope of the practice. It feels incredibly well-researched and genuine, and I'd be shocked to learn Phillips dreamed it all up as a pure fiction. The Rinse is as strong as such other Boom crime/intrigue comics as Talent, Potter's Field and The Foundation, and this first chapter is being offered at a price that most shouldn't pass up for even a middling comic. And this is no middling comic.

The plot in this first issue raises a lot of questions. Churilla immerses the title character in mystery. We don't know why he's monster-killing on a surreal psyche-scape. We don't know how it's connected to a Soviet bureaucrat. We don't know what the teddy bear is about. We don't know why Cooper hijacked the plane or what became of the cash. We really don't know much of anything, but the way Churilla presents his story, the mysteries are part of the fun. There's a clear sense of a plan, that the writer/artist is headed somewhere with these characters with a purpose. And despite the darker and weirder elements in the premise (or perhaps because of them), there's a playfulness to the writing that adds a lot of character to the concept. This is a tremendous new series, and it serves as another example of Oni's quiet but consistent effort to expand its reputation as a publisher of fine graphic novels to one that's also building a strong stable of ongoing titles.

Nala's determination is not only apparent in her eyes, through the artwork, but also obvious in the actions she takes and decisions she makes. In the opening scene, she pursues Vincene, determined to keep a thief from taking what's hers. Nala quickly ends up playing the role of the victim, only to get the best of Vincene in the end, torturing her with a mystery that will haunt her. Nala's also empowered by her sexuality and uses it as a tool. It makes for a tragic tone to the figure. She's been used and has used others, but there's still this sense that she cares. It may just be another mask, but the reader is left with the impression that mask is actually a reflection of a person she once was.

I know the fourth issue of this limited series hit the stands a couple of weeks ago. So far, I've only got my hands on the first two issues, but that's a temporary situation, I assure you. The Umbrella Academy is what might have arisen had Mignola and Grant (Batman, The Invisibles) Morrison collaborated together to craft The New Teen Titans back in the 1980s instead of Marv Wolfman and George Perez.

Thematically, The Unwritten has a lot in common with Bill Willingham's Fables, and fans of that title will no doubt appreciate what writer Mike Carey offers up in this comic. Ultimately, The Unwritten is about the power of stories and how they can evolve into something much more than a piece of fiction designed to entertain. Of course, the metaphor of the literal power of stories is nothing new for DC's vertigo imprint. Its flagship title, Neil Gaiman's Sandman, explored the same theme as well. Fortunately, while the same theme keeps popping up in this corner of comics publishing, the various creators aren't just reiterating what's come before. The Unwritten feels fresh and doesn't disappoint. This book has the potential to be Vertigo's Next Big Thing, and with two of the imprints stalwarts coming to an end in the past year (Y: The Last Man and 100 Bullets), it's about time for another strong series.

Speaking of the visuals, this unfortunately short-lived series marked a pinnacle in the comics career of illustrator Chris Samnee. He offers up a radically different interpretation of the Silver Age Iron Man. He opts to keep him in his big, bulky, grey armor, but he added a number of details to set it apart from what we've seen before. I love how he sometimes portrays Thor as fierce and grizzled in appearance, but later, he has a softness, even an innocent look to him. And Samnee achieves this while maintaining a consistent look for the title character throughout.

For me, this story is about making mistakes and how making really big ones can be exactly what someone needs to do and should do. In this plot, Shira has finally reached a point in her life at which she has to discover herself, at which she has to venture out of her safety zone and do what was previously unthinkable. She makes the transition from Daddy's Little Girl to Woman, at least begins that transition. I've always believed that testing boundaries and breaking the rules are vital parts of growing up, of replacing one's parents' boundaries and rules with one's own. That made this story an easy and engaging read for me.

I'm pleased (but not surprised) to report Tki boasts the same sense of wonder and humor that made Smith's landmark Bone such a success. Tki stands apart from the original runs of its older siblings in that it's being presented in full color, and it's a wise choice. The format for this comic is also a noteworthy difference. Tki offers just about everything Smith's fans love about his storytelling, but it still finds ways to do it in new ways. Hopefully, its release on the same day that this year's Comic Con International opens in San Diego will ensure it's not overlooked by a wider audience.

Hernandez Walta's artwork is a joy to discover. The artist's influences shine through - from Sean Phillips to Frank Miller, from Chris Samnee to Chris Sprouse - but he definitely has his own unique, visual "voice" as well. I find the simpler aspect to the figures to make them seem more universal, more like templates, making it easier for the reader to enter their world, their lives. I appreciate the character designs, and the muted color palette that Jordie Bellaire employs really adds to the uneasy and odd mood throughout the story. I don't know how long King plans to explore the Vision and family in this manner, but as long as he does so, I'll be reading along.

Nevertheless, the characters, art and extreme catalyst for the plot all make for a fascinating read. Despite her extreme personality and circumstances, Brody's youthful flaws are elements that the reader can no doubt recognize in himself or herself, or at least in one's past. Campbell balances sympathy for the character with the reader's disdain for her self-centered attitude. Brody may be the heroine of the story, but she's also the villain.

My favorite part of this series is the role reversal Edmondson employs to shake up the story. The first time around, it was Moore who looked and acted like a regular joe only to be aided by the enigmatic Ellis. Here, Moore has taken on the man-of-mystery role, and Jake is the one who's more vulnerable and down to earth. It's even reflected in how their appearances have changed. The disembodied, dark figure of Jake Ellis in the first series always appeared to be bald, while Jon had a regular hair of normal brown hair. Now, Moore's the one with the shaved head, and Jake is sporting a mop of unkempt, brown locks. It's interesting to see how much more removed from the "real" world Moore has become while Ellis's hospitalization has brought him a step or two closer to it.

While the book is strong visually, it's the core premise that really draws one into the book. The series title gets to the heart of what keeps the reader engaged and interested. Sure, Jon Moore's desperate bid to escape his pursuers, both seen and unseen, is riveting, but it's the mystery of the nature of his invisible ally that's truly engrossing. I like that the protagonist thinks he has it all figured out, and his suppositions are logical ones as well. But they don't necessarily explain everything the reader sees. I love that writer Nathan Edmondson keeps us guessing, and honestly, I'm pleased to keep guessing for some time. This is a five-issue limited series, but my hope is that this is the first such series in a number of Jake Ellis stories to come. The concept is just too strong to be discarded a few months from now.

Cliff Chiang's clean, soft linework is, as always, stunning, and I'm pleased to find the more soothing tones of his work don't affect his ability to deliver monstrous, even grotesque character designs. His inhuman visions of the Olympian gods never fail to impress. His take on Hephaestus reminds me of cover artist Dave Johnson's simple but dark style. Chiang also deserves credit for conveying the immense scope of the underground workshop of the god of the forge. at first, the artist impresses us with the urban Italian backdrop, enticing the reader with its architectural beauty, and then he transports us from a figurative fantasy land to a literal one.

You couldn't find a better artist to illustrate such a surreal super-hero book. Irving's artwork has always had a weird bent to it, but he's nevertheless able to capture the everyday, everyman moments of the story as well. I like that the characters aren't dressed up in super-hero costumes. Instead, it feels more like these people are part of a network of adventurers with common goals and ideals. Irving also employs perfectly unnatural colors to reinforce the weird and bizarre atmosphere. He clearly favors pastel tones that he somehow manages to tweak to take on a darker feel. The soft blue, muted yellow and gaudy pink colors come off as the visual equivalent of minor and/or atonal chords.

As compelling as the ethical elements of the story are, what really stands out as the greatest strength of the book is the characterization. Through various flash-forwards, the writer explores who the various cast members of the series are. It turns out Hero and Original Beth were lost souls who finally found themselves. Allison Mann is transformed from a woman at war with different parts of her own personality and past into a bunch of separate individuals that represent those distinct fragments. The characters are riveting, as everyone is outstanding, intellectually and/or in terms of physical skills.

McCloud's message in this book isn't just about the brightness of Zot's world. It's about the potential for the same existing in our own mundane world. Zot is frustrated to find a world reluctant to embrace goodness, but he never gives up. McCloud tells us to be eternally optimistic, that no matter how dark, ugly or complicated things seem to get, there is a happy ending that's possible for each and every one of us.

It's interesting that DC has allowed Morrison to revive a piece of its past that it ha buried years ago, but then again, the Kathy Kane we meet in this story is a far cry from the one who joined Batman and Robin on their adventures a lifetime ago. She's a much darker character, meant to be much more than a love interest or female reflection of the title character. Her motives are radically different, and there's an edge to this new incarnation of the Silver Age character that keeps the reader from seeing her completely as a protagonist. Oddly enough, I'm reminded of the embittered incarnation of the character that turned up on television a few months ago in an episode of Batman: The Brave and the Bold. Furthermore, given the hallucination sequence in the story, I'm not entirely convinced that Morrison has actually restored this lost element of the Batman mythos. Rather than retconning a retcon, he may be playing with perception, misdirecting an audience that's expecting one thing but a

Morrison's plot and script, though enjoyable, could've been clearer, but one can't take any issue with the artwork that brings them to life. It was a pleasure to see Morrison reunite with artist Cameron Stewart on the evil-girls'-school story. Stewart brings a certain sauciness to the visuals, but somehow, his depiction of so much naughty schoolgirls never feels overtly sexual. There's an allure and an enticing sense of danger, but the female characters never feel like sexual objects, probably because they're also portrayed as skilled, capable and dangerous.

Despite the weirder and goofier side of the book, ultimately, there's a thought-provoking message to be found in this comic as well. Layman points out that we really don't consider what we stuff in our gullets everyday. The flashes of the disgusting, horrific crimes that Chu has when he eats in this story are symbolic of the disgusting things the food industry does to process what ends up in our snacks and meals every day. Don't get me wrong - Layman isn't saying anything like "meat is murder" here, but he reminds us that we should be aware that we don't see what happens to that burger, candy bar or soft drink before they pass our lips. 8/10

Guillory's distorted linework and designs reinforce the unique and unusual qualities of the story and characters. He clearly crafts Amelia to be a beauty, but he avoids the typical curves that artists usually employ to convey beauty. Instead, her form is as misshapen as everyone else's, so the artist conveys her attractive qualities through a shining smile, perkiness and confidence. I also loved the gruesome greens he employs to convey the stomach-churning results of Amelia's work.

The regular edition cover by Paolo Rivera is absolutely stunning, not only for the telling pose in which he's put the main character but because the background is made up of sound effects, offering a lovely but also effective representation of what sets this character apart from other street-level heroes. The interior art is impressive as well. Rivera is clearly taking some cues from the style of Marcos Martin, who also contributes to the issue with the opening-page character recap but also to a backup story. Rivera's work on the opening action scene is fantastic. He captures Daredevil's fluid, acrobatic style perfectly, but I particularly appreciated how he conveys DD's radar sense as well. Also impressive is the flow that Martin brings to the New York walkabout in the backup story. He conveys the Manhattan neighborhood Matt calls home incredibly well, not to mention the special place he holds in it.

For years (and some would argue decades), Daredevil's adventures seemed to take place in a dark place, almost separate from the rest of the Marvel Universe. Sure, he encountered other Marvel heroes, but the New York in which Matt Murdock was tormented by the Kingpin wasn't the same city in which the Fantastic Four fought Galactus. Now, while DD's exploits seem immune from crossovers such as Fear Itself, he's definitely ventured back into the Marvel Universe. In keeping with the lighter tone Waid has instilled in the property, more super-science, wondrous elements have turned up in this title. Daredevil isn't just fighting mob enforcers and skilled assassins anymore. He's having to contend with masters of evil, mutant monsters and mad scientists. It's a dramatic shift, but one that works - probably because it's been a long time in coming.

What really drew me to this series was the participation of artist Ryan Kelly. His work on such books as Local and The New York Five was always strong, as he seemed well suited to more personal, character-driven fare. Saucer Country has a strong grounding in characterization, but it also includes some larger-than-life and extreme elements, and the artist handles them adeptly. I especially enjoyed how he conveyed the haziness and darkness of Alvarado's memory. Kelly's work here actually reminded me of the simpler but effectively dark work of Warren Pleece, a mainstay of Vertigo comics (such as Mobfire and Deadenders) in the 1990s.

Kelly's art helps to keep the story grounded in reality. The alien riff is one that could overpower the more important political elements of the plot, but Kelly's believable figures and backdrops keep us focused on the characters and circumstances. Mind you, as he demonstrates with the final splash page, he's able to offer more unconventional, bizarre visuals when the story calls for it. The hallucination in the therapist's office is a striking image, but I think what I like most about it is how it represents the paranoia and haziness of the mental images the character is experiencing. It's an unreal, surreal moment, which is important because the reader doesn't know yet how real it is (even if the character is already convinced, perhaps prematurely).

Maybe I just gave in to an overwhelming wave of nostalgic warmth. Maybe memory has blinded me to the notion that this is just another ordinary comic book. But even if that's the case, I would imagine others will be similarly moved and tickled as well. Expect the first printing of this issue to sell out quickly, so make a point of getting a copy as soon as you can - not for potential investment, but simply because you really shouldn't wait to indulge your inner child. And for those who still have that outer-child shell, you shouldn't wait to introduce them to the weird world of Kermit and his cast at the Muppet Theatre.

While I personally thought Fozzie's opening limburger-cheese joke was hilarious, the bear's not feeling the love of the audience as of late. This second issue focuses on Fozzie's efforts to retool his comedy act, and it's quite amusing (and occasionally quite smart when it comes to cultural references). Roger Langridge's second issue is almost as strong as the first, and that's quite a compliment, given how great the inaugural episode of this series was. My favorite segment in this issue was the return of soap-opera send-up Veterinarian's Hospital, into which Langridge has woven the string of Fozzie's quest to be the king of comedy. Despite the lack of sound and motion, Langridge nevertheless captures the satire and hilarity of that recurring Muppet Show sketch (featuring Rowlf, Janice and Piggy), right down to the "actors'" reactions to the unseen narrator. The writer/artist's faithful yet unique take on the Muppets is as entertaining and attractive as before. I love that while this m

Not only does this series place Sir Edward Grey in an unexpected and unusual setting, it also looks unlike previous Witchfinder comics. Of course, that's because the creators tapped the perfect artist to handle a story set in the Old West: John Severin. As usual, he handles the material incredibly well. He makes the rough, raw backdrop look as untamed and dirty as it should. The meticulous detail in his realistic artwork is something to behold. that he continues to produce top-notch work at the age of 89 just adds to the impressiveness of his performance.

Perhaps the most fun aspect of this issue - and of this series as a whole - has been Mignola's introduction of a number of colorful characters. The Captain, Mary and her spirit guide, the Brotherhood and finally, the wild-eyed Martin Gilfryd. Sir Edward seems practically normal when juxtaposed against this cast of characters, and that comparatively everyman quality makes him seem all the more heroic given the circumstances of the plot.

50 Reasons is a thoroughly amusing book, though it's also a little depressing in its own way. It's easy to see that's there's far too much truth in the extreme situations Immonen presents here. Here's hoping that the right people recognize their own actions in the various faux pas explored in this book.

Morrison and Morales deliver a working-class hero in this incarnation of Superman. This is Civil-Disobedience Superman, not the guy who follows the rules in his pursuit of what's right. By turning back the clock, Morrison manages to deliver a fresh take on a concept some have dismissed as stale and outdated. Apparently, Superman as a symbol of the establishment isn't a thing of the past, though.

It's a shame that this title is set in the Marvel Universe as it's clearly at its best when it's unencumbered by the extraneous elements of the shared super-hero universe. Of course, like many DC and Marvel super-hero titles that don't spotlight a recognizable icon of the genre, Agents of Atlas hasn't boasted posted strongest sales numbers. That explains the previous "guest-stars" and the upcoming X-Men Vs. Agents of Atlas two-part limited series that will replace this title for the next two months. The Catch-22 is that Marvel's promotional efforts weaken the storytelling, hiding the strengths the publisher is trying to tell its readers about in the first place. - Issues #9 & 10:

I'm pretty far removed from the social drama of being in your early 20s and trying to find yourself, so one might expect that the characters in All Nighter would be somewhat foreign to me, that I wouldn't be able to connect with them. But for a reader such as myself, four decades into his life, Hahn's characters represent memories. Jim's sheepishness, his embarrassment, his awkwardness around women - I recognize myself (or my past self) in him. Kit and Martha's sense of wonder at the house party is also something just about anyone can recognize in themselves or in past points in their lives.

