101-2.11: Sweet Tooth, Volume 2 "In Captivity" and Volume 3 "Animal Armies," by Jeff Lemire (trade paperbacks, issues 6-11 and 12-17, 2010/11)

 The other day when we were talking about the "value" of different leisure activities--watching TV, reading, playing Xbox, crafts, etc.--my husband Eddie made a disparaging comment about Sweet Tooth. I was a bit offended at first and asked him what he knew about it. He said he had picked up and flipped through one of my trades when it was sitting on the coffee table at my sister's house. It isn't real literature, he suggested, and I suppose he is right to some extent. It's not the type of thing I would likely read in public--unless that public involved a high number of comic readers--so even I must confess to a degree of speculation. The cover pictures themselves likely lead some of you to raise an eyebrow. A boy with antlers? A girl with a pig snout? Yet, here I am writing about the series on my blog, so I'm not THAT embarrassed.

While I wouldn't be willing to take a side defending Sweet Tooth as a great work of literature, it has some significant merits that put it solidly in the literature realm. The plot is interesting and engaging, the characters are complex, and it addresses societal issues in the guise of metaphor. You see, it's not just that these kids have animal features: some folks don't believe they exist; others know and fear them; and still others--the minority--know and love them. It's mainly the parents of the hybrids that fall into the later category, as the women gave birth to these humans with animal characteristics after a plague struck the U.S.--killing the majority of people and sending things into complete disarray in a short period of time. Unfortunately, that same plague usually kills the parents before too long, leaving the kids alone and defenseless against those fighting for survival. From the very start, the antlered Sweet Tooth--so called for his love of candy--is a sympathetic and endearing character; perhaps it's some built-in Bambi reaction, but I want him to make it. It's an up and down struggle, of course, in the world drawn in these books, and I'm sure the battle will continue throughout the series. Along the way, the premise allows for an exploration of bigotry and fear, what it means to be human, and good versus evil (and shades in between). And, Lemire's story and art are both strong enough for me to continue that exploration--despite a shade of embarrassment.

100.11: Term Limits, Ex Machina Volume 10, by Brian K. Vaughan (writer), Tony Harris (artist), and JD Mettier (colors) (2011 trade paperback, issues 45-50, 2009/10)

Two of my favorite comics are Runaways and Y: The Last Man by Brian Vaughan. Actually, I should say were my favorites, as both series were concluded some time ago. Once in a while another writer/artist combo will pick up the Runaways and complete a new story arc, but they are never as good as Vaughan's originals. So, the best I can do to follow Vaughan's current work is Ex Machina. And that's pretty darn good in itself. 

It looks like I haven't reviewed Ex Machina yet on this blog--I'm a bit behind in my comic reading and just catching up--so I'll fill you in on the premise. Mitchell Hundred is an engineer/architect who comes in contact with an otherworldly item in the water, which leaves him with the ability to talk to machines and command them to do his bidding. With the assistance of two friends, he becomes a local NYC hero, rescuing babies and the like. The police consider him a vigilante and try to track him down, but after September 11, 2001, when he uses his abilities to stop the collision and collapse of the second Twin Tower, he becomes a community sensation. Having been raised by an activist mother, he decides to turn his new acclaim to public service and politics, turning celebrity into a position as NYC Mayor. In this position he fights the forces of evil--both political and supernatural--that threaten his people.

In trade 10, NYC Mayor Mitchell Hundred continues to fight the good fight against forces threatening his city--and now the world. In this story arc, a reporter becomes infected with an ability akin to Hundred's, with an evil twist: she can speak to humans and command them to do her bidding. Add the fact that she is acting on behalf of horrible monsters in another dimension who are seeking a gateway to ours, and it's a job for the super mayor. The volume ends with both relief and darkness, and readers are left to consider whether the system is leading Hundred down a path of corruption. And, I suppose it's fitting that Vaughan leaves us there, since issue 50 concludes the series. For first-time readers, that can be a good thing, as you won't have to wait for future issues to come out.

