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There -- I've just finished a major milestone in the monumental "sort the comics and figure out which ones to get rid of" project. I've finished with Cerebus.

Cerebus is the single largest title in my collection. It's bad enough that it's so long -- it's kinda-sorta a "miniseries", in that the overall length was planned from early on, but it ran for 300 issues. (Yes, really -- monthly for 25 years.) I got hooked on it somewhere around issue 60, and stuck through it through the end.

No, the real problem is that I got sufficiently into it that I have at least two, and often three *versions* of each issue. Between the originals, the Swords of Cerebus reprints that came out early on, the Cerebus bi-weekly series that reprinted through around issue 75 (with new material in the backmatter), and "the phone books" (trade paperbacks, reprinting 10-30 issues each), I went a *wee* bit overboard. So I literally have two copies of every issue except, annoyingly, issue 86, which I apparently only have in the phone-book form. (I think I'm going to have to seek that one as a back issue.)

So I've just gone through all of it and culled, to get to the point where I have one coherent set. In the end, I'm keeping the single issues, since some of the backup material is actually pretty good, and getting rid of the phone books and Swords. I'm likely to keep the whole run permanently (even the interminable and incoherent "Chasing Yhwh" exegesis near the end), but I get some satisfaction of getting rid of nearly an entire longbox of the stuff...
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[There's a lot of good stuff coming out, so it's time to get back into the habit of The Review of Obscure Books.]

Downstairs in our basement, there is The Shelf.

The Shelf was kind of an accident. When I was moving in with Kate, I stumbled across some graphic novels that I had liked too much to put in boxes, so they'd been living on random bookcases at my old house. So I stuck them together down there. And as I come across more really great GNs in going through the Stuff, I've been putting them on The Shelf.

Gradually, it's becoming my distillation of the Creme de la Creme of comics history. I have -- no shit -- somewhere north of 300 linear feet of comic books; The Shelf is the 29 inches of the absolute best. It's still a work in progress, but already represents my very eclectic picks for the masterpieces. From V For Vendetta and Watchman to Girl Genius, from Moonshadow to The Singles Club to Hepcats to Murder Mysteries, it's gradually evolving into a pretty good education in the best comics ever.

As soon as I'm done writing this review, The Sculptor is going onto The Shelf.

The Sculptor is by Scott McCloud, best known for Understanding Comics, the best explanation ever written about comics as a medium. But those of us who've been around a while remember Zot!, the comic that made his name as one of the shining lights during the blossoming of what I think of as the modern age of comics. IMO, The Sculptor is his masterpiece.

What's it about? Our protagonist is David Smith, a down-on-his-luck sculptor who is wallowing in his sorrows one day when Death shows up and makes him an offer: he can have remarkable gifts, in exchange for which he will only live 200 days. A lot happens during those 200 days, but that's the heart of the story.

It's a bit hard to assign a simple genre to the story, but I'm inclined to call it Magical Realism: extraordinary things happen, but this is fundamentally a story about very real people and their very real problems. David falls in love, and finds all of his assumptions about everything from Art to Love to Time to Mortality (most especially) Purpose challenged. He grows up, all too slowly, gradually setting aside his simple inward focus.

This is a *big* book -- at 500 pages, one of the few "graphic novels" worthy of the name -- but it's a pretty fast read. McCloud shows all of his technique and understanding of the medium, both to tell story and set mood -- he is one of the few people who can make a blank white page starkly frightening -- and the student of the form will find a lot of lessons in here. But you don't need to worry about that: the story will carry you along.

Mind, this isn't a happy or simple story, and it doesn't have any easy uplifting moral. It is beautiful, engaging and often fun, but rather melancholy at its core, and a day after finishing it I'm still getting a catch in my throat from it. It is fundamentally about Mortality and Time, so apply your own trigger warnings as necessary.

