It has been a long time since I read a graphic novel! However, the library had a display of “Girl Power” graphic novels and comic books up for Women’sIt has been a long time since I read a graphic novel! However, the library had a display of “Girl Power” graphic novels and comic books up for Women’s History Month. This Supergirl comic caught my eye—I named myself after Kara Danvers from the CW Supergirl show! So I decided, why not? I have been mainlining the non-fiction lately. Maybe a comic will be a nice break.
Set during Kara’s high school years, Supergirl: Being Super is a coming-of-age adventure that examines the tension between wanting to be “normal” and fitting in versus, as the subtitle says, acknowledging one’s power. In Kara’s case, it’s the power she derives from the yellow sun of Earth. This graphic novel plays fast and loose with Supergirl’s canon and origin story: the way Mariko Tamaki tells it, Kara was sent away from Krypton at a much younger age (similar to her cousin, Kal-El) and therefore does not remember much about her origins. She experiences scattered, intermittent flashbacks to her parents on Krypton, but that’s about it. When an earthquake takes the life of one of Kara’s best friends, she sinks into depression and wonders how she can possibly reconcile having such abilities with no way to help those closest to her.
From my perspective this story was all a bit “meh,” but I want to acknowledge that I am not in the target audience. I think a teenager reading this would get a lot more out of the story, from Kara’s devotion to her friends to the ways in which her parents worry over her, love her, and protect her. This is a very different Supergirl from the one I saw on TV, but then again she is very different from the ones in the comics or other media. That is, of course, the strength of comic-book characters: they have a mutability that allow each writer to imagine them anew. So I will praise the interpersonal and internal dynamics of Kara’s journey here.
Where I can be more fairly critical, I think, is in the villain and basically the whole A-plot of the story. Without going too deep into spoilers, the villain basically thinks that she should just get to experiment on aliens, and if a few humans get killed in the process, that’s collateral damage. It’s a rather clichéd trope with very little originality applied to it. Tamaki tries to add some depth, granted, giving the villain a sympathetic goal so that we can understand she sees herself as helping humanity—the greater good, and all that.
I will say that I really enjoyed Joëlle Jones’s art! The style is crisp and very dynamic. My eyes lingered on the pages slightly longer than they usually do with graphic novels.
All in all, as ever, take my reviews of graphic novels with grains of salt because this is not the medium for me. There’s a reason it took a TV adaptation of Supergirl to get my attention—but I am happy that all these other versions exist to inspire younger generations of girls too.
Originally posted on Kara.Reviews, where you can easily browse all my reviews and subscribe to my newsletter.
Did … did good things just happen to our protagonists?
Excuse me while I check if I’m actually reading Saga, Volume 8 and not some impostor. Because … Did … did good things just happen to our protagonists?
Excuse me while I check if I’m actually reading Saga, Volume 8 and not some impostor. Because … because … GOOD THINGS HAPPENED, FOLX. I mean, yeah, shitty things happened too. Don’t get me wrong; there’s still conflict and loss here. But … good things! And Ghüs!! I missed Ghüs!!
This volume opens with Alana and Prince Robot looking for medical help in … Abortion Town. Right away, I’m sinking back into what I love about Saga: this series pulls no punches. Light-years away in space and who knows how far in time, yet this story still comments on issues that are relevant today. Whether it’s control over one’s pregnant body or the medicalization of trans people, Saga isn’t afraid to address it in a way that’s natural and relevant within the context of the story. Fiona Staples’ art backs up Brian K. Vaughan’s writing in this way: we see such a diversity of shapes and forms and ways of being.
The settings of Saga remind me in some ways of Farscape. Both series attempt to depict a universe far more fluid and alien than some science fiction would ask us to imagine. (Moreover, being a graphic novel series, Saga of course has more of “budget” to depict this vision than a television series could). We’re talking anthropomorphic owls and robots with TVs for heads, people, and it is glorious. Because when you have such a cosmopolitan view of the universe, the species and societies and problems within, your stories become infinitely richer and more complex. Just as the overall enmity between the Peacekeepers and Scarrans hung over the entirety of the Farscape part of the cosmos, so too does the enmity between Wreath and Landfall touch everything that happens here.
And right in the middle of this epic story we find Alana, Marko, and Hazel.
If I have any criticism of this volume, perhaps it’s simply that we don’t see comparatively much of these three. They are present and central to what’s happening, and there are some really good moments among them as they continue to process their familial loss. Yet, in some ways the story is happening to and around them. There’s a lot more going on between Petrichor and Prince Robot, or in the separate storylines of The Will and Ghüs/Prince Robot’s son.