While Lemire does a solid job with the plot and script, he's not blazing a new trail either. But Prez's visuals do come off as somewhat different. His work is in keeping with the more airy flow and inventive layouts one finds in the work of such artists as Marco Rudy and Trevor McCarthy, and it's safe to say they're all taking cues from J.H. Williams III. Nevertheless, Prez crafts some lovely visuals with the purple-toned flashback scenes; his and Ian Herring's colors really make for some distinct artwork.

Of all the comics in my reading pile this week, this was the one to which I looked forward the most. Morrison offers up yet another imagination-fueled story with some poignant emotion, but this stood out as a somewhat flawed issue as compared to previous episodes of the series. There's a slight disconnect in the plot when it comes to the revelation of a temporal monster. It feels as though there's a panel or page missing. I don't believe there actually is a missing piece. Rather, I suspect Morrison is playing around with perception and time given the sci-fi/super-hero concepts that come into play. What's most striking about the script is how well Morrison distinguishes between a young Clark Kent on the cusp of adulthood and the grown, confident figure we've seen in previous issues. It was also a treat to see the return of not only Superman 1,000,000 but the Unknown Superman hinted at last year in this very title. Quitely also does an excellent job of conveying Clark's youth and naivete

Angora Napkin is akin to Josie and the Pussycats, if Josie, Melody and Valerie drank absinthe, were promiscuous and longed to act as heralds of a revolution. At first, it seems simply like an oddball, goofy study in excess, but the louder side of the plot and characters hides the fact that Little has hidden some clever but twisted thinking and worldviews in the script. the topsy-turvy notion of the girls trying to convince a zombie that death is worth living is smart and entertaining, and their jubilant diatribe about everything that's wrong with the world of the living is quite relatable. Mind you, the characters are so extreme, it's difficult to relate to them. Really, what the band (and its unrestrained enthusiasm) represents is the reader's id. The reason it's so easy to delve into their exaggerated, over-the-top adventures is that similar fantasies, frustrations and foolishness are all unfolding in that small corner of our brain to which we confine our own Mollies, Beas and Mallo

The real strength of Johns' story isn't how he worked to portray Aquaman as cool or badass. It isn't the creepiness of the Trench. It's the simple and down-to-earth story about a man's effort to be who he wants to be instead of what others want him to be

Anderson's loose, sketchy style doesn't prevent him from doing an incredible job of world-building. He makes the Silver Age goofiness of a private army of Pyramid soldiers seem plausible, and he makes the horrors of a demonic, murderous villain seem chillingly plausible. There's a grittiness in his style here that reinforces the darker atmosphere as well.

Anderson's art is obviously a lot rougher in tone than the polished, photorealistic images that Alex Ross provides for the covers, but that grittier look works well with the larger theme of the story. The Dark Age is about a period in American history that wounded the country's ideals, that robbed a proud nation of its innocence. That's reflected in the sketchier leanings in Anderson's approach to the characters and action. He handles the Green Man adeptly as well, albeit in a different way than Ross did for the cover. He captures the immensity of the character's presence nicely, further reinforcing the thematic importance of that scene.

What drew me into the book the most was the plotline of an academic quest transforming into a tense showdown involving kidnapping and extortion. Kate Corrigan is definitely the heroine of The Universal Machine, and Mignola and Arcudi's script emphasizes her intellect above all else. She's a tough customer, but physical confrontation isn't something upon which she has to rely. Her colleague - the far more Andrew Devon - is someone to which it is easy to relate, as his fear almost overwhelms him. Still, I like the character, as he never considers abandoning Corrigan despite the monstrous circumstances in which he finds himself.

It's not surprising that the Shadow integrates in better known world of the Batman so easily. The pulp hero served as inspiration for the super-hero. We're now decades removed from that inspiration, and now the characters differ significantly. It's interesting that one figure that served to inspire the creation of another could so readily serve to become an antagonist for the (slightly) newer character, as depicted in this issue. As grim a figure as Batman has become in the past couple of decades, he comes off as positively optimistic and kind as compared to the Shadow, and his revulsion at his red-scarf-clad opponent is an even more interesting conflict that the action-oriented encounters in this comic.

While this issue clearly sets the stage for a significant storyline featuring something that will apparently be dubbed "the Circus of the Strange" (I love it), the real meat of this issue is the interaction between the new Batman and Robin. Dick Grayson has a softer approach to his mentor role, and I love that Morrison has opted to maintain Dick's personality rather than to transform him into the man he's replaced. Even more captivating is Damien's personality. I didn't much care for the character when he was introduced, but I'm truly interested in him now. I love how Morrison can sum him up so easily with just a word or two of dialogue. When he calls Alfred just his surname, it demonstrates the emotional distance between him and the rest of the Bat-crew, his hidden insecurities and the slow melt of his cold facade.

Greg Tocchini's fluid, soft artwork works well with the surreal notions that serve as the story's greatest strengths. Andrei Bressan's line art represents a more conventional approach to super-hero comic art, but the disparate styles of the two artists didn't seem to interfere with the story. It's probably a testament to how engrossing Hine's story really is. Overall, I'm struck by the fact that the best Batman stories in recent years have been those that featured new villains. Given recent promotional material released by DC for its fall New 52 line, it seems there's a plan to introduce a number of new villains, including some in the Batman family of titles. So maybe the trend will continue.

Batman is often seen by many as an action hero, as someone who metes out justice to the wicked, but we can sometimes forget he's also a detective. Winick mirrors that characterization in Batwing, and the mystery that emerges in this story, touching upon an earlier heroic tradition in Africa, really has me interested. I not only want to find out what happened to those heroes, but I want to know who they are. Winick plays his cards close to his chest, only identifying one of these new characters, leaving himself the opportunity of introducing others later in the story arc and providing his readers with the pleasure of new discoveries.

DC missed a great opportunity to experiment with format. this zero issue contains only 16 pages of new story and art. The rest of the comic is filled out with preview art and a teaser from another Batman family comic. It's a shame that DC didn't just publish the 16 pages on their own and price this promotional/introductory issue at $1.99. Others have experimented with the format; Image Comics published Warren Ellis and Ben Templesmith's Fell and Matt Fraction and Gabriel Ba's Casanova that way, and they were well received. DC has made an important step away from the $3.99 price point and format. A cheaper, 16-page comic might've been another step in the right direction. Oh, and the logo... definitely a misstep as well.

Maybe what was most striking about this comic book was the story is populated by a cast of strong, female characters. All of the major roles are filled by female characters, and they're convincing ones. The Weeping Woman is a thoroughly creepy yet somehow tragic figure, but my favorite bits in the book were Kate's more personal moments. Her scene with Maggie and the confrontation with her father show opposite ends of Kate's emotional spectrum. She's almost shy and clearly vulnerable as she decides to approach Maggie, but she's a whirlwind of outrage and hurt in the face of her father. While she exhibits a stoic and strong facade, the writers are exploring how Kate is broken in many ways. I would imagine this series will ultimately prove to be about her efforts to repair her broken parts. Maybe she'll even end up carving out a life for herself rather than a mission.

Writer Ed Brubaker brings to a close the story that Brian Michael Bendis began in issue #41 more than four years ago. This key issue in Daredevil lore is surprisingly accessible given how many plotlines are resolved. Brubaker brings the title character back to a place that's close to his previous status quo, albeit with a couple of new supporting characters. Matt Murdock's life is tied up in a neat little package here, but it's been such a long road to get here that it doesn't feel forced. The timing of Foggy's return is a little hard to swallow, but stretching that subplot out, when it's so obvious where it was headed, wouldn't have made much sense either. I like that there's a sense that despite the happy ending, the title character's trials and tribulations over the past few years are going to haunt him. The emotional confrontation between the protagonist and his arch-nemesis is palpable, but I like that it's not physical. Lark and Gaudiano's art boasts a softer look, and given that

Speaking of Maplewood, while the core mystery in this comic is clearly who is killing these people in a particularly brutal way and how s/he is doing it over the course of 160 years of British history (and future), I'm much more intrigued about what has marred the UK in 2050 and what caused Maplewood's trouble with memory and language. It might be the population has been stricken with some kind of affliction affecting cerebral function, or perhaps Maplewood is some kind of Omega Woman who's gone insane. I don't know, but I honestly want to find out.

Now, I'll be honest... I'm not exactly sure what Fiffe's story is about, but it definitely draws the reader in, slowly but surely. I think the reason is that eventually, the audience is able to connect with Augustus. As he panics in a bathroom, praying no one will see the literal mess he's become, it's easy to imagine one's own experiences. We'll all been in a bathroom, staring in the mirror at a garish stain on a shirt or the sweat of nausea flowing down the forehead or some kind of obvious coldsore that manifesting in the hours before a big date. The situation in this story is more extreme but oddly relatable. We've all been embarrassed or horrified by our own bodies in some way, after all.

I shouldn't have bought this graphic novel. I enjoyed it, but the market tells me it's not for me. DC's Minx imprint is targeted at an untapped female readership - specifically, girls. I'm a stubborn guy, though. I like good comics, and I'm drawn to solid storytelling in the medium. Previous releases in the Minx line have been, for the most part, either solid or quite strong, so the brand has earned my attention. It doesn't seem as though the marketplace has really done so, though, and at this point, one has to point to the efforts (or lack thereof) to promote the line. While DC has taken some steps to market Minx, it really doesn't seem as though its initial, low-key approach is working. It's a shame, because what we have here is a major American publisher releasing creator-owned, slice-of-life books that we only ever saw from indy or small-press publishers in the past. This is the kind of diversity of product some people demanded of bigger comics publishers, and it's the bigger spotl

Peter Blood is a compelling hero because he's so unusual. Heroes are often defined by their selflessness, but it's clear that Blood regrets the decisions he's made in the past to help others. Though he's compelled to do so by an oath, it's his caring side that's landed him in a life of pain. The strength, ruthlessness and cunning he exhibits in this story make him fun to follow. Shepard offers up a protagonist whose brilliant mind is a greater weapon than any one could use against him. Blood's genius makes him quite admirable and eminently readable as a protagonist.

Overall, I found this debut issue of Cave Carson Has a Cybernetic Eye to be a fun romp with just enough intelligence and maturity behind it to signal the potential for much more than the adventures of wondrous, weird characters.

The Champions aren't just the surrogate children of Marvel's icons, but of Bernie Sanders and Elizabeth Warren and Justin Trudeau. This is a super-hero team book that's not about fighting but about fixing problems. It's about helping people, not pummelling other-dimensional dictators and time-travelling tyrants. While this is a standard gathering-of-the-team issue, it's also about constructing a philosophy for the team. Ms. Marvel is the heart and soul of the group, which is a testament to the strength of the character that G. Willow Wilson and Adrian Alphona crafted.

Overall, this is a comic that will likely fly under the radar for a lot of people, but it's definitely worth seeking out.

Robbi Rodriguez's art suits the extreme nature of the plot incredibly well, but it's incredibly evocative of Murphy's work on The Wake with its figures made up of elongated lines and sharp angles. Rico Renzi's colors are a vital component to the storytelling here; the elements of physical laws going wild are conveyed a great deal through the color art, making it an even more important factor here than normal in color comics. Rodriguez handles the unusual, sci-fi aspects of the plot as adeptly as he does the mundane ones. The everyday backdrops are thoroughly convincing, making it easier to dive into this world of impossibilities and dangerous wonder.

Michael Walsh's artwork serves the tension, edge and intrigue of the premise and plot quite well. If I hadn't looked at the credits on the inside front cover first, I could have easily mistaken Walsh's linework for that of Paul (Talent, Amazing Spider-Man) Azaceta, Michael (Daredevil, Gotham Central) Lark or perhaps Greg (Sword of Dracula) Scott. Walsh boasts a simpler style that captures the dark excitement of the story and conveys a convincing look with its grittiness and his strong eye for anatomy. Jordie Bellaire's dark colors reinforce the cloak-and-dagger/crime-genre atmosphere as well. Walsh also does an excellent job with the one gruesome and fantastic visual scene in the book, and it's so out of place and perfectly timed, it really has an impact on the reader.

Naifeh's usual gothic style is to be found here, and it's as pleasing as ever. His deceptively simple character designs are contrasted by the textured backdrops and supernatural creatures that lurk within them. Most notable about this latest Courtney Crumrin effort, though, is it's presented in full color. In the past, Crumrin always looked as though they worked best in black and white, given the cynical nature of the title character and the dark, eerie elements that swirled around her. But I have to admit the full-color version is even more appealing to the eyes. I think that's in part because Colorist Warren Wucinich has opted for a muted palette. There's something of a black-and-white vibe at play, because the colors never seem to stray far from a duller, even grayer tone.

Criminal may be a guided tour through the underworld, but its basically about a guy without a future. Hes burdened by his past and seems to have nothing in the way of fond remembrances. And the nature of his work, his life precludes the possibility of any kind of future. Leo merely exists solely in the present, and we see that its an empty, half-life that he doesnt even know he needs to escape.

Checchetto does an excellent job of portraying Matt Murdock as a thoroughly intense figure. The way he stands as he faces a group of killers makes him seem like the mythic figure he needs to be in order to lead the Hand. The Japanese cultural elements in the backgrounds seem genuine and convincing as well. I also appreciated how Murdock and the arrogant Bakuto are visually contrasted against the other Hand leaders. Their youth and vigor set them apart from the older Hand lieutenants, not to mention their attire (modern garb contrasts with ancient robes and masks).

It's clear why Klaus Janson and Bill Sienkiewicz were tapped for this project " because they evoke memories of the classic DD stories Frank Miller told in the 1980s that set Daredevil apart from Marvel's other street-level super-heroes. But during the scene featuring the climactic fight between DD and the Kingpin, some of the visuals specifically put me in mind of the style of the late Gene Colan, another artist remembered as one of the best talents to work on the original Daredevil series.

I love that Marvel acknowledges where this character came from by hiring Kyle Hotz, the artist on the first Hood limited series, to bring him to life in this spotlight once again. Hotz gets the dark edges of the Marvel Universe, the quiet but pervading supernatural tone and the extreme personalities that gather in this story. He handles the crowded villain scenes quite well, but even with his exaggerated style, he able to convey Robbins's humanity in later scenes.

Godlewski's style is a relatively simple but effective one. His character designs tend to be angular, and those sharp edges are in keeping with the harsh qualities of the players in the drama. His elongated figures are also perfect for a story featuring lean, gaunt predators such as vampires. His style reminded me a little of that of Norm (Batman, Archie) Breyfogle. It's also comparable to the work of Giancarlo (The Last Resort, Gorilla-Man) Caracuzzo. Most of the characters - and there are quite a few of them - are ordinary people, and the artist does a solid job of providing designs that distinguish among them clearly.

The tone of Dryspell reminds me of that of Brian Michael Bendis and Michael Gaydos's Alias, both in terms of the writing and the artwork. The central character is a bit broken like Jessica Jones was in Alias, and he's also a formerly super-figure who's retreated into civilian life. I'd be quite surprised if Alias wasn't a major influence on Krekeler, but I must also point out that he's hardly aping that Marvel/MAX private-eye title. I'm just saying that thematically, the two comics share a similar tone.

I've seen a couple of references online referring to East of West as "the next Saga." I hope the reference is one to its potential collectibility and the fervent following Saga has engendered, because as fascinating as East of West is, I'm not quite as enthralled as I am by Saga. I can see some parallels, yes - the mix of magic and sci-fi, some oddball designs, such as the weird steed ridden by Death as he parts ways with his siblings. But I think Saga, despite being set against an interstellar war and its weird, monstrous character designs, it ultimately has a positive tone, celebrating nature and life. East of West - at least so far - is dark, dark, dark. It's about ugly people doing ugly things in ugly places. And I'm great with darkness and harshness. I'm eager to meet the missing Horseman, though, and to learn its motivation for turning its back on its nature and prophecy.

Robbi Rodriguez's elongated, lithe characters are attractive but never sexualized. The Spider-Gwen design is striking and unlike just about anything in super-hero comics. I also appreciated how familiar characters don't necessarily look like their counterparts from mainstream continuity, notably Peter Parker and Capt. Stacy. It's those added differences, the willingness to deviate from what the reader expects to see, that allows "Gwen Stacy, Spider-Woman" to stand out.

While the main Elephantmen series is a color book, War Toys is presented in black and white, and I think I see the reason. That's how most of the characters - from Yvette to Horn - see each. There's black and white, day and night, good and evil. Yvette sees the Elephantmen only as monsters, just as the genetically engineered soldiers see her as a savage beast in need of eradication. Only Hip Flask (named in this story only by a number) deviates from such limited perspectives. Though the elements are over the top and fantastic, the central message - of the wasteful and spiritually devastating nature of war - is clear and quite down to earth.