The plot is a bit absurd, but superhero comics require enemies, and they are harder to come by these days. Besides, it's the issues and discussion around the main plot that make this series interesting. Hundred's political rise from nobody to mayor of NYC, and his rumored candidacy for US office, are what make this comic worth reading. Hundred has made his reputation as an Independent, making decisions based on what he sees as best for the people of NYC instead of a specific political agenda. While he backed gay marriage, he rejects the morning-after pill, and he's hard to pin down on most hot-button topics. Additionally, the series is purposely self-conscious, throwing out one-liners about comics all the time. It makes for an interesting blend of politics, current events, and super heroism that's hard to resist.

99.11: Dead Man's Knock, The Unwritten Volume 3, by Mike Carey & Peter Gross (script, story, art), Ryan Kelly (finishes) (2011 trade paperback, issues 13-18)

This is the first blog entry I'm writing on my iPad, using an app called Blogger+. My new plan is to write and upload text whenever/wherever I finish a book (hotel, bed, a coffee shop) and then add the finishing touches (pictures, links, and proofreading) when I am at a desktop computer. Hopefully this will eliminate my habit of allowing finished books to pile up in a to-be-blogged pile, which results in multiple entries posted all at once with long periods between them. And now, on to the real business of this entry:

Like many of the comics I follow, The Unwritten was recommended by my sister Sarah. Since Sarah is a librarian and knows me better than anyone else, her recommendations are a custom fit, so it's no surprise that I enjoy this comic. All comics take some time to develop, though, and it's in this third story arc that I am beginning to feel a real appreciation for The Unwritten. 

The authors of this series are committed to the idea that stories have power--quite literally and magically. The comic's unwilling hero Tommy/Tom Taylor struggles with the legacy his author father left him--first as model for his father's popular boy-wizard book character and now, as an adult, as role model to people around the world (imagine Harry Potter on an even bigger scale), who have a hard time separating real-world Tom from fictional Tommy. Even more importantly, though, Tom faces a struggle against a mysterious Cabal that seeks to undo or influence stories in order to control events in the world. While the premise of words having power is interesting in itself, it's the weaving of literature--classic and popular--throughout that make this series particularly compelling. In a single issue within this trade, there are references to Dickens, The Lord of the Rings, Shakespeare's Henry the Fourth, Fielding, Malory, and the tale of Merlin--heavily dosed with J.K. Rowling, with a mention of the Big Brother and Britain's got talent reality shows thrown in for good measure. In a further creative twist, one issue is printed as a pick-a-story book, in which the reader chooses between options at regular intervals to move between 60 half-page story fragments. Overall, this comic is a true reading pleasure for book and word enthusiasts.

98.11: American Vampire, Volume 2, by Scott Snyder (writer), Rafael Albuquerque and Mateus Santolouco (artists) (trade hardcover, issues 6-11, 2010-11)

When reviewing Volume 1 of American Vampire (link to full entry 46 here), I commented on Stephen King's contribution to the series: "Snyder's chapters are better written. . . . King is a gifted storyteller, and I'm sure that more practice will lead him to excellence in the comic format as well. In fact, the second trade was just released, so I'll soon be able to report on his progress." I'm sorry to tell you this, but you won't be getting that report. Having given his name and clout to the series, it appears King dropped out of the project after concluding the first story arc.  While it's disappointing not to have the opportunity to see King develop as a comic writer, in reality it's not a loss to the series. If anything, the narrative consistency provided by Snyder as sole storyteller--and the high-quality illustration provided by Albuquerque--make volume two of the series that much better than its debut collection.

Having established the premise for a new breed of daytime vampire in volume one, volume two moves forward a bit in time. Still in the American west, the main storyline it set in Las Vegas in the mid 1930s, when the town is beginning its boom in gambling and prostitution in order to meet the interests of the 3,000+ workers involved in the construction of the Hoover Dam. Skinner Sweet is still evil vampire number one, but his progeny, Pearl, lets her claws out after years of domestic bliss, and Pearl's own offspring, Hattie Hargrove, is released from the prison she's been held in for years. With three American vampires on the loose, volume three promises to be killer.