With that being said, compared to the sad, painful story I read in Volume 7 last year, this volume was … hopeful. Especially that ending. And I fucking love the new villain and the way in which she discovers Hazel’s existence.
Basically, while Saga, Volume 8 in some ways feel like a breath between two story arcs, it’s a very necessary breath. It is probably a calm before the storm, and I am here for whatever Staples and Vaughan rain down on them next.
Did … did good things just happen to our protagonists?
Excuse me while I check if I’m actually reading Saga, Volume 8 and not some impostor. Because … because … GOOD THINGS HAPPENED, FOLX. I mean, yeah, shitty things happened too. Don’t get me wrong; there’s still conflict and loss here. But … good things! And Ghüs!! I missed Ghüs!!
This volume opens with Alana and Prince Robot looking for medical help in … Abortion Town. Right away, I’m sinking back into what I love about Saga: this series pulls no punches. Light-years away in space and who knows how far in time, yet this story still comments on issues that are relevant today. Whether it’s control over one’s pregnant body or the medicalization of trans people, Saga isn’t afraid to address it in a way that’s natural and relevant within the context of the story. Fiona Staples’ art backs up Brian K. Vaughan’s writing in this way: we see such a diversity of shapes and forms and ways of being.
The settings of Saga remind me in some ways of Farscape. Both series attempt to depict a universe far more fluid and alien than some science fiction would ask us to imagine. (Moreover, being a graphic novel series, Saga of course has more of “budget” to depict this vision than a television series could). We’re talking anthropomorphic owls and robots with TVs for heads, people, and it is glorious. Because when you have such a cosmopolitan view of the universe, the species and societies and problems within, your stories become infinitely richer and more complex. Just as the overall enmity between the Peacekeepers and Scarrans hung over the entirety of the Farscape part of the cosmos, so too does the enmity between Wreath and Landfall touch everything that happens here.
And right in the middle of this epic story we find Alana, Marko, and Hazel.
If I have any criticism of this volume, perhaps it’s simply that we don’t see comparatively much of these three. They are present and central to what’s happening, and there are some really good moments among them as they continue to process their familial loss. Yet, in some ways the story is happening to and around them. There’s a lot more going on between Petrichor and Prince Robot, or in the separate storylines of The Will and Ghüs/Prince Robot’s son.
With that being said, compared to the sad, painful story I read in Volume 7 last year, this volume was … hopeful. Especially that ending. And I fucking love the new villain and the way in which she discovers Hazel’s existence.
Basically, while Saga, Volume 8 in some ways feel like a breath between two story arcs, it’s a very necessary breath. It is probably a calm before the storm, and I am here for whatever Staples and Vaughan rain down on them next.
Haha, so it seems like only yesterday I was talking about how Saga, Volume 8 was a refreshing respite from the dark, downer moments of his series.
Oh bHaha, so it seems like only yesterday I was talking about how Saga, Volume 8 was a refreshing respite from the dark, downer moments of his series.
Oh boy.
I get it, those 1-star and 2-star reviews from people throwing up their hands in the air and saying, “I just can’t even with this anymore.” That is a legitimate point of view and valid criticism of this book. Saga, Volume 9 takes any of the good, happy feelings you got at the end of the last volume and tears them to shreds, lights those shreds on fire, then scatters the ashes of those shreds to the four corners of the globe. Then it cancels your Netflix subscription and steals your identity, using that to go on a crime spree. Just for good measure.
I’m not quite at the point where I want to abandon this series or anything. At the end of the day, this is Vaughan and Staples’ show, and they can do what they want with the characters (and we are free to criticize them for it, of course). I’m definitely not happy with much of what happens in this volume, particularly the final twist at the end. But there are definitely some things I want to praise first.
This instalment of the series underlines something that has been in the back of my mind for a while now: there isn’t really an endgame here. Marko and Alana have a chance to “escape” by essentially changing their identities. They reject this (which is fine), but this means that for the foreseeable future they will have to stay on the run for … forever. Their plight is not a simple conflict where the goal is to obtain something, or get somewhere. They have always been fighting to keep their family together, and usually that means running from people trying to hunt them down. That hasn’t changed, and it likely won’t change.
Vaughan and Staples also explore parents’ duties of care to their children. Marko and Alana make a decision on Hazel’s behalf, while Sir Robot makes essentially the opposite decision on his child’s behalf; both sets of parents are trying to safeguard their children. I like this duality here, because it emphasizes that sometimes it’s hard to see what the “right” choice in any given situation might be. There is no manual for parenting, especially when one is an intergalactic fugitive.