Jim Cheung's artwork has been far too rare an occurrence since his six-issue run on Young Avengers a few years ago, and it's a treat to see him back in action. I can only assume he can't keep up with a monthly schedule, which would explain why he's not illustrating a regular title for Marvel these days. I love the slick, clean lines he employs, and the action and scope of the story really shine through and hold the reader's attention. He handles the large cast of characters adeptly.

I love the riff on a living Boston Brand as purposefully isolating himself from the warmth around him; he essentially turns himself into a ghost among the living. But most interesting of all is how Deadman and Dick Grayson serve as both mirror reflections of one another and opposites at the same time. In this reality, both have been spared from the tragedies that would define them, but one suffers as a result of his survival, and the other is fulfilled and happy as a result of being spared a devastating loss. Boston places self above all else, while Dick reaps the benefits of being part of a family. Clearly, the story will be about Deadman's effort to redeem himself in the wake of tragedy. I eagerly anticipate the next two issues.

If one believes in God and such a creator figure's omnipotence, one also has to accept the notion that this all-powerful, benevolent being allows horrible things to happen. Many accept it as part of a divine plan, but imagine what it must be like to choose to turn a blind eye to tragedy and suffering if it's within one's power to prevent. That's the question Rozum poses with The Foundation, placing man in God's shoes. The good of the many over the needs of the few may be an easier concept with which to tangle when the few is one or two folks. But when the few is hundreds, the ethical dilemma is all the more complicated, distressing and - fortunately for the reader - interesting.

Driving the book forward are two plotlines that are rather extreme in nature; nevertheless, those plotlines are fascinating. But even more engrossing are the characters and how easy it is to relate to them. Boom's actions in this story may be unimaginable to the reader, but her frustrations are ones we've all experienced at one time or another. Lilly's a gentle soul, a thoroughly likeable person who encourages her friends and thinks of others before herself. The scene in which she sees a friend off as he embarks on a dream career rings true, especially the punchline at the end of the scene. The group of friends that serve as the cast of characters here boasts a certain archetypical lineup. Everyone's circle of friends has similar personalities. We have friends who are pillars of strength, who are takers and who are nurturers. We have friends who lead, who follow and who leech. Full Color is simply the final story for one such group of friends.

Initially, what impressed me the most about this story is the author's complete openness about not only her life but her mother's and late father's lives. It can't be easy to expose oneself to public scrutiny, but exposing someone else - especially when the revelations are in part scandalous in nature - takes real courage and conviction. But ultimately, it's the sad story of Bruce Bechdel, living a life he felt he didn't choose but ultimately had to follow, that's the most compelling aspect of the book. At times, he's something of a villain, and at others, he's a victim of the repressed social order of his time. He's both a puzzling oddity and impressive intellect, something of a Renaissance man lost in the mirage of the American Dream.

The story's appeal stems from the fact that one can sympathize with all of the characters. Glister's wish to put her life of dictation behind her is completely understandable, but the ghostly author's circumstances come off as somewhat tragic, leaving the reader to hope he achieves his goal. And then there's Mr. Wilkes, the oafish wrestler-turned-antiques salesman; he's such a cute and unusual soul that one can't help but feel for him as well. Despite the simpler tone of the storytelling, the characters are well realized, and there's no outright antagonist. Each character has a legitimate agenda or goal that just happens to conflict with others. The morals of Watson's story touch upon the virtue of patience, the bite of karma and the importance of remembering that one shouldn't judge others by appearance.

I was a little disconcerted by my first glimpse of Campbell's interpretation of the Wonder Woman knockoff who serves as the title character, as I found her to be far too babyfaced. That child-like look atop a bulky, powerful form seemed a bit unnatural, but Campbell quietly instills maturity in her face as the issue (and time) progresses. Campbell's style is an unconventional choice for a super-hero book, but that's what I enjoyed the most about it. Despite the more exaggerated aspects of his style, there's a rich level of detail to be found in the character designs and settings. Overall, there's a melancholy look to the art, matching the same tone in the story, and it's surprisingly enticing and engaging. I think I may like this book even better than Prophet.

Fraction takes an achronological approach to the plotting and script, and it's vital to the success of this self-contained story. It adds to the drama, creates an air of mystery and even intrigue to what is, basically, a straightforward, grounded, street-crime kind of story. The writer portrays the hero as surprisingly and refreshingly vulnerable and fallible. He's an underdog, not only because he usually exists in a world populated by gods and billionaires, but due to his own choices and lack of sophistication. Ultimately, though, what draws one into the story is the fact it's about a guy who's tries to do good in a circumstance that would see almost anyone else turn a blind eye, give up or shrug. He doesn't even try to make other people's lives better; he just sets out to make sure they don't any worse or more difficult.

As is often the case with so many Hellboy comic, while there are some explosive action and spine-tingling monsters to be found, the real draw is the mood. Hellboy's down-to-earth demeanor makes it easy to accept his netherworldly nature among the human players in the drama. Mignola doesn't bother to explain how Hellboy arrived at this place at this moment. He allows his audience to simply accept that he's drawn to adventure, drawn to where he's needed. It's an accessible read, and while it seems like a fairly simple story at first, it ends up embracing faith and good will as vital components of not only the plot, but the human heart as well.

One of the things that made Hellboy such a hit was Mignola's minimalist, gothic artwork, but over the years, the design and the property have proven themselves to be versatile. Duncan Fegredo still instils Mignola's mark on the art here, but he also doesn't submerge his own more detailed style. I particular love how he depicts the old architecture and the English knights. It's such a lovely book, albeit in a dark way. Adding to the gothic effects are Dave Stewart's remarkably effective colors. the comic is full color, but often, it seems immersed in blacks and greys. Stewart is careful to employ dark but muted tones that are in keeping with the shadowy, pitch-black circumstances in which the title character finds himself.

While Mignola is listed as having contributed to the writing of this comic book, it's clear from the credits and the overall tone of the story that this is really more of a Beasts of Burden comic than a Hellboy comic. And that's a smart move on Dark Horse's and the creators' part. This one-shot is bound to draw in a lot of Hellboy fans, and no doubt, they outnumber those interested in the Wise Dog Society. It's a great bit of marketing. This solidly entertaining story will likely driving quite a few new readers to the collected edition of the recent Beasts of Burden limited series. If I hadn't already read all of the previous Beasts of Burden material, I can guarantee you that this one-shot (which would have grabbed my attention as a Hellboy fan) would've sent me scrambling to find it.

Matt Cossin's art is a perfect match to the main characters and the script. He brings such energy to the visuals that one can't help but get caught up in the fun and goofiness of the story. Admittedly, he's got a tendency to vamp up almost every female character, but that's sort of expected with this kind of wish-fulfillment story. I mean, since all of Hunter's dreams are coming true, it only makes sense that he'd end up surrounded by hot women. Mind you, it's easier to accept since the smartest, most confident character in the story, Jessica Lockhart, is among them, and she doesn't get naked or anything.

Crystal's exaggerated style suits these weird, damaged characters quite well. His art on this title reminds me of the work of Phil Hester, albeit even more stylized. He's redesigned the villains that make up the title team, and he's crafted looks that seem more plausible, more like they could exist in the real world. It adds some credibility to the incredible cast of characters and capers they're undertaking. John Rauch's dark colors also work nicely for this story and these characters - who aren't so much looking for redemption, but a stronger sense of self and satisfaction along the darker path they've chosen.

Spiegelman's storytelling and editorializing comes off as both sharp and focused and oddly frenetic and scattered all at the same time. He merges different concepts, criticisms and visual styles all in the same sequences, and it works incredibly well. The attention-deficit approach to the visual ranting drives home the enormity of the issues to which the 9-11 attacks have given rise, not to mention the artist's frustration. His frustration is something to which any rational personal can relate, but one also has to give Spiegelman significant credit for sharing so much of himself here. He not only rants about government corruption and the public's willful blindness to major issues, but he exposes his own foibles and failings, such as his paranoia about what we don't know about the attacks and possible and improbable conspiracies.

Alex Maleev's artwork is always at its best when he's drawing people, not super-heroes. His gritty but realistic style allows the audience to see the characters as people - vulnerable but determined, ordinary but accomplished. I enjoyed his work here, but I have to be honest, it's not as powerfully striking and convincing as what he offers up on and Bendis's creator-owned Scarlet series. Nevertheless, he and the writer demonstrate there's plenty of potential in a flashback S.H.I.E.L.D. series, including but not focusing on the more recognizable super-spies from the 1960s and '70s.

There's no shortage of stories about a Superman out of control, driven insane or corrupted, but then again, there's no shortage of a lot of super-hero plots. Waid's plot and script handles this particular deconstruction of the super-hero archetype quite well. One could argue that the violence in this story is over the top, that it's included only for shock value. It's definitely a sustainable argument, but I don't agree. The point is that such unlimited power in the hands of a madman would be unimaginably devastating and terrifying. At its heart, Irredeemable really isn't a super-hero story, but rather an entertaining piece of horror fiction.

Waid's focus here isn't on unimaginable destruction, weird and new super-hero powers or the downfall of a champion. While there's a fascinating plot and mystery unfolding, it's the characterization that's the most engaging aspect of the book. We see the Plutonian/Superman as an emotionally vulnerable character, even fragile. Waid explores a man who's forced to live his entire life in secret and how he's changed and damaged when the decision to finally let someone see his vulnerability and humanity blows up in his face. We also get to see what scares a man who can't be hurt along with what breaks his heart. Alana's reaction to learning the Plutonian's secret is completely understandable and justified. That explosive scene and the fallen hero's relationship with Patel simply serve to spotlight how disconnected he is from humanity and how that's really left him as something of an innocent. Perhaps it's his loss of innocence that leads to the world's loss of hope and security.

Ivy feels as though her friends have shunned her (and they have, to a certain extent), and it's something I think we all go through at some point. I know I have, and so to me, Oleksyk's script and plot really ring true. The pettiness and social politics of high school are also familiar - unfortunately, the same sort of dynamics can arise in many workplaces. And Ivy's excitement over her connection with Josh - although it's artificial, thanks to his charm and manipulations - is easily relatable as well. I'm married to a wonderful woman, and our relationship started out as a long-distance thing as well. My point is this: one needn't connect with Ivy through one's teens years. Though it focuses on a teenager's coming of age, it's an adult story too in a lot of ways. There's a nice balance between chaos and serenity, between trivial drama and real crises. It's makes for an engaging read - as long as one gets past the initial vision of Ivy as a brat.

Not only does this feature some fine comics craftsmanship, but it also represents one of the best values you'll find in the marketplace at the moment. Yes, it's priced at $4.99 US, but it's a hefty, ad-free package. It's an absolutely shame Kubert didn't live to see the release of this unique anthology, but it's encouraging his final work is of such a personal and outstanding nature. I haven't kept up with reports about the six-issue series since he passed, and I hope his contributions to the series were complete before his death. Nevertheless, I eagerly anticipate forthcoming issues.

The point Morrison makes here is a rather simple one. He spotlights how the paraphernalia of childhood - toys, games, comics, cartoons and more - serve as our escape from pain and bring magic into our lives when it's sorely lacking in the real world. Morrison is hardly breaking new ground here, but he approaches the familiar subject matter with sensitivity and a sense of mystery. As the series progresses, I'm sure it will be confirmed that something supernatural and weird is happening in Joe's life, but I rather enjoyed that in this first issue, it's rather vague as to Joe has fallen through the looking glass or is merely experiencing a psychological event in order to enable him to cope with the stresses from without.

Valerio Schiti's art is a good match for Immonen's work. He adopts an angular but flowing style for the action-oriented sequences that reminds me of David Lafuente's kinetic style from the afore-mentioned Hellcat series. But for the quieter, conversational scenes, there's a softer look at play, notably in the characters' features. Furthermore, consummate Thor artist Walt Simonson's influence quietly looms over the whole book. It shows through in Sif's general look and is even more apparent in the design for the corpse-eating dragon the heroine seeks out in the second act.

In many ways, Jupiter's Legacy carries on similar themes and notions that were expounded in Mark Waid and Alex Ross's Kingdom Come, in which the heroes of the Golden and Silver ages see their mission and ideals twisted and distorted by the modern generation of so-called "heroes." Kingdom Come seemed more like a statement about the genre itself and how grim, violent elements led to creators and readers losing sight of what made super-heroes special. Jupiter's Legacy seems to cast its critical eye more widely. Millar takes aim at a modern culture of celebrity and entitlement. Brandon and Chloe Sampson strike me as standins. They're Lindsay Lohan and Charlie Sheen and Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber and all those Kardashians; what they offer isn't so much talent but fodder for a celebrity-driven, 24-hour news cycle. Sheldon's crew represents the Greatest Generation, whereas their children seem to be the Greediest Generation.

It's not rare for comics artists to develop self-published items for sale at conventions. I've seen some fairly basic mini-comics and sketchbooks, made with photocopies in my past travels up and down con aisles. Hicks has arranged for a professional-quality book with this project. She's invested in this a bit, and it doesn't feel the least bit disposable. The price I cite above is just the price I paid for this book. There's no cover price printed on the trade paperback, though I expect Hicks charges something in the same neighborhood at cons. It's well worth seeking out, not only if you're a fan of this up-and-coming cartoonist's work, but for anyone who appreciates humor comics, be it genre satire or slice-of-life observational humor.

It's by exploring these characters as people rather than magicians and monsters that Milligan finds the book's true strength.

Overall, though, despite the few minor flaws that are to be found in this package, they're far outweighed by the energy and fun of the storytelling of all those involved, from the writers to the actors to the legions of folks involved in the animation side of things.

This one-shot also includes a section featuring "behind the scenes" looks at the animated movie project, but it's a superficial look. There's far more detailed information about the craft of the film and inspirations in the commentary tracks on the DVD itself. Still, these DVD promotional pages boast a strong sense of design and spotlight the strength of Cooke's art and influence nicely. Overall, this special is a great package and will entertain New Frontier fanatics and casual readers alike.

John Romita Jr.'s rough but fluid style is the perfect style to bring the brutal action of this story to life. I love his portrayal of the rake-thin title character. It conveys just how vulnerable he is, especially in contrast with most of the other characters, which appear to be thick, solid and powerful. In the back of this issue, we get a look at Romita's "breakdowns," which are described as loose pencils over which Tom Palmer does "finishes" and ink washes. But Romita's "loose pencils" are meticulously detailed. His version of breakdowns is much different than what one might find from other artists. That his style shines through so clearly demonstrates that the artist really isn't taking any shortcuts, even though his schedule (he's also the regular artist on Avengers) would certainly call for them.

What makes this such a compelling story, though, isn't the economic and political relevance of the backdrop, as thought-provoking as it is; it's the oddly named heroine, Forever Carlyle. She's a killing machine who can't be killed herself, awash in an ethical dilemma. She's struggling with her emerging conscience, and culturally and socially ingrained obligations to her family and its interests. On the surface, it might seem like she'd practically be an alien character, given her superhuman status and mission in life, but really, Forever is a thoroughly relatable character.

Mind you, the exposure of the secret is but a brief sequence in the larger picture. What drives the story - and the history - forward is the rivalry between two magicians: Maskelyne and Kellar. Ultimately, the most interesting aspect of the plot is the fact that Kellar, who so desperately worked to uncover Maskelyne's secrets, ends up becoming something of a purist himself, disappointed that the man who inherited his act so readily risked exposing the illusion for what it really was.

Trondheim's message throughout the book is clear. Sure, the focus seems to be on the goofiness of how the human mind works, but really, it's a celebration of the human experience and the magic hiding in the world all around us. It's there in the subtitle, "My Shadow in the Distance." There are moments throughout the book in which Trondheim pauses from dwelling on the inconveniences of life and the small mistakes he's made to focus on the wonders around him. It's particularly apparent when he snorkels off a tropical coral reef, but one can even find it in his amazement at his own body's ability to expel something big and disgusting as it heals itself.

I've been thoroughly enjoying these Lobster Johnson one-shots even more than the limited series offered by creator Mike Mignola and the talent he's gathered around him. The title character seems to lend himself well to these action-packed, brisk pulp adventure stories. The real-life history provides the perfect accompaniment to the classic tone of the adventure serial that's captured here. The overall tone of the plot and various story elements seems like a cross between The Shadow and one of the better Indiana Jones flicks. Furthermore, the dark, serious tone of the plot and action makes for an interesting contrast with the absurd tone of the protagonist's name. This tremendously fun comics storytelling, and it's thoroughly accessible, allowing even those unfamiliar with Lobster Johnson or other elements of the Mignola-verse to enjoy and appreciate it.