Anyway: highest recommendation. Certainly the best comic of the year so far, and I'll be pleasantly surprised if anything surpasses it...
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As a lot of you know, I am the possessor of a lot of Stuff. Among that Stuff is the most idiotically large comic-book collection of anybody I know, which I've been accumulating since 1977. Not collecting -- just buying, reading, and putting in boxes. I don't know if anyone reading this aside from Kate has actually seen all of it. Yes, you're thinking, "That enormous pile of longboxes in your old basement? I remember that!" No, that's only the stuff after 1991 -- there's another 37 boxes that have been in storage for a dozen or so years. All told, it's somewhere north of 30,000 issues.

Anyway, as of last week I have finally begun the project that I've been putting off for 25 years: merging all of the comics into a single run, then separating them into three piles: Keep, Discard, and Maybe. (Maybe == "think about it again in a later pass") The goal for this pass is 10% Keep, 50% Discard, and 40% Maybe. So far, a couple of boxes in, I'm at least within spitting distance of those targets.

I'm mildly amused that I can get most of the way there by applying the simplest and dumbest of all metrics: do I actually *remember* this story? If I don't remember it at all, then odds are it wasn't good enough to be worth keeping. A truly prodigious fraction of the Marvel and DC of the past 40 years fail that cut, which is why I've dropped DC entirely and am steadily trimming back the Marvels. I mean, sure, some of the comics were just *bad*, and those are easy to discard, but it's depressing to realize how many were such cotton candy that they left no impression whatsoever.

Anyway, the sorting proceeds apace, and next week I should hopefully be able to start the other half of the project, the part that has delayed this so long -- inventorying the whole mess so I can begin to sell the discards. I will, of course, be doing that in Querki: it's a delightful little stress-test of the system. (My usual offhand guide to the maximum size of a Querki Space is 50,000 Things, and I've always been clear that this is in order to be large enough to hold all my comics. It's arbitrary but makes sense to me, the same way the size of a CD was chosen to be large enough to hold Beethoven's 9th.) Then I just have to figure out the most practical way to sell it...
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(Pardon a mild grouse.)

Marvel is in the middle of one of those once-every-few-year events, only bigger and weirder than usual. Basically, they've taken every character and situation they've ever had, thrown them all into a giant mixmaster, and set it on high. For several months, they're doing exclusively these weird little crossover / nostalgia books, tied into an overarching "Battleworld" scenario. It's pretty dippy -- I'm picking some of them up out of curiosity, but I'm not very impressed by the concept.

And after? They appear to be pulling a DC, rebooting the entire continuity in a way that lets them ignore anything that has gone before. I *despise* this particular trend. Frankly, I think it's lazy storytelling. If you want to tell new stories, then *tell new stories*. Rewriting existing history in the name of grabbing new readers simply implies creative exhaustion to me.

At least, I assume the idea is to attract new readers. It's all New! and Different! and a Great Jumping-On Point! with Exclamation Points!!!

Thing is, waystations work both ways -- they're a good place to get on, but also a good one to get off. The last time DC did this, with Flashpoint, I dropped the entire line: I simply declared that I was done with mainstream DC comics. I've stuck to that, and really haven't regretted it.

I'm probably not going to be as extreme with Marvel, since I've been enjoying a fair number of their books in recent years, but I'm considering it. Far as I can tell, nearly all of the books I've been really enjoying are at least shaking up their creative teams -- at a quick glance, I think the only book I *really* care about that doesn't appear to be losing its writer is Ms. Marvel. (I've been a sucker for G. Willow Wilson's writing since she started out with Cairo. She's a unique voice, which isn't something you often see at the big companies. It's the only reason I'm considering giving A-Force a chance.)

I'll probably keep several books, but overall this is likely to backfire badly as far as I'm concerned: I think my Marvel consumption is going to drop to a quarter what it was. I was invested in this stuff, and now I'm not -- by and large, it's now up to Marvel to win back my dollars, book by book, and that isn't going to be easy. (Especially since Kieran Gillen doesn't seem to be doing anything for them any more -- he's currently the only writer who I will absolutely reliably buy.)