Those deaths tho….
I’m not against killing off characters, and this level of carnage is definitely consistent with Saga as a series. I guess what I’m saying is that you have every right to be upset by what happens here, but you should definitely not be surprised. That being said, I was surprised that Vaughan and Staples dispatch the new potential antagonist so quickly. I was hoping that she would be a more formidable foe. Instead she’s really just a vehicle to get The Will back in range of our intrepid protagonists.
Overall, though, I think this is a case of my opinion of this volume being dependent largely on what happens next in the story. Volume 9 reminds us that every moment of contentment can turn to ashes in an instance, that everyone is fragile and susceptible to injury, even fatality, in the harsh universe of Saga. For such a punctured equilibrium to occur can only mean that something even bigger, something even more intense, is coming up next. If Vaughan and Staples can deliver when they return to this series, then this volume will be a good set-up. If the next volume lets me down, then this one will have felt a little like an empty promise.
Oh. Em. Gee. Saga, Volume 7 might just be the saddest, most heart-wrenching thing I’ve read this year. It’s not quite at the nadir of A Fine Balance, Oh. Em. Gee. Saga, Volume 7 might just be the saddest, most heart-wrenching thing I’ve read this year. It’s not quite at the nadir of A Fine Balance, but it comes close. I am struggling to recall a single positive and redeeming moment in this book. There’s … there’s a lot of bleakness and heartbreak here.
As with many a long-running series, I’m starting to run out of new and creative commentary. Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples once again deliver a packed collection of chapters that both advance the story and drive the characters to new heights (or, er, in this case, depths). This volume might be notable for how it is more tightly focused on certain characters. There is a little bit of attention on the wider galactic politics, particularly as they involve a comet where much of the action takes place. For the most part, however, this story focuses on Alana, Marko, Hazel, and the people closest to them.
The worldbuilding remains top notch. I love the imagination and dedication involved in portraying such a diversity of intelligent, alien life in this universe. It isn’t just the myriad and miraculous forms that Staples depicts—it’s the whole aesthetic, the way everything fits together (or doesn’t), the very ideas involved, like a bounty hunter with two heads. As someone who doesn’t visualize when I read, I find that this is where the graphic novel medium excels for me. I just finished Terminal Alliance, in which Jim C. Hines similarly attempts to describe a diverse universe. But because it was just words on paper, I couldn’t picture it, so I had got a lot less from his descriptions than I do from something like Saga.
Although Hazel is growing up, she is less prominent here except as a plot device around which the other characters revolve. Indeed, it’s hard to say that any of the regular cast really shine as protagonists in this book. It seems more like they have things happen to them, and react, as they each struggle with their own demons. That isn’t a bad thing—if anything, it just makes this volume feel more like an interlude from one massive adventure to the next. Where will the ship go next? What will Marko be like now? How will he and Alana deal with this latest round of setbacks? And when will their paths finally cross with the Will, still broken and now disbarred from the bounty hunting union, scheming a way to get back everything he feels has been ripped away from him. Will Sir Robot find his kid?
For the third year in a row I bought Saga for my friend for a Christmas gift. As long as they keep releasing one of these Yay, Ghüs is back for a bit!
For the third year in a row I bought Saga for my friend for a Christmas gift. As long as they keep releasing one of these volumes every year, I’m golden. Volume 6 jumps ahead four years, so Hazel is in kindergarten, and Alana and Marko are kind-of together again, searching for their daughter. Meanwhile, Prince Robot is enjoying being “off the grid” and away from the court, raising his son in peace—until pretty much everyone crashes his party. Sorry not sorry.
Without a doubt, Hazel’s larger role as a protagonist is this volume’s most notable feature. Now old enough to have some agency over her life, Hazel is starting to grasp the politics of her situation. She and her grandmother, along with one of the women who were trying to kidnap them, are in a detention centre on Landfall. Yes, after all these attempts to keep Hazel out of Landfall’s hands, she ironically ends up right under their noses. No one except Hazel’s grandmother knows her secret—but this changes, and when it does, we’re propelled into another intense and dramatic sequence of the type Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples have become so well-known for. Hazel and her grandmother must trust people who might betray them, before their time runs out.