If you've never picked up a Lobster Johnson comic before, this is the one to start with - not just because it's a wholly accessible and entertaining read, but because of who's been tapped to illustrate this latest adventure. Seeing Kevin Nowlan's work grace a comic book these days is an all-too rare occurrence, and it's even rarer for him to handle all of the art duties solo: cover art, interior linework and, apparently, coloring. His powerfully distinct style is on full display here, and the noir sensibilities of the property play right into Nowlan's wheelhouse. To be honest, while I've always been a fan, I've found Nowlan's art to be a bit stiff at times in the past, but here, he conveys motion and action incredibly well, with an old-school flair and charm.

The greatest fun in this issue stems not from M.O.D.O.C. himself but from the altered Avengers. I like that they don't become villainous like M.O.D.O.C., but they do end up just as conceited, overbearing and nasty. The dialogue for these multiple M.O.D.O.C.s is a treasure. They talk like Silver Age villains, and that makes their efforts to defeat other villains all the more unusual and entertaining. The infighting among the heroes makes sense in the context of the characters, given both their established and altered personalities.

The second aspect of the film that affected my appreciation was the 3D. I hated it. I found the 3D effects distracting and distorted, and they detracted from my experience in the theatre repeatedly. I had no choice but to see it in 3D, as the cinemas in my city offered only one evening showing in 2D, and it was at a time I couldn't be there. I expect this movie will drive up sales of other Marvel flicks on home video, especially Thor and Captain America: The First Avenger, as they're required viewing in order to follow the plot in this billion-dollar success.

This series continues to stand out as the best thing to come out of Alex Ross's Project: Superpowers brand, which has resurrected a number of public-domain super-heroes from the Golden Age of comics. The title character, Diana Adams, is incredibly well realized. Her sense of adventure and justice pales in comparison with her intellect and ability to see the big picture. Her lack of super-powers is a metaphor for her gender in a time when women were seen as weaker, but her perspective and skill at sensing larger perils and noticing small events as part of larger trends make her an admirable figure. Phil Hester's script is accessible and smart, incorporating gender politics in an intelligent way into a super-hero story (even if the heroine's midriff-baring costume is a bit difficult to accept in light of her empowerment). This flashback story, set in the days after the Second World War, is connected to the larger event of Project: Superpowers series, but it's not burdened by it. Hester's

The unifying theme throughout the book is obvious from the start: everything and everyone is connected, that love is the natural order of things rather than destruction and chaos. It's a pleasant message; it's just a shame that the Fillbachs felt they had to state it so overtly in the latter part of the book. I was on board with the message early on. The storytellers did their job effectively, and they really ought to have trusted in their craft and the audience. Despite that misstep, Maxwell Strangewell never fails to amuse and entertain.

The photorealistic artwork by Robin Esquejo and Sonia Oback serves the story well. Something more stylized might have been the more obvious choice, but the realistic look brings credibility to the plot and therefore enhances the intrigue and drama. The computer-coloring effects, black backdrops, and special fonts and word balloons do an excellent job of distinguishing between the mortal scenes and the spectral-limbo ones. I think the name of the title refers to the gap between the everyday world and the ever-changing plane on which the main character finds herself, but it doesn't really encapsulate the plot or mood of the story - at least not that of this first issue. Still, that's about the only gripe I have about this otherwise well-devised and challenging comic book.

The visuals are presented in a somewhat simpler style that suits the brighter, more innocent tone of the story, but it never seems gaudy either. The colors aren't garish and are instead a little muted, perhaps to reflect Moon Girl's frustrations. Perhaps what I love most about the art isn't, surprisingly, the depiction of a red, intelligent tyrannosaur, but rather the youth of the other main protagonist of the book. Lunella looks like a girl - not a young woman, not even a teenager. This isn't about a new adolescent heroine hitting the scene, but rather about a kid. While this book should appeal to fans of Ms. Marvel, the tender age of the heroine here, among other aspects, definitely sets it apart from that sister book.

I've been in a great relationship for more than three years now, and I know she is It. I'm done looking, this is the real thing. And the reason I know is that we have fun together. Laughing together is really the best part. She's become my best friend, and that's a special and wonderful feeling. Wight taps into that feeling perfectly here with the real meat of the story. Finney and Jenny's instant connection, formed over the course of a carefree day at an amusement park, is thoroughly convincing. The characters reveal his and her true self to the other. A lot of people might not buy into the notion of love at first sight or knowing so quickly. But Wight conveys the depth and power of this friendship incredibly well, and that makes the notion of such a rapid romance more readily acceptable.

Despite the hefty price tag, Never as Bad is hard to resist. The experiment is a challenge the Immonens undertook and they succeeded with it, but the end result also challenges the reader. The audience is challenged to find the quiet, down-to-earth meaning in these little moments, the meat that hides behind the quirky dialogue. These comic strips are tremendously fun, but they're not as superficial as some might think at first. This project also marks a significant departure for the publisher. Boom! Studios has, up to this point, been mainly a publisher of genre comics. With Never as Bad, it's broadening its line, and I hope we see more of unconventional projects such as this one in the future.

Still, while Simpson provides a solid introduction to the book's heroine, he really doesn't have a lot of space to delve too deeply into her character; he really has to focus on the dual worlds in which the story is set - the fantasy-scape of the game and the mechanized vision of the future that serves as "the real world" in this series. When it comes to the human characters, Simpson has a softer approach that reminds me a great deal of that of Jamie (Phonogram) McKelvie's style, but the other elements - from the settings to alien animal life to mechanized conveniences - are rendered in meticulous and convincing detail. Take the reptilian steed depicted on the cover, for example; Simpson conveys the toughness of its hide with seeming ease.

The strongest moment in the script comes early on in the main character's remembrance of his lost relationship with Leah. As he reflects on the strength of her poetry, I was distinctly struck by a hint of jealousy, and it cast that connection with his "muse" in a completely different light. By the end of the story, that feeling proves to be on target. Was he with Leah because he loved her, or because being with her made him feel like more than he was? Was she his muse or his mentor? Ultimately, the protagonist proves to fulfill the role of antagonist in this story as well. He is understandably dumbstruck by what he finds at the bookstore after months of writing, but his anger demonstrates he really hasn't learned anything about himself or the craft. That flawed portrayal takes courage to share, and it's not quite so unfortunate that one cannot identify with the misplaced negativity.

src="http://www.eyeoncomics.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/thor1c.jpg" align="left" alt="Variant cover" />Of course, Esad Ribic's moody, dark artwork plays a big part in that tension as well. I love how there's a ghostly look to Thor in those latter scenes. He's lit in an eerie way, isolating him from the dark bits of death around him. There were pages in which Ribic's work here reminded me of the work of Alex Ross, and others reminded me of the style of Barry Windsor-Smith. The design for the shadowy "guard dog" seemed a little generic, but Ribic also captured a thoroughly alien look for the creature, which was fitting. The characters are quite expressive without looking too cartoony, and Ribic's design and depiction of an alien version of Mount Olympus struck a nice balance between science-fiction and fantasy. I don't think there was a single panel of this comic book I didn't thoroughly enjoy.

"Logging Sanjay" is a slice-of-life story from Yost's own experiences, and consequently, it's not nearly as grave or activist in tone as the other material in the book. It therefore comes off as much more honest and even more relatable as the other stories. I love the notion that the creator opts to share a secret he'd never revealed before in print. His approach to the art is also slightly different for this story; the figures are less exaggerated in tone, obviously because they are more real to Yost than the fictional ones in other segments.

Cebulski's the hero and the villain of his own stories, and it's easy to see oneself in some of his recollections. Mind you, it seems like he must have dated like Wilt Chamberlain to bed in all the shapely young women as depicted in this story. But hey, I was a late bloomer in that respect, so what do I know. Speaking of the recurring sexual elements in the book, I suppose one could argue that Cebulski's writing here leans a bit toward the misogynist, but I think that argument wouldn't hold up. The stories are about the writer at a time in his life when he was a horny teenager, for the most part, and one has to view the plotting in that light. While there are moments when it seems as though he sees girls as disposable or interchangeable, the main "character" does show respect for women as well. The artwork, mostly by unknowns, is fairly strong throughout the book, and what's most impressive is how consistently the main character is rendered by different talents (save for Seth Frail's m

Ultimately, Outcast appears to be a story about purpose. Kyle goes from self-pity to self-realization, discovering direction. While the trauma and tragedy that defined his life aren't relatable, that moment when one comes out of despair, out of that dark hole into which we all retreat after loss of some kind - be it personal, professional or even spiritual - we've probably all felt that sense of empowerment and clarity wash over us at a turning point in our lives. This is a smart take on horror, offering some familiar elements enhanced by a real sense of humanity.

Carlos Magno's artwork is as strong as the writing. The mix of early industrial urban landscapes with the untamed, natural jungle elements shows that he's put a lot of thought into the world being constructed here. The characters' clothing, the grandeur of the ape city while still maintaining a certain wild look and the detailed texture brought out by the meticulous linework... it's all quite pleasing to the eye. There's nothing about the artwork in this comic book that I didn't enjoy.

Carlos Magno's photorealistic artwork reinforces the notion of an entire society that's been created from scratch here. I love the gritty, grimy detail of the secret workshop that Sully visits and the uneasy stillness and relative cleanliness of the Skintown church demonstrate his meticulous eye for detail. the character designs are striking as well, especially for Nix. Magno conveys the power, intellect and anger that define him. Nolan Woodard's colors are appropriately muted in tone. They add to the tension. Since he doesn't employ bright tones or starkly dark ones, he manages to add to the melancholy, despair and tension that seem to permeate every corner of this world.

The art is thoroughly impressive. The tangled mess of machinery that serves as the backdrop looks like something right out of a Sam (The Maxx) Kieth comic book, but the human figures put me in mind of Brian (The Sixth Gun) Hurtt's style. The latter aspect really brings out Silas's humanity. As tough as he is, he always moves and looks like a regular guy. I really like the clean look of Ricter, Silas's digital-display sidekick. It makes for a nice contrast with the filth and chaos of the setting.

Garing employs a gritty style that suits his seemingly barren, harsh title setting quite well. It took me a while to put my finger on it, but I finally realized what his artwork reminded me of: the style of Jim (Electric Warrior) Baikie. There's also a strong Kevin (League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) O'Neil riff in Garing's figures and designs. He always seems to convey the immense, barren nature of the backdrop incredibly well, and the scope of the main undertaking here with the winch captures the enormity of what the survivors have set out to do, which makes there accomplishment seem like an even greater triumph. The flat colours, browns and greys, further reinforce the inhospitable nature of where the characters find themselves, and in turn, they allow the occasional splashes of green - representing life and nature - seem all the more encouraging.

The black-and-white format works well for this murder-mystery story. Koray Kuranel's artwork has a strong Paul Gulacy riff to it when it comes to the characters, but I think his greatest strength as a comic artist is his clear skill when it comes to setting. The urban jungle in which the story is set is full of detail, from the roof of the building from which the victim as thrown to the cluttered, bustling nature of the newspaper newsroom. There's always a strong sense of place, and it brings a greater degree of credibility to the story. Point of Impact stands out as yet another example of the strength of the new work being produced by Image Comics these days.

I noted earlier that Potter's Field is in keeping with the quality and even mood of previous Boom! releases, but it also follows another familiar pattern for this publisher. This opening issue reads like a pilot for a TV series. I wouldn't be surprised to learn the book was crafted in part as a pitch for other-media treatment. The publisher has had some success in that department, with Talent and Tag being optioned by Hollywood types. Does that detract from the reading experience? Well, that awareness/suspicion is ever so slightly distracting, but overall, supposition about the book's purpose doesn't change the fact that it's solidly entertaining.

This comic has a lot going for it, not the least of which is its incorporation of a strong, female-led cast. Deena is center stage here, with Enki and Marrs backing her up nicely. Bendis has also crafted a nicely accessible script for this debut issue (the fourth first issue of Powers, I believe). I've been out of the loop with the property, as I noted, and I really had no problem moving forward from this point. Even someone brand-new to Powers would be able to appreciate the plot.

Pride isn't quite as edgy as what one expects from Brian Vaughan, so I found it a little puzzling at first. Ultimately, I like that this is a significant diversion from his usual fare. The cynicism isn't as overt, but the idealism is. It's still trademark BKV, but with a much softer side that surprisingly effective at drawing the reader into a shattered society of intelligent animals.

Still, there remains an unrestrained quality in Graham's plot, but rather than something goofy or whimsical, it's a savagery the title character exhibits. He's disciplined and directed, but when it's called for, he's brutal as well. While some of Graham's past projects have included darker elements, this is a departure, and it's interesting it see Graham explore new territory. His ability to build unimaginable new worlds is more than enough to keep me coming back for more, and Simon Roy's skill at delineating and defining Graham's definition-defining imagination just adds to the appeal of this basically new title.

Terry Moore has always boasted a soft style, which allows him to convey the vulnerability and humanity of his characters, and that's an important element here. But there's also a dark, supernatural element that plays a role in the story, conveyed by black eyes and Moore's adeptness at conveying expression. The juxtaposition of the softer side of his art with the unnatural and corrupt supernatural elements makes a genuine impact, both visually and conceptually. As always, I love that Moore's world is populated by people with real bodies. Even the beauties of his stories look like real women, not impossible figures with overinflated breasts and impossibly cinched waists.

When I hear stories such as this - people who cast off their routines and the shackles of "normal" life to do something unusual - I look back at my own life and wish I'd done something similar. I don't have European backpacking stories. The only lengthy road trip I embarked upon was an interesting and memorable experience, but it was carried out in the safety of being a professional undertaking, part of a job for which I was being paid. There was still some safety to it, some convention. One of the lessons learned here is that the universe provides when needs be, even if it by way of hard work or sacrifice. Jensen's travels and travails are both enviable and unenviable all at once, and watching him look inward as he presses onward spurs one to introspection as well.

Another strength of Reed Gunther - both the comic and the character - is its/his unrelenting optimism. Reed is dedicated to doing the right thing, but he also never has any doubts things will work out as they're meant to be. It allows him to enjoy the adventure all around him even as danger nips at his heels. His attitude of goodness, awe and elation becomes the reader's attitude. The brightness of the book is infectious. Reed Gunther's lightness and simple tone make it a great selection for younger comics readers, and its energy will tickle the fancy of even the most jaded, cynical of adult comics enthusiasts.

There's a lot going on in this first issue. Not only is the title character apparently being hunted by heavenly and infernal forces, but given the mercenaries who turn up in the final scene, it's clear there are earthly forces in work behind the scenes as well. If that weren't conflict enough, it seems Mitch is driven by some inexplicable instinct or force to go in certain directors, to seek out certain individuals and, I would imagine, to right certain wrongs. It's an interesting premise that lends itself well to an episodic format, with the larger plotlines of conspiracy serving to string the smaller stories together. Like I said, this read like it would translate well to serial television, and given the unusual DC properties being optioned for TV these days (such as Deadman and the Spectre), I wouldn't be surprised to see Resurrection Man in the running as well.

If there's one thing that Retroactive says about Darwyn Cooke's career and craft above all else is that there's a lot more to be said. These are 48 brilliant, lovely pages, but they really just made my hungry for more. Not only did I crave more artwork, but Cooke's work calls for a more complete commentary, both from him and others. Retroactive is a good product, but a bigger, more comprehensive volume would be great.

I'm fascinated by the original decision to link the Gremlins to World War II. That's rather dark subject matter for a story crafted with children in mind as the audience. Mind you, the creators pull it off incredibly well, maintaining a distance from the death and destruction of war. The villains of the main story are typically extreme, one-dimensional Disney antagonists, focused on greed above all else. The message of the modern story is a not-so-subtle one of environmentalism. Though the Gremlins are clearly intelligent, they're also cast in the role of the endangered species that finds itself in the path of a juggernaut of development and commercialism. As I noted before, the plot holds few surprises, but in this case, the familiarity of the circumstances and concepts is oddly comforting. This "lost" Disney/Dahl property is not only cute and entertaining, it holds up incredibly well as an idea in the 21st century.