And truth to tell, much though I may be annoyed by the impetus, I can't even mind too much in reality -- this will let me catch up on my comics, and make room for better ones from other companies. I doubt that's what Marvel had in mind, though...
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Putting a link here for once, instead of in Facebook, because I think more people are likely to be interested: check out the new comic Atomic Size Matters, which is pretty delightful. It was written by a PhD candidate who was trying to explain her work to her friends and family. So she went back to first principles, and explained the concept she was working on (quasicrystals) in comic-book form. This became a minor sensation, so she Kickstarted it, and is now selling the book online. It looks like fun, breezy science writing, and the sample online (from the very beginning) is nicely clear. I'm considering picking it up, and I suspect some others might find it useful and enjoyable. (And I hope she chooses to do some teaching, based on her evident skill at making things understandable...)
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We went to see Guardians of the Galaxy last night. My overall review is that it was fine but not great -- more on the level with the Thor movies than the Captain America ones. It's fun and more accurate to the comics than average, but there isn't much there there. It is very much an origin story, and rather self-consciously leaves both the Thanos and Spartax storylines hanging for later movies to pick up. (Mild spoilers to follow, but that's not really the point here.)

(One pure comics-geek note: points to somebody for rescuing Yondu -- one of the original Guardians from Way Back When -- from obscurity, and for recognizing just how badass he could be.)

The one thing that really annoyed me, though, was the continuing inability for the Marvel Cinematics to handle the female characters well. I mean, the GotG have five main characters. Three of them -- Quill, Rocket and Groot -- were spot-on matches to their current interpretations in the comic. Drax was way too upbeat (and verbal), but as a result was rather more interesting than the stoic wall he tends to be in the comics.

And Gamora? Gamora was nice.

Now, mind, "nice" is *not* the adjective you would apply to the character in the comics. Beautiful and sexy, sure, but this is the character whose official alias is "Most Dangerous Woman in the Universe". In a team full of heavy hitters, it's pretty well understood that Gamora is the one you don't cross.

So her portrayal in the movie kept hitting wrong notes. Having her be the voice of conscience, trying to save an innocent planet, was just misplaced -- frankly, I'd sooner expect that from Drax. She fights well, but otherwise she comes across as more petulant than anything else. And the implied budding romance between her and Quill just made my teeth hurt, it was so off-base.

And yes, I expect the movies to differ from the comics, and that usually doesn't bother me, *provided* they get the main spine of the characters right. I don't care about detailed histories (heaven knows even Marvel isn't terribly internally consistent in that regard), I just care that they seem to understand *who* these characters are. And they've been doing surprisingly well for the men -- and for the most part, surprisingly (and pretty consistently) badly for the women.

I started to notice this way back when Black Widow first showed up in Iron Man, apparently meekly following orders. Granted, she finally became decently real in Winter Soldier, but that's after being mostly window-dressing in The Avengers. They get points for trying to make Jane Foster a decently interesting character -- but lose some for largely failing to do so. In Iron Man 3, Tony has to save Pepper from getting destructive powers. (In contrast to the comics, where he wound up building her a suit of her own.) In Days of Future Past (granted, from a different company), aside from one great moment, Mystique is mostly a pawn who the men are trying to influence.

And let's get real: beyond that, there is the simple *paucity* of female characters. Kate is particularly sensitive to this, and often points it out (she often pulls out "so why couldn't this character have been female?"), but as a very longtime Avengers fan I may be even more cranky about that. The Avengers have usually included a bunch of women, and as often as not has been led by them. Wasp, Scarlet Witch, two Captain Marvels, Spider-Woman -- seriously, out of a selection that includes Carol Danvers, the only woman they choose to include is the unpowered one in the catsuit?