So far, Hazel is proving a very interesting character. Her perspective is certainly unique. I especially enjoy her interactions with Miss Petrichor, a trans Wreathian character. Petrichor discovers Hazel’s secret but jumps to the conclusion that Hazel is the product of a Landfall man raping a Wreath woman. Here we have someone who is subject to discrimination herself, yet even she displays the bigotry and disgust we’ve come to expect as the reaction to Hazel’s existence. Once again, Vaughan and Staples provide us with interesting, multi-dimensional characters who have both redeeming and unlikeable qualities.
I could do without the two journalist guys who are poking around this story. I get how they fit into the plot, providing the Will with a way back towards Robot and (eventually) Alana and Marko. I guess I’m just impatient and want to see more of Hazel’s story! If she is this cool when she is a little kid, then I’m eager for the volumes that depict her actions as a teenager.
I also have to hand it to Vaughan and Staples for their excellent world-building once again. This is an area in which the graphic nature of Saga offers a leg up over a strictly prose work. Staples can, in a single page, subtly depict the cosmopolitan nature of this galactic society, the way that all these different species can coexist. This serves as a stark contrast to the homophobia and discrimination that some of the characters face. Saga’s is such a colourful, visually interesting world, and Vaughan and Staples manage to hint at a long and complex galactic history without getting bogged down in exposition.
If anything, Volume 6 only disappoints in that it doesn’t deliver a single, intense climactic moment. There are some really good scenes, some very intense scenes, but not one over-arching scene that anchors this volume in my mind. After the deaths and diversions introduced by the previous volume, this seems like a course-correction on the way to whatever goes down in the next one. I guess I’ll find out next Christmas!
This isn't a review so much as a disjointed collection of thoughts about Saga, Volume 5. I mean, the problem with these reviews is that it always boilThis isn't a review so much as a disjointed collection of thoughts about Saga, Volume 5. I mean, the problem with these reviews is that it always boils down to more of the same. Buy Saga. Read it, in order. Do it!
Whenever I read graphic novels, I try to talk about the art and artist, since these are obviously important parts of the medium. And it’s with great respect when I say that I don’t give the art of a graphic novel as much attention as I should; I prefer words, which is why I prefer regular novels. But Volume 5 has some very explicit scenes, so it provides a good opportunity to discuss Fiona Staples’ artwork.
Saga is fairly conventional when it comes to its panel layout, so that helps. The panels are different on each page, and occasionally they’re skewed rather than perpendicular—but they are always generally quadrilateral and well-defined. Despite sticking to this conservative schema, Staples employs a great variety of panel dimensions and layouts to help tell the story. She can effortlessly convey a sense of motion, or give us a big hero shot to emphasize a particular moment.
This has always been an adult comic, and its artwork reflects that. This volume is no different, and perhaps even a little more. I mean, that two-page spread with the dragon is just … uh … wow.
Also, can we pause for a moment and reflect on the fact that Ghüs is amazing and possibly the best character in the entire series and I don’t want him to die please oh please don’t kill him?
Let’s pause and do that.
There is lots of dying in here. No spoilers, of course, just a reminder that Vaughan and Staples are GRRMing the shit out of this series: anyone and everyone can and will die, no guarantees, no warning. It’s a good thing, because like Game of Thrones they have a tremendous cast of characters, and no, and I can’t remember everyone’s name. That’s what wikis are for.
This volume might be the most insane yet in turns of plot twists. Saga continues to ramp up, with the stories going in directions both predictable and unforeseen, providing a nice mixture of reward for invested readers and twists that will keep us invested.
What happens when you meet someone online and you’re struck by a sudden need to help them, but they live on the other side of the world and don’t speaWhat happens when you meet someone online and you’re struck by a sudden need to help them, but they live on the other side of the world and don’t speak English? Jen Wang and Cory Doctorow ponder the intricacies that teenagers have to deal with, often on their own, in our globalized world. There’s a lot to like about In Real Life, so let’s get into it.
Firstly, the obvious: this is a story about gamers and gaming, but as the title implies, it treats these things as serious aspects of “real life.” Much like The Guild shows how a group of people manage to forge some pretty strong—albeit strange—bonds through gaming together, Anda’s experience playing Coarsegold changes her perspective on many real-world issues. Doctorow and Wang remind us that games are not merely distractions or diversions. They can be educational, informative, and thought-provoking—often unintentionally.
Doctorow says in the introduction that this is a story about economics. That’s true, in that Anda learns the basics of labour issues and trade unions, as well as the slightly newer economy involved in gold farming. Maybe I just wasn’t paying attention to those themes, though, because I never felt the economic message was all that overt—except perhaps at the very end, when Anda helps some of the other Chinese gold farmers to organize a little. Instead, what impressed me more was the way In Real Life charts Anda’s growth, particularly her self-confidence.