When I heard Mike Norton was associated with this story and its macabre leanings, I was a bit taken aback. I normally associate him with lighter, brighter fare, from Jason and the Argobots to Gravity. But he demonstrates his versatility as an artist here, as he seems quite at home with the darker tone of Revival. There were times when his work here reminded me a great deal of the style of Steve (Whiteout, Underground) Lieber. He really conveys the emotion and vulnerability of Officer Dana Cypress and the ferocity that lies within Martha and other revivers. I found I was momentarily confused at certain scene shifts, as it took me a moment to figure out which of the sisters was being featured, but it's perfectly logical for those two characters to look alike. Overall, Revival is living up to its hype, and I'm pleased it's a sought after title.

The last major work we saw from Cameron Stewart was The Other Side, his Viet Name war story collaboration with writer Jason Aaron. He brought a sharper level of detail to bear on that project, and with his return to Seaguy's world, he adapts his style once again. There's a simpler look at play here that's in keeping with the wide-eyed, innocent super-hero concepts that are blended with the bizarre acid-trip plotting. Stewart's designs are fantastic. The contents of the Cabinet of the Cryptosaurs look incredibly cool, and Prof. Silvan Niltoid looks like he could have been plucked from an issue of All-Star Superman. The thick linework and weird amalgam approach to character designs are also in keeping with Kirby's mad ideas of the '70s.

There's a lot more to enjoy in this title as well. I like that there's a growing gap between Fury and the young superhumans he's recruited. There's also a clear, long-term plan at play that's in keeping with everything Bendis has done with Fury in the past few years. Caselli's artwork is another strength. His thoroughly expressive characters drive home the drama or the goofiness of the various moments in the story incredibly well. He also reinforces the chasm between Fury and his young soldiers by convincingly capturing the disparate ages of those characters. His designs for the various Hydra villains are deliciously detailed and unsettlingly organic.

Moore and Reppion have quite the advantage when it comes to this title character. They don't have to spend much time with introductions or character development. Sherlock Holmes is an icon known the world over, so the writers know going in that the audience is going to be quite familiar with him. That allows them to pull off the best scene in the book, and that's the one featuring a befuddled and speechless Holmes. The reader's knowledge of Holmes, his intellect and his confidence allow that moment to pack a much stronger impact without having to firmly establish Holmes's ego and reputation beyond some superficial exposition in the script. It's a great take on Holmes, and if the mysteries peppered throughout the issue before that moment weren't enough to hook you, that look on Holmes's face will.

Aaron Campbell's art continues to remind me of the gritty, detailed, moody work of Lee (Joker) Bermejo. He captures the period clothing pretty well (or it's close enough to convince), not to mention the decor and architecture. He bathes the story in darkness as well, enhancing the tension in the drama. I also appreciate how none of the characters are behemoths of strength or deals or physical perfection. These aren't super-hero figures dressed up for a Holmes drama. Instead, there's a nice variety of figures and faces to be found. The John Cassaday cover sums this issue up nicely, and I'm pleased that this title seems to be spared Dynamite's usual variant-cover marketing approach.

What's most fascinating about Snotgirl is how O'Malley puts such a distasteful character front and centre but nevertheless manages to get his audience to sympathize, even empathize with her. Her constant questioning of herself in the face of her encounter with Coolgirl evokes memories of one's own crises of self-esteem. Lottie isn't a likeable figure, but she's quite relatable. Probably Lottie's biggest character flaw is her utter lack of self-awareness. That blindness about herself is symbolized most powerfully in her final action in this issue. In a way, one could describe her as an addict of ego, and it's driving her toward a rock bottom.

One of the reasons for that is the artwork, and more specifically due to the computer coloring/enhancement effects. The line art from Javier Pina conveys the action effectively. I noted that his backgrounds throughout this issue are rather lacking, but the bulk of the story takes place in a hospital, so the lack of adornment in the background actually works when it comes to capturing the antiseptic, utilitarian environment. I also remain pleased with the simple design of the title character, though over the course of the series, I find I'm less taken with it when it shares space with the other similar designs of the various alien antagonists that appear in the story from time to time.

Risso has crafted a vision of the future that's both alien to the real world of today yet somehow still familiar. The two-page spread early in the issue combines modern American architecture with visions of poverty from other parts of the world. The wet, dreary cityscape conveys a message about the inevitable dangers of unchecked pollution and climate change. Trish Mulvihill's colors add to the depressing atmosphere (literally), but they also allow the Mars scenes to really pop, making the distinction between Orson's memories/dreams and the sorry state of his life back home all the clearer.

One can't help but like Dex. She's personable, witty and caring. Her relationship with her younger brother is designed to show off her maternal side, her softer side. I also like her toughness, but Rucka is careful not to overplay. She's no mistress of the martial arts. She gets roughed up; she's not the one kicking ass and taking names. Instead, her strength lies with her mind, her perceptions. Dex is smart, observant and good with people. Rucka doesn't opt to transform into some kind of super-woman.

Once again, Matthew Southworth offers up some convincing, realistic artwork that suits the slightly edgy tone of the plot and characters. The grittiness he brings to the visuals is reminiscent of Michael (Daredevil) Lark's work; I suspect it won't be long before we see Southworth's linework bringing the adventures of a vigilante hero or two at DC or Marvel. He's clearly a skilled storyteller. I also appreciated the text piece he provides in the back of the book, as he shares a great deal of insight into the creative process and how he captures such a genuine look in the characters, backdrops and "props."

When the New 52 relaunch was announced and the titles revealed, a lot of fans lamented the fact that Gail Simone's Secret Six wasn't going to survive in the new DC Universe. I'm pleased to say, though, that those who enjoyed that title will probably appreciate what writer Adam Glass does here. I was reminded of the darker side of Secret Six at several points, and I honestly don't think it's a coincidence by the end of the issue, the team is made up of six members that include past members of the Secret Six.

Yu's most important contribution to the story is his ability to convey Simon's youth. The fact that the main characters (and several other key players) are kids is vital to the story. The title for this story, as noted on the cover, is "One Magic Wish," referring to the wish-fulfillment riff that so many super-hero characters - from Superman to Captain Marvel to Green Lantern and more - represent. There's a surprisingly dark and moody look throughout this issue given the relative innocence of the protagonist, but it definitely draws one in. The plain design of the title character - red suit, blue cape and a wrestling championship belt - reinforces that the creators are dealing with an archetype here (just as the design for Nemesis is literally a blank slate). Overall, the art is solid. The only real disappointment is the cover, which looks empty and a bit uninspired.

In that regard, van Lente serves the intellectual property well. At most, change in a shared super-hero continuity is an illusion; it's unwelcome. It's too bad, because the character of the Taskmaster in this limited series is far more interesting than the one we knew before this series or after. I realize that the weight of this origin story isn't feasible for incorporation into other stories; this one is meant to stand on its own. Still, it's unfortunate that while most of this series makes the most of the super-hero genre and exhibits its strengths, the ending spotlights one of its shortcomings.

Artist Mitch Gerads' style is a fairly photorealistic one, but not overly detailed or stiff so as to look like it's lightboxed, photo-referenced material. His work here reminds me of the styles of such other comics artists as Jock and Jeremy Haun. The good news is he isn't adapting a typical super-hero style for something outside of that genre. The characters here move and dress like normal people. Muscles don't bulge; clothes drape believably in the artwork. Perhaps the most impressive aspect of the visuals is the color. Cool tones are employed to maintain a slightly tense mood that's in keeping with the genre and premise.

Also noteworthy about this comic is its value. For three bucks, the reader gets 28 pages of story and art. I also appreciated Snyder's afterword, which shed some light on where the idea for this comic came from and gave the reader some insight into who the writer is and what childhood experienced shaped him to some extent.

Ultimately, isolation seems to be the recurring theme throughout the book, and the imagery "- an island, towers -" of the various settings would seem to reinforce that concept. I'd argue that Wiedeman is suggesting that the natural order of things is connection among individuals, that relationships and community are healthy while solitude represents deterioration and negativity. She importantly points that isolation is thrust upon some by others, but overall, it's something that's within our control, that while it's easier to hide from pain, it also denies us rewards.

The Last One seems to share a lot of elements in common with Neil Gaiman's Sandman. Both stories are about a timeless god-like being and keeper of stories who's in the process of attaining personal enlightenment regarding his own immortality. Both feature stories within stories prominently. Myrwann's house and guests are reminiscent of the rooming house that Rose and Fiddler's Green called home in Sandman: The Doll's House. DeMatteis and Gaiman offer similar interpretations of angels and pre-Creation history. Todd Klein brings his unique touch to the lettering for both titles. There are many more comparisons I could draw. I'm not suggesting that DeMatteis mimicked Gaiman's popular work. It stands to reason that the success of Sandman would have an influence on other books in the Vertigo line. Now The Last One is published beyond that context, and it holds up quite well. Sandman fans will enjoy The Last One, but one needn't be familiar with Gaiman's opus to enjoy this book.

The notion of a social and environmental issue serving as the basis for a horror story strikes me as a particularly novel approach to the genre. I really enjoyed the psychological and spiritual danger that slowly creeps into the story. I was surprised that the threat becomes more overt and physical toward the end of the book; I think it would have been more interesting had Fessenden and Leaver left more to the readers' imaginations, a la Blair Witch Project. Still, I can't say the ending isn't satisfactory. There's a solid payoff, and it reinforces the cautionary tone on which the story begins.

Ultimately, what makes The Little Black Fish such an engaging story " likely in any medium " is the fact that it's about curiosity, nonconformity and bravery. If the reader can't recognize himself or herself in the little black fish, then s/he can certainly see qualities to covet and admire. The piscine heroine's odyssey is entertaining and enlightening, and when trying to think of something else to which I could compare it, my thoughts drifted to Robert Frost's "The Road Not Taken," at least in terms of its initial message about casting aside society's expectations and conventions for an effort to be true to oneself.

In a brief forward, Braddock writes that this project had its origins in her wish to tell a story combining two elements: Mars and The Dukes of Hazzard. I don't think the latter pop-culture reference is really all that prevalent here. Instead, I see more of a Star Wars influence at play. Boone fulfills the role of the rogue perfectly. He's Han Solo, only sluttier and wittier. There's a free-spirited sexuality that plays underneath the main story from start to finish, and not solely with Boone's character. It doesn't feel gratuitous at all. Instead, there's a carefree, joyous quality to the sexier side of the characters. That's in keeping with the irreverent tone throughout the book and the ultimately optimistic ending. McNamara and Braddock offer up feel-good sci-fi, and that's unique enough to warrant a look.

As the title of the book suggests, this plot is ultimately a love story. There are a couple of tender moments that work quite well, but what I really like about it is that McNamara avoids cliches. Boone and Lou aren't tamed by their love for one another. They enjoy each other's wildness and recklessness. While Lou brings out another side of Boone, his bad-boy charms aren't lost in the process.

Wood has reteamed with Supermarket collaborator Kristian Donaldson for this series, and the artist does an exemplary job. His style has definitely evolved since his first project with Wood, as he brings much more detail and cleaner lines to bear here.

As he did with the first issue of the previous series, Langridge includes a Swedish Chef sketch in this one, and that single page of the book was more than enough to make this comic book a memorable reading experience. The Chef's dialogue - complete with that weird language/accent represented perfectly - had me giggling like an idiot, just as I did the first time I read the writer/artist's take on this classic character. It's reached the point now that my wife dreads my discovery of a new Chef segment, as I sit in my chair and read the dialogue aloud, laughing myself stupid. I can pay no humor comic a higher compliment.

The greatest strength of this book is the characterization. Castellucci's various Janes are well-realized characters, and I think just about every reader will be able to recognize a piece of herself or himself in one of the Janes. I found the Main Jane to be the most intriguing character, as she is the central protagonist, but I would imagine other readers will favor other Janes based on their own experiences. The writer wisely ensures her main character isn't so unconventional that she's not believable. Her relationship with Damon, though it made for an ending that didn't quite feel right to me, does bring her down to earth and adds an everyday quality to the character. It brings balance to the character and a pleasantly diverting subplot. Overall, The Plain Janes is a solid first step for the Minx line and serves as a great introduction of the creators to an audience they might not have reached before.

Now while Hickman's script has its complexities and we're never really told who the enemy is in this war through time, the story at the heart of The Red Wing is quite simple. It's about a kid who misses his dad. One could argue that Dom's refusal to let go of the tiniest glimmer of hope, to accept his loss and grief, demonstrates a flaw, a lack of maturity. But by the end of the issue, Hickman provides the reader with the justification the audience needs to get on Dom's side, to hope along with him.

DC ought to give some serious consideration to giving La Sangre her own title and tasking Robinson with crafting such a series. Given the evidence in The Shade #5, it would be eminently readable and possibly one of the most unconventional, best and most unique super-hero titles the publisher could offer.

Once again, Brian Hurtt demonstrates that his soft, simple style is a versatile one. His efforts to capture the period and the locales are successful, and his character designs are quite striking. He's able to convey texture incredibly well with an economical use of linework. I also love the detail in the backgrounds, and Bill Crabtree's colors add a lot to the tense, spooky atmosphere that's such an integral part of the title's appeal.

Once again, Darwyn Cooke manages to walk a fine line between the classic, 1940s noir feel of the original Spirit source material by the late Will Eisner and a more modern, refined tone to achieve a great revival story. Just as he did for Ebony, the Spirit's sidekick, the writer/artist also updates P'Gell for the 21st century without losing the character's strengths. Cooke also incorporates a classic love triangle into the plot, but he does so subtly. It doesn't override or interfere with the main plot, which ultimately reveals itself to be tragic and melodramatic in tone. That comes as a surprise and adds some depth to P'Gell. She's still the main antagonist in this issue, but Cooke wisely exposes her human side rather than focusing solely on her raw sexuality and ambition. And once again, I like that the Spirit only gets the better of the hired muscle about half of the time. He's not smarter than his opponents, just fortunate when it comes to friendship and dumb luck. Cooke's artwork

One of my favorite aspects of the book is what becomes of Danikka, the female junkie who's part of the home-invasion plan. I was expecting her to suffer a horrible fate like other Tattered Man victims, but her plot thread brings a tiny bit of light into an otherwise black and depressing story. While the overall focus of the book is mankind's cruelty to his fellow man, Danikka's plot thread serves as a vital balance. I was surprised at how much I appreciated and was interested in her character's transformation in the latter part of the story.

With this book and others before it - Ms. Marvel, The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl, Moon Girl & Devil Dinosaur - Marvel has wisely endeavoured to expand its appeal to younger and female readers, but it's done so in a way that also offers an entertaining experience for its readership as a whole.

The Wake doesn't exactly reinvent the wheel here. It hits some standard beats and offers familiar character archetypes, but it's also an example of a competently crafted, effective and fun adventure/thriller story peppered with genre elements.

There were pages in which Ribic's work here reminded me of the work of Alex Ross, and others reminded me of the style of Barry Windsor-Smith. The design for the shadowy "guard dog" seemed a little generic, but Ribic also captured a thoroughly alien look for the creature, which was fitting. The characters are quite expressive without looking too cartoony, and Ribic's design and depiction of an alien version of Mount Olympus struck a nice balance between science-fiction and fantasy. I don't think there was a single panel of this comic book I didn't thoroughly enjoy.

Esad Ribic's artwork, boasting a rich, painted, textured style, works incredibly well to reinforce the mythic and even timeless nature of the story and characters. He handles the science-fiction side of the story quite well while bringing a classic, even historic look to the strong Norse current running throughout this issue and the series in general. Ive Svorcina's colors go a long way to reinforce the painted, detailed but moody look of Ribic's line art, adding even more maturity and dark intensity to this plot about a war on and by divinity. The double-page splash early in the issue is not only lovely, but it captures the weird and dark shadow powers of Gorr incredibly well. I love how his inky dogs of war flow from his cloak, while the heroes are backlit by cosmic thunderclouds bursting with angry energy.

But what Soule's script does better than anything, what makes this story compelling, is how well it conveys how important Garland's music is to him. He's desperate for a miracle cure and in denial about his plight not because he's lost his status, fans and privilege, but because he's passionate about making music. The writer achieves a nice balance with the character. It's easy to feel sympathy for him, because he doesn't come off as entitled or spoiled, but at the same time, his single-mindedness and blindness to other threats makes him the villain of his own story as well.

Subsequent issues of this series will be illustrated by other artists, and the variant covers indicate that Ultimate Fallout will span the full scope of the Ultimate Universe. That worries me a bit, as I'm concerned that this will stop being about the aftermath of Peter Parker's death and will turn into a larger story about a new start for this world of super-heroes. I also know Marvel plans to relaunch a new Ultimate Spidey title with someone new (presumably) in the title role, but there's no need to start telling that story here. I want the focus to remain on emotion, to remain on Spidey's supporting cast. We'll see what lies in store, but this was a wonderful start.