It's disappointing, and speaks poorly of the Hollywood influence. In the comics, increasingly over the past 30 years, the female characters have stood toe-to-toe with the male ones, and the comics have been better and more interesting for it. It's sad that they've had so much difficulty translating that to the screen...
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[This weird ramble is kind of about programming, but this time it's introductory-level and generally useful, instead of the wizard-level stuff I usually talk about. We are going to teach a few basic programming concepts using my comic book collection as a motivating real-world example.]

There -- that project's been underway for about three years, and at least it's in decent shape before things have to go into storage.

I occasionally refer to Steve, the proprietor of The Outer Limits in Waltham, as my Comic Book Pusher. Some people think I'm kidding, but it's more a matter than I decided many years ago that comics are a less dangerous (if not necessarily cheaper) addiction than cocaine.

But the thing is, I am very much *not* a comic book "collector". I don't buy for value, or even completeness -- I just like reading them. So I tear through huge numbers of comics, and then set them aside. And once in a while, it occurs to me to sort them as I put them into boxes and stick them in the basement, so that later I might be able to re-read the best ones.

The problem is, while sorting a *few* comics (say, a few hundred) is easy, sorting many thousands of them is not. Hence, the last time I did a full sort of the entire pile was rather a while ago. "A while ago" being defined, in this case, as 1990. This is a Problem.


This is where the computer science degree comes in. The most important thing you learn in programming classes isn't how to program -- that becomes obsolete rather quickly as systems and languages change -- but rather, how to analyze algorithms. And the very first thing you learn is how fast the various sort algorithms run.

Most people, when given a bunch of things to sort, use some kind of Insertion Sort -- that is, you just put things in order, sticking them into place as you get to them. This works great for sorting anywhere up to about 50 comics, but once you get past about a handspan in width it slows down dramatically, because it starts taking a long time to find the right place to put each one. And in fact, we are taught in school that an insertion sort is "n squared" -- the amount of time it takes is proportional to the number of things to sort, squared. When you're sorting tens of thousands of comic books, that is a very long time indeed. (Sorting ten thousand comics this way takes literally a million times as long as sorting ten.)

The canonical fastest sorting algorithm is known, quite reasonably, as the Quick Sort. Conceptually, it's pretty straightforward. You take your pile of things, and create two buckets around a midpoint: in our case, the buckets would be "comics from A-M" and "comics from N-Z". Then repeat this for each bucket, so you'd wind up with four buckets in order: A-F, G-M, N-S, T-Z. Keep repeating until each bucket has only one comic book and *poof* -- it's all sorted! This works *great* in the computer -- indeed, in some programming languages it's basically a one-liner -- and it is "n log n": the amount of time it takes to sort everything is proportional to the number of items times the logarithm of that number (which is relatively small). This is more or less as fast as you can theoretically go. It has only one problem: it requires n buckets, and I do not have tens of thousands of tiny comic book boxes.

So for real-world problems, we have the Merge Sort, which isn't *quite* as fast as Quick Sort, but is still basically "n log n". For a merge sort, you start out by doing an insertion sort (just putting things in order) for as many things as you can easily do (in our case, about a handspan's worth of comics). Set those aside, and do it again for the next batch; repeat until everything is in little piles. Now merge together a reasonable number of piles -- take around 3-6 piles of comics, and just go from front to back, putting them together, which is extremely quick and gets you a *bigger* pile. Do that for all the small piles, so you now have some big piles. Now do the same thing for the big piles, so you wind up with one really big, completely sorted pile.

(Of course, none of this is a deep dark secret -- good librarians know this technique just as well as good programmers. But it occurred to me that many folks probably don't have cause to sort thousands of items very often, and might not know the trick.)


So when I've read 3-6 months' of comics and put them away, I typically do about two passes of this, so that I wind up with 1-3 longboxes, sorted and merged in order. What I *haven't* done since 1990 is continuing the process: take these now rather large piles, and keep merging them.