I love the way Wang portrays Anda as a teenager who just happens to be overweight. There’s no big deal. The only time weight comes up is in the context of ice cream, and even then it’s Anda’s mother commenting about her father’s weight. Nevertheless, as you might expect, Anda’s physical appearance and nerdy interests mean she’s on the quiet side. It’s nice to see her grow and become more confident, and Wang very successfully uses visual storytelling to enhance this. For example, we see Anda peer down a supermarket aisle of haircare products—then cut to her dying her hair red to match her game avatar’s.
In Real Life is body-positive, and it prominently features a variety of women and personalities. From aggressive, fiery Lucy/Sarge to the commanding, imposing Liza we get women with different attitudes and priorities. And then there’s Steph. When this skinny “prep” girl crashes the Sci-Fi club asking for help starting a “board game club,” she gets rebuffed. And I totally thought it would be a case of the nerds “taking down” the preppy girl for being mean—because that’s how we’re programmed to see the narrative. It’s so much more complex than that, and I really like the follow-up and payoff that happens near the end of the book. It’s an empowering reminder that people with different interests can work together.
Similar to the no-big-deal portrayal of Anda’s body type, Wang and Doctorow also show her in a programming class, coding games, and in the Sci-Fi club, playing D&D like a boss. The message here is subtle but all-too-welcome: girls, you can be gamers; you can be coders; you can like D&D. It’s just something Anda does, and by making it background instead of foregrounding it as a “struggle,” they send the message that this is normal—as it should be.
Other than Anda, most of the characters are not well-developed. Her parents in particular are pretty stock, with Anda’s mother stereotypically overreacting to Anda’s online activities. I understand the need, in some cases, for this kind of shorthand to advance the story. Still, it’s a noticeable shallow area in a graphic novel that otherwise reaches deeper than you might expect.
In Real Life is a fun graphic novel that combines the best aspects of this form with Doctorow’s usual didactic flair. It’s a quick read—I read it in one sitting over lunch—but a worthwhile one. Despite this brevity, there is so much going on here. Adults like me can get a lot out of it, and I expect teenagers will also find it enjoyable and appealing. Above all else, while it shows challenges and onflict, its message is overwhelmingly positive and encouraging: you can do the thing.
**spoiler alert** It has been over a year since I last reviewed a volume of Supernormal Step, the fantastic webcomic by Michael Lee Lunsford about Fio**spoiler alert** It has been over a year since I last reviewed a volume of Supernormal Step, the fantastic webcomic by Michael Lee Lunsford about Fiona, a girl with blue hair who has been sucked into a strange, parallel universe where magic is real and that’s really freaky. Fiona has long been on a search for a way home, and while she doesn’t get much closer in this one, she does learn more about the mysterious Cavan Henderson and makes closer allegiances. The question remains: will Fiona find a way home, and if she does, what price will she pay to get there?
I’m going to spoil lots of plot points here, because I want to talk about them. I’m going to try not to talk too much about developments beyond this volume, but my future knowledge might seep in.
Supernormal Step Vol. 3: Power Struggle collects Chapters 7 to 9 of the comic. We pick up with Fiona somewhat upset with Van and Jim, who prefer to party instead of, you know, helping her. Akela is all too eager to help, of course. I love how Lunsford telegraphs Akela’s crush on Fiona with the “meanwhile in Akela’s brain…” panels. Then later Akela has a conversation with Van about her crush, and I love that for once in his life Van is serious and sensitive and actually gives Akela good advice: “That’s a bad road to go down…. Think about it. she’s on this mission to go home, to another world. Are you prepared to go with her? Is this real or just a crush, Akela?” I know from having read the comic online, of course, that Akela and Fiona will finally have a real conversation about this in the next volume … but that, of course, is for another review.
In this volume, Akela and Fiona go on adventure to snoop around a secret Henderson lab. Surprisingly, they run into Hall, who is himself suspicious of Cavan Henderson and ready to do some snooping of his own. The plot twists Lunsford reveals here are the kind that showcase the power of the graphic novel format. If this were a book, it would be difficult or at least very clunky to communicate, for example, that Inga Jorgenson looks just like the creepy evil twins that Fiona battled previously. Her throwaway comment to one of them, later, “Also, you’re probably a clone or something … so have fun letting that sink in” is perfect and funny.