By the end of the issue, the title characters face the core dilemma that was explored in the first series and is clearly still at the forefront of this revived property. The heroes face a choice: to act as the government's means to control illegal superhuman activity or to respect the rights of individuals. The analogy is clear here. The Amazon attack is used to justify a new super-powered police force the way the 9-11 terrorist attacks were used to justify the Patriot Act and other measures that emphasized the security of a nation over the rights of the individual. What's interesting about the writers approach to the issue and to the analogy here is that they don't take one side over the other. The protagonists are divided over the conflict, just as Americans have been divided in the wake of Sept. 11, 2001.

One has to give parker a lot of credit for this script, as he's been building his reputation in the comics industry for years on fantastic fiction, and especially with some playful, light super-hero storytelling at Marvel Comics. Underground represents a significant shift in tone and subject matter for the writer, demonstrating a greater depth and range on his part. I have to admit, I can understand why he teamed with Lieber for this project, as in some ways, Underground has quite a few traits in common with Whiteout. Both feature an unusual locale, a small community and a female protagonist in a position of authority.

Tedesco is the latest in a series of artistic discoveries that Boom! has made over the years, and like those that came before him, his style is a gritty, dark one that suits the mature, intense tone of the subject matter. If I had to describe his work in terms of other better-known talents in the industry, I'd say it was a cross between the styles of Paul (Potter's Field) Azaceta and Paul (100%) Pope. His achieves the right tone and atmosphere, and his work is realistic enough in appearance to enhance the possible and even plausible drama even further. The flow of his work from panel to panel isn't as strong as it could be, but the storytelling is fairly solid overall.

I think what Pfeifer is doing here is much more than lampooning the college experience. Sure, it can be competitive in some respects, especially for the top tier of those dedicated to academics. But I think what the writer has done here is allow the American kill-or-be-killed mentality in the capitalist workplace, the political realm and even the military industrial complex to infect the quad, to devour the dorms and corrupt the seminars. Obviously, he offers a strong criticism of that competitive attitude, as the approach consumes and destroys all of the brilliant young minds that serve as the central cast of characters.

While Torres's script captured the magic and charm of the Wall-E movie in the same way that Roger Langridge successfully manages to translate the televised variety entertainment of The Muppet Show to the printed page, I'm not necessarily as excited about forthcoming issues of this Pixar comic. While Langridge had a diverse array of weird characters and circumstances to mine for future stories, the premise of Wall-E is far more limiting. This story is set before the events of the movie, so the audience knows where the story lead eventually lead. I don't know if Boom! Studios plans an ongoing Wall-E title or a series of limited series a la The Muppet Show; I'm not sure anyone could pull it off. Mind you, that doesn't detract from the strength of this issue, which stays true to the source material while exploring the title character's "origin," of sorts.

Overall, there's no denying that Wednesday Comics is proving to be a creative success. Just as I was writing this review, I found it was quite a bit of fun to review all of the strips. Given the mainstream-media promotion and coverage of the project and the big-name talent who've participated in the comic, I suspect Wednesday Comics will prove to be a sales success as well.

Now if you'll excuse me, I now have to triple-check this post for errors so as not to look the fool for voicing that last criticism.

As is the case with any good autobiographical comic, this book's greatest strength is the writer's honesty. These stories don't make him seem like any kind of smooth operator or poetic soul who always knows the right thing to say to melt a woman's heart. He's a schlub, a regular guy whose sexual experiences and romances are often the result of accidents or intoxicants. He makes bad decisions and has bad reactions, but he's basically a decent guy who's capable of tenderness. The ultimate lesson we see him learn over time is that a great romance has as its foundation a great friendship.

Ultimately, what may be the most interesting aspect of the story is how it spotlights that despite people's proclivity to wax nostalgic about the Good Ol' Days and how Things Were Better, they really haven't changed all that much. Rich's story, set on the cusp of the Second World War, is about how people who have everything allow their baser, flawed appetites to threaten the comfort and security others would give anything to achieve. Just watch the news some night and check out a tabloid, and I think you'll find some stories today that sound pretty familiar.

Michael Walsh boasts a general approach to comics storytelling that's grown throughout the medium in recent years. Such artists as Paul Azaceta, Tonci Zonjic, David Aja and Chris Samnee boast these styles that seem minimalist on the surface but actually convey so much in terms of texture and atmosphere. Walsh is another such talent. He achieves a realistic portrayal of unreal circumstances - and I don't just mean the superhuman, tech alterations that seem to drive the plot. The notion of the armed conflict in which the action unfolds is quite conventional, but for people like me, that intensity and life-or-death circumstance are hard to imagine. Walsh captures the hectic and brutal context adeptly.

Ultimately, what really wins the audience over is Joss. Hicks has crafted a well-realized, believable and relatable character in Joss (whom I assume is named in honor of Joss Whedon), and there's plenty of evidence that she's based somewhat on the creator herself. Joss's focus on real-world horrors such as education-related debt over the impossible horror of undead eating machines makes her all the more grounded and real. Hicks balances Joss's angst with her uncontainable love of the cheese that is the zombie genre, as well as her joy in discovering the rules work for real and offer her a chance at adventure.

Another element that might confuse newer readers is the dual numbering for this issue. The cover lists this as both the first issue and the 504th. The small print at the back of the comic states the same as well. Adventure Comics had a long run beginning in the Golden Age of comics, and while it featured a diverse array of DC heroes, it ultimately became known as a Legion title and ended as such as a series of digests reprinting classic DC stories, including Legion tales. I have the last one of those Adventure Comics digests, so it was a treat to see the title's previous history acknowledged.

I continue to be impressed with this new series and writer Geoff Johnss take on Superboy.

I picked up this first issue on something of a lark, and I didn't know if I'd be checking out subsequent issues. Not only will I be buying the whole series, but I'll be eagerly anticipating each and every issue. It's not just a weird genre mashup, but represents some strong storytelling in the medium.

While I found the writing, though entertaining, lacked subtlety, Francavilla's art doesn't disappoint in the least. Has it ever? His dark style is obviously a nice fit for the Lovecraftian yarn his creative partner is spinning here, and again, I love how his depiction of one of the cute teens of the Archie-verse isn't at all objectifying of the character. She actually looks like a teenage girl. The double-page splash in which Cthulhu is revealed is absolutely stunning, one of the strongest images we've seen in this series thus far.

This freebie comic includes a series of pinups of all of the various lantern corps, illustrated by Doug Mahnke and various inkers. It's a nice primer on all of the diverse and weird characters involved in this cosmic story. Now, some might complain that this comic features only a 12-page story, a series of pin-ups and a lot of ads, but then, those people need a reminder that this is a free comic book.

Johns has been writing that the colors of the various lantern-wielding forces throughout the DC Universe represent different emotions, and he definitely drives that notion home here, especially in the final scene in the issue. However, the real focus of this issue is the emotions associated with the various colored lanterns, but on the emotions that the characters experience as they relive their grief. Johns brings so many of these larger-than-life, god-like characters down to earth by focusing on their feelings rather than on their superhuman feats. It's incredibly effective, not only when it comes to setting the stage for the larger story but in getting the audience to relate to and sympathize with the unsuspecting protagonists.

Ivan Reis's art is achieving a nice balance between a traditional super-hero story that's immense in scope and the chilling, horror elements that are such an important part of the book's atmosphere. Most of the Black Lantern designs are striking, and few disappoint. Overall, while this is far from the most cerebral super-hero story, it's definitely an effective and entertaining one.

The Justice Society joins the action in this issue, as do Black Lantern versions of the Freedom Fighters (who were killed in Johnss last big event book, Infinite Crisis). Unfortunately, Johns either forgets to explain the significance of these characters or there wasnt enough room to include the information. Some readers might feel a bit in the dark. That being said, I think he does a good job of providing enough background information so readers who arent so familiar with Damage can appreciate the emotional conflict thats so important in his scene with the Atom and the Black Lantern incarnation of the Golden Age Atom.

Ivan Reis offers up some strong designs throughout this issue. The Black Lantern looks for some of the more iconic DC heroes are quite striking, especially those for Wonder Woman and Green Arrow, as are those for the new lanterns that arise at the end of the issue. I also enjoyed how Reis shifts the Atom from his classic, Silver Age look to something more akin to his barbarian mode from the 1980s. The action also unfolds nicely; the art conveys the hectic and urgent quality of the plot but it's never confusing either. Colorist Alex Sinclair also maintains a nice balance between the dark tone inherent in the undead antagonists and the colorful energy of the various lanterns.

Much has been written about DC's success with Blackest Night as compared to Marvel's recent event brands. Personally, I think BN has clicked for fans of the super-hero genre because the concepts upon which it's built are just so much fun. Sure, death and the macabre are inherent in the premise, but ultimately, there's a simpler, old-school feel that widens a reader's eyes and brings a smile to his or her face.

I'm unfamiliar with China Mieville's past projects, but I love the twisted, oddball ideas and the black humor he brings to this inaugural effort in the medium of comics. Despite the ghoulish tone and developments in the story, there's always a playful underpinning running throughout the issue. He balances the ugliness of Nelson's wallowing and Darren's underworld existence with a sense of fun, albeit a morbid one. Mieville's work definitely has a Vertigo sensibility to it, but this story is also clearly entrenched in DC's super-hero continuity. It lurks within the dark periphery of the brighter colors and energetic displays of conventional genre storytelling.

Guest artist David Lapham's more straightforward, conventional approach to the visuals is compliments the more matter-of-fact, linear tone of Miville's script. There's a brighter tone to the art that works well with the lighter tone of the story elements. Lapham brings a solid sense of comic timing and reaction to the characters, and he brings some of the same weird sense of character design that's been such a fun part of previous issues. Brian Bolland's covers continue to allow this underdog title to stand out, and it punctuates the mature and intelligent tone of Miville's take on this oddball, campy Silver Age concept.

The long-term success of the book - at least as far as I'm concerned - lies in the strengths Moore's audience has come to expect from him. His characters and dialogue are what made Strangers in Paradise a success. It's a bit too early to tell if Julie will be as compelling a protagonist as Francine and Katchoo were in SiP, but I'm more than willing to find out. So far, Julie seems thoroughly average, but in a good way. Her problems are relatable ones, and there's an enviable peacefulness in her quiet existence as an artist, alone out in the country.

Moore's soft linework makes for some thoroughly attractive characters, but the realistic leanings in his style also makes the drama and danger in the plot seem more engrossing and credible (despite the incredible notions that serve as the threat). He successfully conveys ivy's increasing youth, which is a key plot element that brings a sense of urgency to the story. And the backgrounds - wow. Moore demonstrates his versatility as an artist by rendering the minute detail of a massive collider facility while in the same issue capturing the tranquil qualities of a northern, snow-capped chalet. It's for these reasons and more than when a new issue of Echo is released, it's always one of the first comics I read when I get home from the comics shop.

Speaking of which, I also found the character designs to be interesting, given how they reflect those racial elements. There's a sharp contrast in the designs of the two heroes. The Operative is a white man dressed all in black, while the Revenant is a black man dressed all in white. It's not as though we see some kind of Spy Vs. Spy mirror images or anything, but the parallels and contrasts make for a striking visual. Artist Patrick Zircher outdoes himself here. I didn't even recognize his style. It's much more moody and mature than the somewhat standard super-hero style we've seen from him in the past. Like the writing, though, the visuals remind me a great deal of what we saw in The Marvels Project. On its own, Mystery Men is a solid book, but in the larger context of Marvel's recent publishing history, it feels a little redundant.

Patrick Zircher is turning in the best work of his comics career on this limited series. In the past, he employed a fairly generic but effective genre style. The art on Mystery Men rises above that. The design for the new heroine is wonderfully pulpy. Even her body language conveys her confidence and strength. The story is not a thing of subtlety. Obviously, Liss is offering up a criticism of capitalism run rampant in America. Here, war is all about profit, not ideology. While far from subtle and quite ham-fisted, that concept resonates today, with the bad taste of corporate bailouts and market manipulations still lingering on society's proverbial tongue.

Pier Gallo's artwork works with the tone of the script. There's a bright, open and light tone at play that serves the story well. The title character boasts a youthful look, and that's even moreso the case with Simon Valentine, the curiously oddball best-friend character who may or may not turn out to be the Lex Luthor to Superboy's Superman. Gallo's style actually put me in mind of the work of such artists as Jon McCrea and Steve Pugh, and I couldn't help but wonder if his usual approach is darker in tone than what we see here. I also noted with interest that this book is colored by Jamie Grant, who's perhaps better known as Frank Quitely collaborator on All-Star Superman. The colors are appropriately bright, and I like the subtle hints of texture he brings to such elements as skin tone and cloud clusters.

The real plot point that has my attention, though, is the burgeoning friendship between Boy of Steel and the Boy Genius. We really haven't had a chance to get to know Simon all that well, but he comes off as so earnest in his desire to help and befriend Conner Kent. And his knowledge of the hero's secret identity finally gives the title character a logical reason to allow this odd figure into his life. It mirrors the Silver Age friendship between a teenage Kal-El and Lex Luthor, but that friendship was never explored in any depth. That's what Jeff Lemire is doing here, at least in part, though some of the fun is discovering whether or not he's going to take Simon down the exact same path as his Silver Age mirror self.

I thoroughly enjoyed this issue, as I have so many that came before it. Nevertheless, I found this issue to be a source of frustration. While Bendis does shake up some elements of the status quo that is this incarnation of Peter Parker's life, there's no sense that this is really a new beginning for the book. As such, the new title and relaunch makes little sense beyond a pure marketing standpoint. What's puzzling is how Marvel seems perfectly willing to undo this relaunch/renumbering approach when a title is meant to approach some sort of milestone. I can't help but wonder if this series will revert back to Ultimate Spider-Man once Bendis reaches what would have been the 200th issue. On top of that, the new branding for Marvel's Ultimate books is flat, boring and unattractive. The only thing drawing the eye to this comic book is Lafuente's art. The masthead is as generic as it could be.

Not surprisingly, artist Mark Bagley handles the action adeptly. More importantly, though, he tells the real story on the title character's face. The super-hero violence really doesn't convey the dire nature of what's happening, but the expressions on Peter's face do. Usually, Bagley is trying to get the character to emote through a Spidey mask in these action scenes, so an unmasked Peter brings a new dynamic to the visuals.

Writer Stuart Moore fills in for regular scribe Paul Dini for a couple of issues, and like Dini's done several times, he opts to introduce a new villain with this story. Vox is a terrorist-related character, and that's a logical development given the political and military climate that dominates the news these days. His liquid-explosive gimmick is smart and even has an air of plausibility to it (as does the SWAT look for the character design). I think the codename is a bit of a misstep, if only because DC already has an active, C-list hero by that name at the moment (currently a member of the Doom Patrol). I like the plot, which keeps the Batman from changing out of his civilian guise, leaving Robin to do the heavy lifting. Still, the Dark Knight manages to get involved in the action from an intellectual, strategic standpoint. Still, there's something of a generic tone to the plotting as well, and there just doesn't seem to be the sense of danger that's vital to selling the story. Andy

Gaiman pulled off a nice little bit of misdirection in the first part of this story, and it was just based on who he is as a writer. An unseen female figure speaks with the Batman's spirit throughout the story, and it was logical for the reader to assume it might be the cute goth version of Death that Gaiman created as part of the world of Sandman in the 1980s and 1990s. the female figure proves to be someone else, and her appearance and role in the story are just as logical... moreso, really. The best thing about this story is that it's completely unconnected to "Batman R.I.P.," Final Crisis, Blackest Night or any other DC event. Instead, Gaiman's story is about all incarnations of the Batman and how much they differ, but it's also about how each and every take on the Dark Knight is the same in a number of key ways, the most important of which is the drive never to give up no matter how hopeless the situation may be. Gaiman posits there's only one possible ending for the Batman story,

The strongest bits of writing in the book are the character-driven elements. I like that Ruckas turned Kanes father into an ally in her mission. The writer also opts to add a little something to Batwomans arsenal of weapons, and thats her sexuality, though not in an overt way as weve seen with such characters as Catwoman or Power Girl.

This backup serial hasn't read all that well because the shorter nature of the segments has really messed with the flow. It's hard to remember what's come before. That being said, I found it interesting that the storytellers opt to take the new Question out of the suit-and-fedora look that we usually associate with the character, making the mask the entire costume. It seems to work with any clothes, and the track suit the protagonist dons in this chapter makes perfect, practical sense for someone who's expecting plenty of action. Some might be disappointed that the vigilante ends up relying on conventional authorities instead of saving the day on her own, but given the character's history as a cop, it makes sense that she'd go this route. Mind you, the scripts have been silent on her history throughout the serial.