But everything is going into storage shortly, which means that all hope of *ever* seeing the collection fully sorted is Doomed Doomed Doomed if I don't make progress. So a few months ago I kicked back into motion the project that I had started before Jane died, to fully merge the whole thing. Sadly, I didn't get it all the way complete, and I need to stop now and focus on packing. But I've gotten to the point where I now have three *humongous* piles of longboxes, labeled runs A, B and C, which represent all the comics since 1990. After the move is done, I can begin to pull those out of storage, along with the pre-1990 run, merge the whole thing, and craft a really serious Querki app to inventory and sell most of it. (My comics are going to be one of the acid tests for Querki, and will help drive several generally interesting features.)

And the final result? I have 68 longboxes in the post-1990 run, along with 30-40 in the pre-1990 one, already in storage. In total, I'd guess that that's about 30,000 comics, enough that the collection *must* be kept directly on the slab, lest it break the house. A fair addiction, indeed...
jducoeur: (Default)
Okay, here's one where I suspect that some of my friends have useful ideas.

Some of you know [livejournal.com profile] the_resa from her earlier career -- under the name Teri S. Wood, she was responsible for a bunch of great comics, particularly her long-running strip The Cartoonist in Amazing Heroes, and her epic science fiction story Wandering Star. Resa is dipping her toe back into the comics waters, starting with her biweekly webcomic Yet Untitled. (A humor strip about coping with life in Forks "Yes, really, we existed before Twilight came out", Washington.)

I'm trying to help her understand how modern webcomic-publishing works; we spent a bunch of time today talking through RSS, how it works and why you want it for your webcomic. But it occurred to me that my knowledge of webcomics is fairly shallow, and others here might know more. So I'm throwing the question out: what should an aspiring webcomic author -- specifically one who knows traditional comics quite well, but is new to the webcomics world -- learn about? What are the opportunities and challenges that she may not have thought about yet? Who should she meet and talk to, to learn more? (And does anyone have a good guide to the nuts and bolts of getting started with RSS?)

Resa's a friend, and I'd like to see her succeed in this -- frankly, giving her a way to get back into comics would be great. So I'd appreciate any and all tips and pointers here, and please spread the word if you know others who might have useful information...
jducoeur: (Default)
Okay, here's one where I suspect that some of my friends have useful ideas.

Some of you know [livejournal.com profile] the_resa from her earlier career -- under the name Teri S. Wood, she was responsible for a bunch of great comics, particularly her long-running strip The Cartoonist in Amazing Heroes, and her epic science fiction story Wandering Star. Resa is dipping her toe back into the comics waters, starting with her biweekly webcomic Yet Untitled. (A humor strip about coping with life in Forks "Yes, really, we existed before Twilight came out", Washington.)

I'm trying to help her understand how modern webcomic-publishing works; we spent a bunch of time today talking through RSS, how it works and why you want it for your webcomic. But it occurred to me that my knowledge of webcomics is fairly shallow, and others here might know more. So I'm throwing the question out: what should an aspiring webcomic author -- specifically one who knows traditional comics quite well, but is new to the webcomics world -- learn about? What are the opportunities and challenges that she may not have thought about yet? Who should she meet and talk to, to learn more? (And does anyone have a good guide to the nuts and bolts of getting started with RSS?)

Resa's a friend, and I'd like to see her succeed in this -- frankly, giving her a way to get back into comics would be great. So I'd appreciate any and all tips and pointers here, and please spread the word if you know others who might have useful information...
jducoeur: (Default)
Those who have been around comics for a long time may remember Resa Challender (aka Teri S. Wood), for various fabulous comics -- in particular, her masterpiece Wandering Star. For those looking for some new stuff from her, note that she's starting an occasional webcomic, Yet Untitled. Not terribly deep and complex, just some observations of life in Forks (Land of Sparkly Vampires), WA. Promises to be fun...
jducoeur: (Default)
Those who have been around comics for a long time may remember Resa Challender (aka Teri S. Wood), for various fabulous comics -- in particular, her masterpiece Wandering Star. For those looking for some new stuff from her, note that she's starting an occasional webcomic, Yet Untitled. Not terribly deep and complex, just some observations of life in Forks (Land of Sparkly Vampires), WA. Promises to be fun...
jducoeur: (device)
It's Christmas Eve Eve, 2006; if you're lucky enough to have had an invitation foisted on you, Seth Bingo and The Silent Girl are running their dance club, Never on a Sunday. The club has three simple rules:
  • No Boy Singers