And if I can digress for a moment, I think we need to talk about how Fiona deals with her status as a “hero” in this story. Fiona is a hero in the legal sense of this world—she has a “hero license” and costume, etc. But she is definitely not heroic. She is the protagonist of our story, but she isn’t really a hero in the traditional sense. She reminds me, both in situation and in character, quite a bit of John Crichton from Farscape. Whereas Crichton was an explorer suddenly stranded on the other side of the galaxy, Fiona by no means asked to be pulled into this world. Nevertheless, she finds herself wrapped up in the politics and society of this world, much like Crichton was—but she does not feel bound to honour or abide by its various conventions. That scene where she refuses to engage a fight is powerful, because it reminds us that she is not here for heroics. She fights and stands up for people when it’s the last option on the table, but really she just wants to get home.
Back to the Henderson lab and its second revelation, that of the “imperfect” Hall and Eva. Essentially this seems to imply that the Hall and Eva we have previously met are clones, perhaps second, third, or even later iterations on the process. Through flashbacks, Lunsford hints at an even weirder past, one where “Halland” and “Evangeline” live in the mid-1800s, and Halland is courting a shyer woman named “Lexia.” Why has Henderson been cloning these people? Why does he clone Lexia as a blind super-scary fighter chick?
Tune in next time…
Fiona, much to Akela’s delight, also cements her relationship with the Nameless in this volume. Through some interesting scenes happening without Fiona or Akela’s knowledge, Lunsford reminds us that most of the characters in this story are out for themselves rather than a single, higher ideal. This is one of my favourite things about Supernormal Step. For all that its sprawling cast of minor characters can make a headache when trying to read the comic one page at a time on the web, when you go back and read it at a chapter at a time like this, you really get to see how everyone’s actions come together. I loved the little spread mid-way through the volume, where we see people with whom Fiona has previously interacted getting interrogated by Hendersons (THOCK!).
Supernormal Step remains one of my favourite webcomics. It has magic, a rich, multi-layered storyline, awesome art, and very unique and well-realized characters. You should check it out.
In my previous review I talked in broad terms about why I enjoy Supernormal Step, because I just wanted to outline why it’s worth spending your precioIn my previous review I talked in broad terms about why I enjoy Supernormal Step, because I just wanted to outline why it’s worth spending your precious time on a new webcomic/graphic novel.
In Volume 2 (Chapters 4–6 of the webcomic), Michael Lee Lunsford broadens our understanding of Fiona and the main cast, but not before Fiona temporarily leaves them behind in search of solitude. (Hint: That does not work out well for her.)
Despite this being a serious story in many respects, humour is replete in this comic, and the opening to Chapter 4 is a great example. Fiona is just coming to terms with her “hero status” in the small town she fled to in Chapter 3. So, of course, it's a major inconvenience when she gets waylaid on her way to work one morning and asked to fight an mad scientist’s robot creation. Britta’s polite, meek apologies for disturbing Fiona at an awkward time contrasted with her thirst for battle and desire to capture Fiona, per her orders, are truly hilarious.
However, this volume is probably most notable for the amount of backstory Lunsford gives us. We learn more about Fiona’s relationship with her father, as well as the relationship between her father and Jim, who is also from her world. (I should point out that, while it’s easy to assume that Fiona comes from our Earth, Lunsford doesn’t come out and say that in the comics. It’s possible Fiona comes from an Earth that’s similar but also parallel to ours.) Van tells us about how he was raised in adolescence by a blood mage who wears a skull on his head (but hey, let’s not be prejudiced) until he fell in love with a vampire with a thick Scottish brogue.
And then things come to a head with Henderson. It’s becoming clear that there are more pieces at play than anyone thought—Van and Jim did not pull Fiona here by accident, despite their believing it was a mistake. But who is really pulling the strings? We’re just as much in the dark as Fiona, even though we have the benefit of seeing some things she doesn’t. But I love the suspense, the knowledge that there are plots hatched in the dark, and the idea that Fiona will bring them to light one way or the other (but at what cost?).
This volume ends on a downer for Van, in a way (and a wake-up call in others). But Fiona and troop as a whole now have a direction, a sense of purpose. Fiona’s working relationship with Henderson remains … tenuous at best; he hasn’t exactly threatened her so much as waggled his eyebrows gravely in her direction. Although we’ve seen the products of Henderson’s skill and power, i.e., the invincibility and irascibility of Hall and Eva, he has yet to demonstrate his own power “on screen.” (That being said, we are led to believe he took down a vampire and his goons single-handedly.) We know he’s not quite on the level though, what with Hall’s suspicions and now Fiona’s incentive to go digging.