I came away from the premiere episode feeling entertained and hopeful about what's to follow (especially given the cliffhanger and preview of the next episode). Still, maybe the most encouraging thing to take away from this TV show is this: that comics can do some things better than other media. I enjoyed this small-screen debut, but it pales in comparison with what Kirkman and company accomplish in two dimensions with nothing more than ink and imagination.

The previous issue of this series garnered a fair amount of negative reaction, as many readers didn't care for an extended and gruesome torture scene. Personally, I thought it was a natural extension of the plotlines we've seen so far and the overall theme of personal survival versus the maintenance of social order and ethics, a theme that's been integral to this series overall. With this issue, Kirkman wisely brings the story down to a more grounded and personal level, giving the readers a break from the nastiness of the previous episode. Still, he doesn't ignore what happened either; Michonne's story arc within the larger group now shifts from a mysterious tone to a grave, suspicious one. There's also plenty of zombie-killing action in this issue, which also serves as a catharsis and welcome change of pace after all of the human-on-human violence that came in the last story arc. Adlard's art is strong and a little detailed in tone than we've seen before, and he handles the action in

Adlard makes such incredible use of shadow, always maintaining an air of tension throughout the book. Even during tender moments between characters, there's a darkness that's ever-present, a constant reminder of the horror that awaits them only a few steps away. This is a pretty action-oriented issue, but it goes beyond the usual zombie-killing conflicts that are par for the course in this series. More complex sequences - such as a risky trip between buildings and an effort to reinforce a wall - are clearly and capably presented despite some of the unusual angles or other challenges. Furthermore, given how the cast of characters expanded significant recently, I'm impressed with the diversity of designs. At no point did I confuse one character for another, and Adlard doesn't have the benefit of colorful costumes or capes to differentiate among them.

Kirkman's refusal to allow for any sacred cows among his characters made me think he might eliminate the most identifiable, central character of them, or even the most popular. And despite my awareness of the possibilities, the climax was disheartening (albeit intentionally) and definitely made me eager to learn what comes next.

Why Boom! chose to reprint this book is obvious: Sean Phillips. The artist is enjoying a solid following in the North American comics market these days thanks to his collaborations with writer Ed Brubaker (Criminal, Incognito), and he brought the same strength to this absurdist World War II adventure as he did to those creator-owned projects under the Marvel banner. Phillips' sketchy, intense style is perfectly suited for these damaged "heroes" as they embark on a literally insane mission to assassinate Hitler. Vehlmann's plot is a lot of fun, though quite dark in its humor and irony. I love that the only real reason the mission isn't a complete success is that no one counted on the German power structure and strategies to be even more dysfunctional than the madmen sent to bring them all to an end. The story gets a bit fractured and slightly confusing as it nears its end, but it does offer the writer a chance to deliver more than one unexpected twist. Still, the lack of cohesion and fo

Perhaps ultimately, the lesson to be learned here, amid the humor and spotlighting of foibles, is that we're all children in some way, because the learning never stops. I learned a while ago my parents were basically making things up as they go along, and everybody does to some extent. I'm in my 40s now, and I've never felt more like an adult than I have as a parent. But in the end, I still don't feel "grown up." I used to think that was the result, in part, of my interests in things that are deemed by society to be the fodder of youth (comics, cartoons, etc.), but I've come to realize there's no such thing as being "grown up." The term itself implies the achievement of an end point, that one is finished with the process. But there's only one thing that ends the growing (and it's a bummer, so I won't get into it here in a review about a book of humorous cartooning).

I think what makes the story so compelling is that the writers present their protagonist, Richard Ashwalt, with two different conflicts. One is ordinary - he's dissatisfied with his life but wants to work hard to provide for his family - and the other is unreal and dangerous. Richard's everyday problems are relatable and grounded, and they bring credibility to the (seemingly) supernatural challenge that's intruded into his life. I love the air of mystery that surrounds Jebediah Crone, which is surprising, since the reader knows (or strongly suspects) he's snatching up murder scenes for his own twisted, macabre purposes. I want to know what he's up to, and I want to know what caused the murders that sparked this whole situation in the first place. The writers have done an excellent job of establishing a tense though alluring, dark mood that's difficult for the reader to resist.

Patric Reynolds proves to be a good choice for this one-shot, as it makes for a consistency in style for the Abe Sapien brand. A previous Mignola-verse limited series - Abe Sapien: The Drowning - was illustrated by Jason Alexander, and Reynolds employs a style here that's highly reminiscent of his predecessor's. Furthermore, since the emotional conflicts in the story are really more important and interesting than the supernatural elements, a more realistic, gritty style helps to focus the reader's attention on characters, whereas a Mignola's esque style tends to envelop the reader in the dark, creepy, gothic visuals and atmosphere (which can be entertaining as well, of course). This more grounded look is a nice change of pace from the more stylized work of such artists as Mignola and Guy Davis who work on other Hellboy-related titles.

Adam Kubert's loose, kinetic style certainly serves the action-oriented aspects of Waid's story well. I've always seen his style as being representative of the more extreme, exaggerated tone of super-hero comics of the 1990s, so his work isn't something I normally seek out, but it's not off-putting either. I was pleased to see how he conveys the youth of half of the team with smaller statures, and he manages to portray Warbringer as a real threat by having him dwarf the usually powerful presences of some of the Marvel Universe's more recognizable icons. Perhaps the most unusual visual aspect of this book is the juxtaposition of Alex Ross's photorealistic cover artwork with Kubert's far more stylized and angular style within. The two disparate styles just don't seem like they belong together on the same comic, even separated by the cover.

Jonah Hex wasn't selling at the level DC wanted for its New 52 line, so they mixed things up for the new series. But from a storytelling perspective, I don't know if it's the right move for the character. His role in this story could be filled by just about any tough guy, and the self-contained, one-shot story approach from Jonah Hex is clearly being abandoned.

Ross offers a pointed and far-from-subtle commentary on the state of Western media culture that's well deserved though a bit obvious. What I enjoyed most about this comic book, though, is how he uses the notion of a small group of super-powered teens as a launching pad for a commentary on racism and class discrimination. Ross shows the audience the super-hero reality show at the heart of this inaugural issue - and by extension, so many other actual reality shows - are about the rich and privileged looking down on little people, dangling a carrot in front of them to get them to dance and fight for their pleasure. At the same time, it also serves as a drug for the masses, to keep them dull and distracted. It's the 21st century's to gladiators, lions and pools of blood.

What's noteworthy about this book is that all of the characters are rather distasteful, even the bored teens passing their time and earning some cash in an ugly way. While the characters aren't likeable, though, they're undeniably interesting. As I read this comic, I was put in mind of True Detective, Season One, as well as Southern Bastards. The stories aren't all that comparable, but I think it was more the atmosphere and the loathsome nature of key players. It's a promising start to a new crime series, but the enigmatic nature of the characters and events call for patience from the reader and trust in the creators.

If you look above in the opening paragraph of the review, I noted Fun Home is about Bechdel's father while Are You My Mother? "focuses" on her other. But this new book isn't about Bechdel's mother specifically. It's about the mothers (biological, surrogate and imagined) she's had in her life - or wishes she had. Bechdel's self-aware nature seems like something of a curse, but her discussion of her own feelings, insecurities and moments of turmoil allow the reader to recognize himself or herself in the author's otherwise unique experiences.

The rapid pace of the plotting, the simple origin and the small and accessible size of the supporting cast make for a comic book that reminds me of how Marvel Comics introduced characters in their first appearances in the early 1960s. Kirkman gets his story and hero established quickly, and while the plotting is somewhat by the numbers and familiar, at the end of the story, the reader really doesn't know what's going to come next. Will the Wolf-Man be an accidental hero such as the Hulk, or will he gain control and give his curse meaning with a clear, heroic goal? There's plenty of potential in the story at this point. I know whatever comes next with be traditional and comfortably familiar, but I like that I really don't know what it'll be.

My one concern about the plot is that I got the sinking feeling that the other shoe was always about to drop. Busiek psyches the reader out a couple of times, surprising Astra and Matthew with the sudden appearance of other superhumans. The genre leads us to expect conflict, to expect that a villain or villains will appear to ruin this special moment in Astra's life. That doesn't come to pass, but I'm worried it will in the second issue. It feels as though Matthew will be revealed as an insidious figure who's inserted himself into Astra's life. His cluelessness and awkwardness in the flashback about their first meeting didn't quite ring true, so I'm worried that this cliched twist will come to pass. It wouldn't cast Astra is the most favorable light, and it would certainly detract from the more human, grounded approach in the plot. Hopefully, I'm reading something into the story that just isn't there.

Wegener's exaggerated style certainly works well with the comedic tone that dominates the first half or two thirds of the issue. I love Robo as the befuddled straight man to the weird ramblings of Fort and Lovecraft. Wegener's depiction of the two writers reminded me of the style of Cory (Invincible) Walker. The strongest visual, other than the surprisingly expressive Robo, is the monster that's revealed toward the end of the issue. Wegener's sharp, angular style works quite well when it comes to conveying the twisted, organic, flailing form of the antagonist. It's creepy, cool and powerful in appearance all at once.

I swore off Marvel's Avengers line a few months ago when I realized the entertainment I derived from reading them was eclipsed by my frustration with some poor editing and writing choices, notably when it came to continuity. When this title hit the shelves at comic shops this week, I decided to venture back into Avengers territory. Not only am I looking forward to the movie that serves as the marketing catalyst for this new title, but it seemed as though it would be unencumbered by the continuity issues and seemingly never-ending plotlines that frustrated me in the first place. I was right - this first issue stands up on its own. One needn't really have followed other Avengers comics to appreciate what's unfolding here. Unfortunately, the story doesn't come off as all that interesting, and the heroes seem surprisingly ineffectual.

As fun as the dialogue and interplay are, what really grabbed my attention and never let go from the start was DeConnick's comparison of Iron Man and the Hulk. She uses them to present opposing philosophies, and it's interesting to see how such disparate points of view grew from what was basically the same starting point.

Gabriel Hardman's artwork on the main story is as attractive as ever. I don't know how, but he manages to capture the campy charm of these heroes from yesteryear with a slightly grittier, more realistic style. The Kirby design of the Growing Man, for example, blends quite well with the convincing anatomy and modern approach to the action. His work here actually reminds me a bit of Butch (Captain America) Guice's art a bit. Conversely, seeing Takeshi Miyazawa's more cartoony, manga-influenced art on the back-up feature made for a nice change of pace, though the art is more exaggerated than what we've seen from Miyazawa in the past. Nevertheless, Namora's portrayal, despite her plunging neckline and lack of pants, isn't vamped up at all. Her anger and nobility are conveyed clearly.

The first episode of Avengers: The Initiative is a success, and the main reason is the strong characterization Slott brings to bear in this script. Cloud 9's insecurities make it incredibly easy to relate to her. MVP's status as a jock is balanced by how incredibly likeable the character is. Trauma's goth attitude becomes quite understandable once one discovers the nature of his powers, and there many more interesting characters, full of potential, running around. Despite the time Slott spends on setting up the premise, this issue is about how these characters interact, not how they got to be at a military training facility. As long as the series maintains that focus, it should be a solid read, month after month.

Simone fulfilled the promise I expected of her with this introductory issue, as she doesn't just restore Barbara Gordon to her costumed role. Instead, she uses the change in her status quo as the beginning of a new path in characterization. The writer has recognizes that maintaining Barbara's time as a disabled person only to restore her mobility opens the door to new possibilities in how she relates to others, how she conducts herself and how she acts in her super-hero guise. Oracle was always seen as incredibly brave, carrying on the good fight in the face of a devastating injury. As Batgirl, now she struggles with fear, finding herself potentially immobilized in a completely different way. That's what I enjoyed about this comic book and what will get me to come back for the second issue.

The title of this story is meant to put us in mind of Alan Moore's classic "Whatever Happened to the Man of Tomorrow?" two-part Superman story from 1986. As a result, some will be tempted to compare the two, but it isn't merited. Gaiman's taken a much different approach in his construction of a "final" Batman story. There's a surreal, fluid and impermanent tone at play rather than an authoritative, climactic one. It seems pretty clear to me that Gaiman is taking something of a Frank Capra-esque approach to the subject matter, walking the title character through possibilities and alternate visions of his own life and times. As his guide, I'm guessing he's got Death, the popular Endless character Gaiman created for Sandman #8 a couple of decades ago. The tone of the Batman's guide's narration, coupled with the silhouette at the end of the book, would seem to me to make it obvious Gaiman has incorporated his cute goth vision of the Grim Reaper into this story. In fact, it's so obvious, I

Unfortunately, Ed Benes's exaggerated style, with the hulking heroic figures lurching about almost every page, doesn't suit the grounded, emotional elements from which the story draws its strengths. His style just doesn't feel right for these characters, for this story. It worked at times for the epic, colorful tone of Justice League of America when the most recent incarnation of that title first debuted.

Those who followed Mark Bagley's work for DC on the weekly Trinity series might be a little surprised with what they find in this comic book. Obviously, scheduling likely allowed the artist to take a bit more time with this story arc, and it shows with greater attention to detail. Of course, the greater levels of depth and texture might also be attributable to the fact that he's teamed with a different inker on this project. Bagley's more conventional approach to super-hero genre art suits the tone of Winick's script, which is much less avant garde than Morrison's approach to the same ideas.

Jason Fabok's art is effective and sharp. It reminds me a great deal of the style of Gary ("Shazam!" feature in Justice League) Frank, and its level of detail and realism really brings out the drama - notably in the opening and closing flashback scenes. Those scenes are particularly striking due to the sparse background detail. The rural setting isolates Victor physically, reflecting the isolation he'll experience socially and psychologically later in life. The almost blank background in those flashbacks also works as a symbol of young Victor as a blank slate who's about to be defined by an extreme circumstance. The muted blues and greys in those scenes also convey the cold - both literally and thematically - quite effectively.

Given the frenetic pace of the action throughout the issue, pencillers Greg Capullo is definitely in his comfort zone. This is the sort of material at which he excels. The Batman's secret weapon revealed later in the issue looks more than a little ridiculous, though. More impressive is Rafael Albuquerque's work in the second half of the comic. It's quite unconventional in tone, reminding me a fair bit of the style of Nathan (Haunt, DMZ) Fox. I particularly appreciated his incorporation of characters with real body types, rather than the multitude of impossibly buff and/or lean paragons of physical prowess presented in the main part of the issue.

The strength and uniqueness of Cloonan's artwork makes the shift to artist Andy Clarke's more conventional, more detailed super-hero style all the more disappointing. It's not Clarke's fault. While his style here puts me in mind of Gary (Batman: Earth One) Frank and J.H. (Batwoman) Williams III, his artwork is so dramatically different, it intrudes on the story Snyder and Cloonan had been telling up until that point. Just as the shift in the artwork seems like a puzzling choice, I'm perplexed as to how and why James Tynion IV is credited as the co-writer for the final seven pages. He's been the co-writer on the backup stories that appeared in recent months in the title, but there's no backup story to be found here, only the ending of the main story.

What makes the story chilling, though, isn't the violence the Joker commits, but the intimate, personal details with which he threatens key characters. Mind you, while the writer has flip-flopped some of what the Joker does, ultimately, his actions aren't terribly different from what we've seen from him in past stories. But by hammering home the notion the killer has been in hiding for a year, gearing up for something monumentally vile, Snyder manages to set this apart from other Joker stories.

Capullo's exaggerated style continues to suit the property quite well, but I have to admit I was a little more impressed with his performance on this particular issue. The reason: there's little Batman for him to illustrate and mainly just a lot of Bruce. He appropriately instills a more youthful look in this vision of Bruce Wayne from six years ago. I was also impressed with how bright Gotham seems to be here. Bruce seems to walk through the dayside of the city, whereas he'll later embrace the night. I like the creepy intensity Capullo brings to Edward Nygma and the monstrous quality that quietly lurks in the Red Hood's misaligned teeth. Rafael Albuquerque's lithe figures and blurred lines bring the high-speed chase in the backup story to life incredibly well. His style is such a marked departure from Capullo's, it brings an added sense of artistic diversity to the book, while the plot boasts a natural link to the main story.

When all's said and done, I have this to say about this comic book: I'm not going to sell it on eBay.