  • You Must Dance

  • No Magic!
Because this is The Singles Club, the just-finished miniseries set in the Phonogram universe, and there is just a *bit* of magic in the world. Music is sort of magic-in-potential, albeit mostly the subtle magic of the mind and heart and soul -- a metaphor wrapped in the literal wrapped in a metaphor. Other than that, it is quite exactly our world.

The first Phonogram tale was Rue Brittania a few years back, and told the story of phonomancer David Kohl tracking down the killers of Brittania, the Goddess of Britpop. It was a good start, but with The Singles Club we get real magic on the printed page. Its seven issues tell seven separate but tightly interlocked stories, of a bunch of friends and their night at the club. Each issue tells the same story from a different viewpoint, not so much contradicting each other as filling in each others' gaps, so that the stories considered together are very different from individually. Each takes a different viewpoint character; for example:
  • There is Emily Aster, the ultra-cool girl who got the way she was by casting her original messed-up identity and soul into Limbo. But just because Claire isn't around any more doesn't mean she can't mess with Emily.

  • There's Lloyd, aka "Mr. Logos", who is certain that he can change the world -- if only someone will pay attention to his ideas.

  • Laura Heaven is the nominal villainess of the piece -- and yet, is so easy to identify with, when you read it all from her viewpoint.

  • And of course, there is Penny. She's the beautiful and sweet one, living white magic on the dance floor, and is having the worst evening of her life: as far as she can tell, all her friends have turned against her. Of course, that's not true: they're just all living their own stories.
In clumsier hands, the conceit would be precious and tritsy, but this is a wonder. Each story and character is achingly real, wrapped up in the magic of their lives as only a 20-year-old can be.

Kieron Gillen, the author, has a passion for his subject that borders on obsession. Each issue comes with a page or two of footnotes, detailing the musical references in the stories; between that and the structural intricacy, the result would make Alan Moore proud. (Why can't American authors write this well?) I'm keeping the series out as reference material for the next time I want to do an online musical trawl: I want to dig around and learn more about these characters by learning more about their musical tastes.

All of this is complemented by Jamie McKelvie's beautiful, elegant clean-line artwork. Imagine what John Byrne might look like if he had some visual imagination and the ability to draw more than one face. Actually, that's unfair -- on his best day, Byrne's art has never been this pristine. Even Matthew Wilson's coloring contributes crucially to the story, literally providing it with the subtle tones it needs.

The series has been running for a good while now, not even remotely monthly. With any luck, Image will be smart enough to come out with a collection promptly, and will include all of the backmatter that adds even more depth to the whole thing.

Recommended unreservedly: this may well be the best comics story of 2010, the sort of thing that snaps the chains of genre that so often wrap and limit comics. If you like music or magic or comics, this is worth a try; if you like all three, it's a must-have...
jducoeur: (Default)
It's Christmas Eve Eve, 2006; if you're lucky enough to have had an invitation foisted on you, Seth Bingo and The Silent Girl are running their dance club, Never on a Sunday. The club has three simple rules:
  • No Boy Singers

  • You Must Dance

  • No Magic!
Because this is The Singles Club, the just-finished miniseries set in the Phonogram universe, and there is just a *bit* of magic in the world. Music is sort of magic-in-potential, albeit mostly the subtle magic of the mind and heart and soul -- a metaphor wrapped in the literal wrapped in a metaphor. Other than that, it is quite exactly our world.