Serial webcomics are hard. Pacing and scheduling are a must, and even we readers can have trouble keeping plotlines straight. I completely understand Serial webcomics are hard. Pacing and scheduling are a must, and even we readers can have trouble keeping plotlines straight. I completely understand why some people don't follow a comic regularly but instead binge every few weeks after a chapter has finished.
Supernormal Step is one of my favourite webcomics and one of the few serial webcomics I read regularly. It's about Fiona Dae, a woman pulled into a strange parallel universe where magic exists and all sorts of non-human creatures co-exist … um … not so peacefully at times. Fiona finds herself with power of her own, but more importantly she becomes an object of interest to certain powerful people. So she quickly find herself on the run even while she tries to figure out how to get back to her world.
Michael Lee Lunsford has created an impressive world here. The very first chapter starts in media res, with Fiona already having spent some time with Jim and Van (and already quick sick and tired of them, naturally). As comics are wont to do, we're right in the thick of it, with magic battles and larger-than-life characters dominating each page. It's confusing at first, sure. But it gets better once you understand that you really only need the basics: Hendersons, heroes, magic, curses, and portals, oh my! Once you accept that, hey, some people are penguins or robots, and yeah, that Mr. Kite is up to no good, then you’ve pretty much got the gist of what’s going down. The true pleasure then comes from seeing the hints of depth to Lunsford’s world. There is so much more story to Supernormal Step than meets the eye, and Lunsford does an excellent job implying it with every panel and speech bubble.
And then there are the characters. Fiona is gutsy and opinionated, strongly influenced by her homeschooled upbringing by her father. She can hold her own in this world—but at times it’s very clear how close she is to just freaking out and shutting down. In this way, Lunsford portrays her as more than just “a badass girl”—she’s three dimensional, vulnerable as well as strong, sympathetic as well as sassy. It's tempting to describe her arc as kind of following the Hero’s Journey, but that wouldn’t be accurate—while Fiona is increasing in power and command of her abilities, her journey is much rougher than the straightforward progression the traditional Hero’s Journey implies.
Van and Jim are excellent supporting characters. As with how he presents the world itself, Lunsford heavily implies that both have deeply checkered pasts we’ll hear about in the future. Jim, of course, is a superpowered badass levels above Fiona—when he isn’t forced into the form of a stuffed bunny by a temperamental, unseen judge who punishes him for bad deeds. Some of the almost overwhelming aspect of Supernormal Step might come from the sheer number of characters Lunsford introduces so he can populate this world; he makes it seem like every character, no matter how minor, has secondary motivations or is running games on the side. From Cecilia to Akela to Hall and Eva, there’s just so much going on here. This first volume isn’t so much, “Gee, whiz, look at that!” as “Gee, whiz, I can’t wait to learn more about this!”
I don't talk much about the art when I review comics/graphic novels, because I'm not much of an artist or art critic (despite hanging around an art gallery for nigh-on ten years now in return for minimum wage). One of the pleasures of reading a long-running comic like this is seeing how the artist’s style evolves. Indeed, if you start from the beginning or pick up this volume, you’ll see that the first chapter has a very different style and feel to it from subsequent chapters. (Alternatively, Lunsford remade Chapter 1 and summarized the rest of Part 1 of the story at the end of Part 2, which might help new readers.) I love watching Lunsford do new things with his panels and character poses.
Perhaps my favourite thing about the way he draws is his ability to convey so much emotion with his characters’ arms/stances. Even from a distance or in a silhouette, a character’s posture says everything about what they’re feeling. This talent allows him to save on text and use it to convey other information, and it results in some beautiful panels. My favourite example from this volume is this page, where Daisy throws up her arms, yelling, “Ah! Massive downer! We need to fix this ASAP!” and then continues to talk in a quick, clipped manner in the next panel as she practically forces Fiona to her hairdresser. Love it.
The nice thing about a volume collecting a webcomic is that you don’t have to take my word for it; you can just read it all yourself, for free. I bought the hard copy version because I wanted to support the creator, I hate reading one page at a time on a screen on the website, and I can’t take an ereader into my bath with me. As far as the physical book goes, it looks and feels just like you’d expect any trade edition of a graphic novel to feel. (It’s also available as an ebook, though, if that’s your fancy.)