While the main attraction is the artwork, Loeb's juxtaposition of the Spirit's roguish charm and the Batman's cold, grim demeanor is a lot of fun. The writer doesn't rely too much on super-hero team-up cliches; the conflict between the title characters when they first meet is fleeting (and is actually something upon which one of them counts). Loeb does a solid job of balancing the two worlds of the two main characters. If anything, this is more of a Spirit story than a Batman story. He dominates the beginning of the book and the final page. The script tells the reader just about everything s/he needs to know about Eisner's masked hero, as well as his enemies. I was particularly intrigued by the concept of the Octopus, and I hope (and expect) Cooke will capitalize on that interest with his scripts for the new Spirit series.

Artist Diego Olmos is a real find. He demonstrates a lot of talent here, capturing the Batman's dark, violent world nicely. His style strikes me as something of a cross between the styles of the legendary Alex Toth and one-time reigning Batman artist Norm Breyfogle. One of his most important contributions to this comic book is how he brings Barcelona to life. Mind you, the realism of the backdrop seems a bit at odds with the extreme nature of the protagonist and antagonist, who don't really merit a realistic portrayal. Still, I enjoyed his efforts here a great deal, and I hope we'll see more work from him soon.

In and of itself, this is a fun comic book. It boasts some incredibly dark moments, some unexpected humor and some well-co-ordinated action sequences. Morrison's script strives to incorporate and acknowledge the broader tapestry of recent Batman continuity without getting bogged down in it. But ultimately, the greatest strength of Batman Incorporated is its biggest liability as well: Morrison's ambitious effort to tell a Batman epic.

Some might suggest this graphic novel/reinterpretation of the Batman stands up well on its own, and while I thought it was a great read, it really doesn't succeed solely on its own merits creatively. A lot of the fun stems from seeing how Johns and Frank have changed the iconic characters and the socio-cultural backdrop of Gotham City. In other words, the reader will get the biggest bang for his or her buck if the reader is well-versed in All Things Batman.

His plotting for Streets of Gotham actually lives up to the books title; while we see the new Batman and Robin in action, it seems to be more about whats going on in Gotham as a city than the heroes mission.

If one had to describe Battle of the Bands to someone in other pop-culture terms, I suppose one could see it as Josie and the Pussycats all... well, not all grown up, really, but as Josie and the Pussycats on tequila. The characters are all actually rather immature, but Buccellato's story is something of a celebration of the excesses of youth. It's about living life in the moment, about taking risks and about the dependability of friends. The characters revel and rebel, and they only take pause to consider their responsibilities to one another. Ultimately, the facets of the book with any kind of depth are eclipsed by its tremendous sense of fun.

Of course, Ennis's ear for convincing dialogue and ability to direct military action would be for naught if he were paired with an artist who can't make his visions come to life on the page. Fortunately, P.J. Holden's more than equal to the task. While he conveys the action of midair combat and operations quite well, his characters boasts a more cartoony appearance, but that only serves to make them more likeable and relatable. Holden's style looks a bit like a cross between the styles of artists Carlos (Battlefields: Tankies) Ezquerra and Brian (Damned) Hurtt. The only visual aspect of the book that didn't quite work was the lettering, specifically for the narrative captions, which are presented as the main character's message to his father. Letterer Simon Bowland's attempt to give those captions a handwritten look is understandable, but it's difficult to read, as it's too faint and miniscule.

What I loved most about the book was Cooke's expansion on the characterization Moore brought to bear in Watchmen. The Minutemen (aside from the Comedian) were secondary characters, but Cooke reaps the harvest of the seeds Moore planted. He even adds new elements. Of all of the Minutemen characters, Mothman was something of a throwaway element in Watchmen, but Cooke offers a much different take on him that's consistent with what Moore did with him but makes him a much more interesting figure.

Original Watchmen artist and co-creator Dave Gibbons boasts a clean style that really allowed the Rorschach mask to pop. Bermejo's much more realistic approach doesn't seem like a good fit for Rorschach's "face." Gibbons's simpler take emphasized an inhuman quality, whereas the nuances and texture of Bermejo's depiction here allows the vigilante's true features to come through the mask. Still, the detail and darkness on display throughout the issue really brings the ugliness of everything Rorschach detests to life. The likenesses of the characters are nicely consistent with Gibbons's depictions from the source material as well.

What makes this story work is the characterization. Anna and Michael make for a nice balance. Michael is a jerk up until the moment his wife disappears, so Anna's fascination and appreciation of the cultural and physical beauty around her is vital not only for us to enjoy her as a character, but her husband as well. Her kind and happy attitude tells us that Michael wasn't always the career-obsessed crank he seems to be initially. When he's forced to evaluate what's really important, his devotion is clear. I'm not sure what to make of Ty yet, but his willfulness, tempered with a touch of innocence apparent in his ease in believing the impossible, make for an intriguing player in the drama.

Ultimately, though, while there are serious issues at the heart of the satire, Black Dynamite's first (and hopefully not last) comic-book adventure is a whole lot of fun. The title character's cheesy dialogue, the machismo, the unbelievable action, the gratuitous and exaggerated sex (61 hours!)... one can't help but smile.

Ardian Syaf's storytelling here is capable and clear, though it's clear he's still developing as an artist. His style is a fluid thing, demonstrating slight inconsistencies from page to page. Of course, he's working with two different inkers here as well, so that's no doubt a factor. The style of the breakdowns is consistent with the style we've seen in Blackest Night, which is a smart move. Nei Ruffino's colors go a long way to maintain the same foreboding, eerie atmosphere that's essentially to the event brand.

I think what most impressed me about this story is how unconventional the ending is. Sure, Buck saves the day, of course; who'd expect anything less. But as this is a cheap preview issue, I was expecting the status quo that was quickly established to be maintained once I reached the final page. Instead, there's a surprising cliffhanger that suggests the set-up earlier in the issue and the supporting cast won't be around in forthcoming episodes of the series. This property is usually referred to as Buck Rogers in the 25th Century, but I notice that time element is missing from the title of this comic book. Perhaps Beatty has other locales and times in mind for Buck.

Carlos Rafael's artwork reminds me quite a bit of Andrea (Nova) Di Vito's work. Both boast styles obviously influenced by pop super-hero art, but both also handle space opera and sci-fi adventure adeptly. I really like the design work throughout the book; there's a nice mix of more modern designs and a sense of pulp design that's in keeping with the property's origins from decades ago.

Ultimately, the character in which I was most interested was this vision of a broken America. I wanted a lot more information on the socio-political and militaristic characters of this alt-scape. There wasn't a whole lot of that information forthcoming, and what little we did get posed more questions than answers. My hope is the creators take time in coming issues to fully explore this world as they explore these characters. My reason is this: as an outsider looking in at America, this sort of division and violence seems all-too plausible. Comics are usually a form of escapism, but this cautionary tale potentially offers people a way to escape such a depressing fate.

Early on in the book, it's clear that Sarkar's story is about recasting the legendary sword of Excalibur has an enchanted gun; it's actually a pretty obvious take on the legend. Excalibur the sword, and the caliber of a gun. Nice play on words. That early revelation, combined with the introduction of a young boy named Arthur into the story, directs the reader down a clear path... too clear a path, truth be told. This first issue holds no surprises, which is unfortunate. Nevertheless, the storytelling is solid, and the premise is clever and entertaining. Jean-Michel, the biracial shaman who serves as the story's catalyst, is a strong, fascinating character, and it seems clear that not only will he play Merlin to the young hero, but will serve in the Tonto role as well. I certainly hope his part is an ongoing one. The worldly, spiritual figure really shines in this first issue.

Two artists contribute line art to this book. Saverio Tenuta's style is a more conventional pencil/ink approach, reminiscent of Todd (Spawn) McFarlane's work. He captures the over-the-top intensity that serves to define characters such as Chase Variant. Bagwell's painted (or at least it looks painted) art brings an even darker, slightly more realistic tone to bear, but the shift actually works in the context of the story. From start to finish, having jumped from one story to another, the title character becomes more and more aware of the illogical nature of what's happening. Both artists bring consistency to the book by following Johnston's structure closely. The white space along the bottom panel of each page (no doubt at Johnston's direction) strings everything together nicely.

I'm not sure who the Midnight God is yet, but if Dark Horse was looking for an alternative title for this five-issue limited series, it could have gone with Conan's Mid-Life Crisis. Yeah, sounds too goofy for the tone of the story, but it's not altogether an inaccurate description of this story. Conan should be happy. He has a wife (and queen) whom he loves, and he has a child on the way. He has conquered the land he once helped to invade as a teen, but being king doesn't seem to satisfy him. He longs to wage war, to roam the land doing battle with evil. He clearly feels trapped by his responsibilities, both regal and familial. His resentment is palpable and makes sense, but ultimately, Conan is the villain of this story, or at least one of them. He wrestles with what he sees as his true calling and with the responsibilities that most men must take on. This flawed and conflicted vision of the Cimmerian warrior is a compelling one. I look forward to see if Dysart follows up on these sam

There's something else about this issue that stood out for me. This opening issue boasted a greater degree of design, of direction than we saw early on in 52. Sure, the quartet of writers behind Countdown's predecessor had a plan from the start, but there just seems to be a more focused quality at play here that sets it apart from 52. Perhaps certain lessons that were learned in the crafting of 52 are being applied here to arrive at a stronger product, or perhaps it's just wishful thinking on my part. In any case, I remain interested and look forward to the episodes to be released in the coming weeks.

Ultimately, it's Lieberman's balance between the campy appeal of the three-in-one warrior hero of the book with a somewhat logical explanation for it that makes the premise work so well. Cowboy Ninja Viking is quite funny and weird, but there's still a cool, edgy factor at play as well. Lieberman has managed to have his cake and eat it too, as he satirizes adventure genres while also revelling in them.

Christopher (Wasteland) Mitten's style is a natural fit for this story of monsters and urban grit. His sketchy, inky style reflects the subject matter, characters and mood incredibly well, and it reminds me a bit of a cross between the works of Mike (Hellboy) Mignola and Kelly (Sandman, Batman) Jones. My one qualm about the art is how it's hard to tell the undead ghouls apart from the vampires without cues in the dialogue. Michelle Madsen's colors add a lot to the atmosphere of the story as well. She employs muted tones that enhance the darkness of the plot, but she shatters the darkness with bright splashes of red when the story calls for it. Those punches of color inject shocking but appropriate moments of horror in an already tense story.

Leonardo Manco's gritty, dark style is a nice choice for this crime drama, and I was pleased to get a chance to sample his work again. It's much cleaner and more defined in Damaged than past projects, such as the Westerns he's done, which boasted rough, loose linework that worked well with the subject matter. Here, there's more of a painted look at play, which is in keeping with the general house style for Radical titles. Again, as with the script, it was Frank's depiction in the artwork that I enjoyed the most about Manco's effort on Damaged. He also does a great job with the backgrounds. There's a sense that the events are unfolding in real places, making it easier to commit to the plot and premise.

Samnee's art is a wonderful match to that more wondrous feel. Most striking visually in this issue was his depiction of Foggy, thin and frail but not seemingly deathly ill. He seems so much like a regular guy, and the way his body moves under Samnee's hand looks quite natural. The robotic/armored villain who appears in this issue harkens back to DD's old days, but the design didn't bring that character to mind right away. I didn't make the connection until the script points it out. I think something campier might have been in order, but I acknowledge that might also have run contrary to Foggy's big moment. Like I said, this was far from the strongest issue of Waid's run on the Man Without Fear, but even a subpar issue of his DD makes for a good read.

Dan Abnett's story is a somewhat familiar one, as he injects a tried and true sci-fi/horror concept into another time, at unlikely characters. He thrusts a group of sword-wielding warriors into situations one can find in such movies as Aliens and Cowboys and Aliens. As a result, there aren't a lot of surprises here and the story plods along predictably. Nevertheless, it makes for an undeniably entertaining read, probably because the script is so focused and the two main protagonists seem so well realized despite a temporal and cultural divide between them and the audience. The book struck me as something of a pitch for big-screen treatment, which isn't uncommon for such limited series from smaller publishers these days. In any case, the first issue of Dark Ages is a fun read, and that's something a lot of other comics can't claim.

Like most anthologies, though, this is a mixed bag. The Concrete story is a wise choice to open the book. While it's a painfully predictable story, it's also entertaining and demonstrates just how much creator Paul Chadwick has successfully diverged from and experimented with the super-hero genre. The Frank Miller interview and Xerxes teaser were a bit of a letdown; we really don't get all that much here. The Adams piece is shocking with the level of brutality that's depicted, but it's effective. What's offputting about this crime story is his decision to shove an alien-invasion plot into it; the amalgam, at least it stands in this issue, doesn't work. Chaykin's heist story feels a little too familiar, especially when one gets to the scenes of domestic discord - it's nothing we haven't seen from Chaykin before. I was surprised to find that the Star Wars: Crimson Empire III tee-up piece is completely impenetrable. Another misstep with this newly relaunched book is the publication schedu

I've enjoyed a number of writer/artist Andi Watson's past projects, but I'd never read any of his Skeleton Key comics. I enjoyed my introduction to the characters and concepts here. He offers up a succinct and accessible story, and it'll make me give any Skeleton Key collections I happen to spy on store shelves a second look. M.J. Butler and Mark Wheatley's Conan spoof "Skultar" was a goofy hoot as well. I was also struck by how much Tony Puryear's "Concrete Park" reminded me of the Hernandez brothers' work on Love and Rockets, though I was confused as to exactly what was going on. Overall, while there are segments that will work only for those following the series, there's more than enough strong, creator-owned material to keep any adult enthusiast of the medium happy.

"New Avengers: The Reunion: Suspicion" - Jim McCann, David Lopez & Alvaro LopezThis final segment is a setup for the new Ronin & Mockingbird title. While I think Mockingbird's resurrection was one of the more ludicrous and unnecessary plot points of Secret Invasion #8, I have to give McCann credit for exploring an unexpected and interesting angle in this story. Both heroes are back from the dead, albeit in different ways, and the writer wisely realizes this would be traumatic, both for each character personally and to their marriage. Mind you, any kind of resonance relies on the reader's knowledge of their background, including Mockingbird's little-known history as a secret super-spy. There's potential here for sure, though I'm not completely sold on the concept yet. David Lopez's art is attractive and it conveys the kind of mature atmosphere of intrigue for which the script strives, though Rudoni's colors are a bit too bright.

Val Semeiks was an odd choice to illustrate McDuffie's "Blink" story, as he boasts a more cartoony style that really doesn't reflect the darker elements in the story. It is in keeping with the traditional tone for which the writer strives, though. Semeiks' designs are a bit disappointing. The blind con artist dresses like a caricature from the 1950s, making it a little more difficult to find him believable, and the wealthy man who serves as one of the key villains of the story looks far too much like Commissioner Gordon, making for a moment of confusion when he's introduced. Renato Guedes' photorealistic approach for the Superman story is attractive but stiff, and his interpretation of the Kents is unlike others I've seen, though perhaps more convincing and believable. The detail and realism conflict with the sci-fi elements, robbing the story of some of its sense of wonder.

Whether or not you enjoy this comic book comes down to whether or not you enjoy the Geo-Force plot at the centre of it all. Meltzer clearly gets these characters and understand what makes this particular C-list hero tick. Of course, to appreciate what Meltzer does with this unlikely central protagonist, one has to be versed in his history. Not only does one have to know of "The Judas Contract" to follow everything in the script, but Identity Crisis and Batman and the Outsiders (both the current 1980s series). Still, while it would certainly help to have that background on the tip of one's brain, it's not vital to appreciate the entirety of the story. Meltzer's take on Prince Brion as something of a military man and so desperately driven to take down Deathstroke at all costs makes seem like much more than the generic super-hero he's been in the past. The climactic conflict between Geo-Force and Deathstroke is a compelling one, as much a psychological fight as it is a physical one. Meltz

Unlike this month's Vibe debut, Katana boasts no overt connection to the higher-profile book, Justice League of America, which also features this title character. Actually, Nocenti seems to go out of her way to avoid references to the JLA and the Birds of Prey in her script, and it's a wise choice. Instead, her focus is on Katana's specific history apart from other costumed figures/warriors, and the result is a thoroughly accessible introduction to the haunted heroine. The writer successfully demonstrates what a tragic and ultimately romantic figure Tatsu is while at the same time conveying a slightly unbalanced quality in the character. The only real problem with the issue is an inherent aspect of the premise. Given her mission and her history, Katana is an unrelatable figure with which the reader can't possibly connect. Her grief manifests in such an unconventional way that it's almost impossible to see her as a regular person. I hope Nocenti finds a way to bring her down to earth, t