The first Phonogram tale was Rue Brittania a few years back, and told the story of phonomancer David Kohl tracking down the killers of Brittania, the Goddess of Britpop. It was a good start, but with The Singles Club we get real magic on the printed page. Its seven issues tell seven separate but tightly interlocked stories, of a bunch of friends and their night at the club. Each issue tells the same story from a different viewpoint, not so much contradicting each other as filling in each others' gaps, so that the stories considered together are very different from individually. Each takes a different viewpoint character; for example:
  • There is Emily Aster, the ultra-cool girl who got the way she was by casting her original messed-up identity and soul into Limbo. But just because Claire isn't around any more doesn't mean she can't mess with Emily.

  • There's Lloyd, aka "Mr. Logos", who is certain that he can change the world -- if only someone will pay attention to his ideas.

  • Laura Heaven is the nominal villainess of the piece -- and yet, is so easy to identify with, when you read it all from her viewpoint.

  • And of course, there is Penny. She's the beautiful and sweet one, living white magic on the dance floor, and is having the worst evening of her life: as far as she can tell, all her friends have turned against her. Of course, that's not true: they're just all living their own stories.
In clumsier hands, the conceit would be precious and tritsy, but this is a wonder. Each story and character is achingly real, wrapped up in the magic of their lives as only a 20-year-old can be.

Kieron Gillen, the author, has a passion for his subject that borders on obsession. Each issue comes with a page or two of footnotes, detailing the musical references in the stories; between that and the structural intricacy, the result would make Alan Moore proud. (Why can't American authors write this well?) I'm keeping the series out as reference material for the next time I want to do an online musical trawl: I want to dig around and learn more about these characters by learning more about their musical tastes.

All of this is complemented by Jamie McKelvie's beautiful, elegant clean-line artwork. Imagine what John Byrne might look like if he had some visual imagination and the ability to draw more than one face. Actually, that's unfair -- on his best day, Byrne's art has never been this pristine. Even Matthew Wilson's coloring contributes crucially to the story, literally providing it with the subtle tones it needs.

The series has been running for a good while now, not even remotely monthly. With any luck, Image will be smart enough to come out with a collection promptly, and will include all of the backmatter that adds even more depth to the whole thing.

Recommended unreservedly: this may well be the best comics story of 2010, the sort of thing that snaps the chains of genre that so often wrap and limit comics. If you like music or magic or comics, this is worth a try; if you like all three, it's a must-have...
jducoeur: (Default)
Okay, I've mostly been trying to keep my journal light and upbeat lately. But you have to have some darkness to contrast with the light, right? So for my darkness I'm going to say exactly what I think about DC's current Super-Epic-Mega-Stupid crossover, Final Crisis. The following is more a rant than a review.
Massive spoilers, if for some mysterious reason you should care )
jducoeur: (Default)
Okay, I've mostly been trying to keep my journal light and upbeat lately. But you have to have some darkness to contrast with the light, right? So for my darkness I'm going to say exactly what I think about DC's current Super-Epic-Mega-Stupid crossover, Final Crisis. The following is more a rant than a review.
Massive spoilers, if for some mysterious reason you should care )
jducoeur: (Default)
The editorial page in the back of this week's DC comics claims that Dan Didio, their Editor in Chief, is actually Ambush Bug in disguise. And while, yes, it's just an advertisement for the Bug's upcoming miniseries, I have to admit that it would explain *so* much...
jducoeur: (Default)
The editorial page in the back of this week's DC comics claims that Dan Didio, their Editor in Chief, is actually Ambush Bug in disguise. And while, yes, it's just an advertisement for the Bug's upcoming miniseries, I have to admit that it would explain *so* much...
jducoeur: (Default)
I'll put in a cut tag due to *slight* spoilers, but I don't think I'm giving much away that isn't readily obvious. Summary: well worthwhile for those who enjoy the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen comics and Alan Moore's style in general. (But largely a waste of time for those who haven't read them yet.)
Cut for delicate eyes )

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