97.11: Safe as Houses, House of Mystery 6, by Matthew Sturges, Luca Rossi, Werther Dell-Edera, and Jose Marzan, Jr. (tade paperback, issues 26-30, 2010)

I almost gave up on HoM after trade five, I must admit. It just got a bit too crazy for me, and that's saying a lot for a series that requires you to accept a LOT of craziness. It wasn't the appearance of sort-of-dead relatives, suicidal (or killed) poets, the fictional becoming real, or a house that is no longer a house that got to me, however: it was the chaos. I felt that I was losing my grip on the story line in the last arc; too many things were happening too quickly for me to follow. I just looked back at my review of trade five (Here's the link if your interested.) and am amused to note that I didn't comment on my befuddlement. Instead, I essentially summarized the basic premise of the series and left it at that. In retrospect, I recognize this as a classic strategy my students used when faced with a challenging task: deflect or backtrack to discuss something with which you are comfortable.

Fortunately, trade six slows down a bit and mainly follows a single story arc, with only a couple of tangents. Sure, that single plot might involve Fig (the main character, whose vivid imagination is responsible for the existence of the mystery house and multiple worlds) and the goblins being called upon by witches in order to defeat the Thinking Man, flying robots, huge carnivorous earthworms (think Dune), and an immense monster dampening the torch needed to keep the Summerlands alive.  And, yes, the victory comes when Turgis, a gay goblin, takes over leadership to lead the goblin army (explaining to the former leader as he kills him, "It takes great strength to be gay in this world.") and Fig invents a "big, swirly, cutty thing" (looking like an immense length of toilet paper with a smiley face on it, no less) to kill the monster. Still, this is imagination and mystery I can wrap my head around and follow, and even the few tangents clarified some loose strands from trade five. I'm glad to have things sorted out now, as the concepts of imagination, creation, and reality that originally attracted me to the series are so compelling.

One thing this experience underscores for me is a major difference between classic and modern comics. While characters in early comics did evolve and plots built, you could pretty much pick up any single issue and have a coherent story to read. This is not the case of most current adult series, which depend on readers having enough back story to muddle through some fuzzy parts, often reaching very-limited conclusions within story arcs. If I had picked up trade five without having read the earlier HoM issues, I would have put it aside within a few pages--convinced it was complete rubbish. And, I would have missed out on some thought-provoking ideas as a result. The bottom line: if a comic series appeals to you for some reason, start from issue one.   

96.11: No Way Out, The Walking Dead Volume 14, by Robert Kirkman (writer), Charlie Adlard (inker), and Cliff Rathburn (gray tones), (trade paperback, issues 79-84, 2011)

It recently become popular as a television show, but The Walking Dead began as a comic series in 2006. (Since I started this blog in 2011, only one other review can be found here, for trade 14.) I started following it shortly after encountering the authors at an Image signing table at Comic Con 2006. What started out from circumstance and curiosity--I was relatively new to comics and testing the waters as to what was out there--has grown into a full appreciation for a well-written and illustrated series.

In this story arc, the uneasy comfort and quiet the original cast of survivors have enjoyed in a walled city is shattered when gunshots draw an entire herd (hundreds) of the dead to their walls. The ensuing gore-fest is action packed. As human and zombie bodies pile up around them, the characters further their lessons of loyalty, risk, survival, and zombie ass-kicking (or skull smashing, as is actually the case). More importantly, despite the carnage and stress, the book ends with a feeling not evident in recent volumes: hope. Ultimately, I think it's that element that keeps readers reading.  And the zombies, of course.

95.11: Losers in Space, buy John Barnes (advance uncorrected proof, publication April 2012)

Part of the fun at the NCTE Annual Convention is trolling the exhibit area for freebies. I'm pretty cautious about what I pick up, since I have to haul it across country, and I try to stick to carry-on luggage in my travels. However, the promising sales pitch for this book--teens seeking fame by stowing away on a spaceship with a sociopath loose among them--was strong enough for the novel to make it into my bag. And, pretty much, the sales pitch tells you what you need to know about the book; I'd likely add "futuristic Breakfast Club" to the description to complete the plot. (Of course, today's teen may not find this addition illuminating, but GenXers will get it.) One thing that makes this novel stand out a bit are the 16 regular excerpts--entitled "Notes for the Interested"--that provide explanations of culture, science, and math concepts relevant to the plot. As the book itself points out, these tangents aren't essential to the storyline and an uninterested reader could skip them. Hopefully, though, while considering the effects of celebrity, social media, and romance, a few teen readers may also pick up a few educational tidbits.