Next up I’ll review Volume 2, and I’ll share my thoughts on Fiona’s arc, Henderson, and the backstories Lunsford reveals.
**spoiler alert** Yes, it’s another review of Saga, this time of Volume Three, the last of three volumes I bought for a friend. It’s hard to think of **spoiler alert** Yes, it’s another review of Saga, this time of Volume Three, the last of three volumes I bought for a friend. It’s hard to think of original things to say, having read and reviewed the first two in quick succession. So let’s look at the journey Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples are taking us on after nearly twenty issues of this incredibly story.
I’m impressed at the complexity of the supporting cast. Kiara, Marko’s mother, spends much of this volume processing her husband’s death. It’s a significant subplot that affects how she related to the others present in Heist’s lighthouse, including the ornery pacifist author himself. Through these multi-generational moments, Vaughan justifies the somewhat generic name for Saga here. Kiara is walking around with a whole lot of prejudices. But she wants what is best for her child and her grandchild, and a good part of this volume concerns her need to reconcile her prejudices with Alana and Marko’s relationship. (I enjoyed the moment where she is watching them out the window of the lighthouse and asks, “What is Alana doing? Is she prayiny—no, no she is not.”)
Likewise, the Will and Gwendolyn really undergo a huge transition in this volume. At the beginning they are nearly at each other’s throats, and by the end, Gwendolyn is forced to tell Marko that “the man I love” is dying. She is forced to confront her hypocrisy of falling in love with a man from another species even as she hunts Marko for much the same “crime.” I admit I was a little sceptical about Gwendolyn falling for the Will so quickly. One of the limitations of graphic novels, however, unlike its wordier sibling, is that it is more expensive to devote time to flashbacks and other backstory exposition. So there is a lot we don’t know about Gwendolyn (or the Will, for that matter, although there are some interesting revelations concerning his family life towards the end of this volume) that might come up in future issues.
If I thought Volume Two ended with an excellent cliffhanger, then Volume Three is not a disappointment either. Vaughan allows some time to pass. Hazel foreshadows that the antagonists and our heroes are going their separate ways for “a very long time.” I still think Prince Robot IV is a dick, but I kind of like Gwendolyn and the Will, and I really want the best for them. So, you know, stupid Vaughan and Staples for making me care about people who want our heroes captured or killed! I shake my fist at you.
This is not the place to jump in if you haven’t read Saga before. Do yourself a favour and pick up the first two volumes. But as far as I’m concerned as a days-old fan of the series, it just keeps getting better.
**spoiler alert** Now, I am a lucky and spoiled person who is reading Saga collected in volumes, rather than reading each issue as it is released like**spoiler alert** Now, I am a lucky and spoiled person who is reading Saga collected in volumes, rather than reading each issue as it is released like a chump—er, I mean, true fan. I guess it’s comparable to binge-watching a show after the entire season has been released rather than watching it week-by-week. In the end, you get to the same place. But the experience is totally different.
Saga, Volume Two raises the stakes after Volume One set up the universe and the conflict. Alana and Marko are still on the run, and now they have a destination: Quietus, home of schlock romance writer D.O. Heist, who is apparently Alana’s idea of a sage who can advise them on how to spend the rest of their fugitive lives. But there’s a twist—because Marko’s parents have tracked him down, and they aren’t thrilled at his choice of wife. The ensuing family drama really showcases Brian K. Vaughan’s ability to synthesize different levels of conflict.
The centre of Saga is Hazel, the child of two worlds (TVTropes) who is also the narrator. This is her saga, it’s implied, her genesis and coming of age. She is important because her heritage is unique—Landfall and Wreath hate each other so much that both sides are terrified at the prospect that two of their soldiers could possibly have fallen in love and had a child. She is also important because of her parents—not only did they make her, but they have the drive and desire to raise her peacefully. In addition to the struggle to survive and stay one step ahead of everyone who wants to kill or capture them, Alana and Marko’s biggest struggle, and the centre of this story, is going to be about how to raise Hazel. We can already see that happening in these early issues.
I think it’s interesting that even as Alana and Marko adjust to being a parent, both of the antagonists hunting them are dealing with the possibility of fatherhood. Prince Robot IV learns that his wife is pregnant while he is on the hunt for the fugitives. His appears to be a marriage of state; though he seems to have some fondness for his wife, so far I get the impression he’s more concerned about perpetuating his robot line. (Generally, I think he’s kind of a dick.) The Will, on the other hand, has essentially adopted Slave Girl, whom he busts out from Sextillion because he’s down with killing children but not having sex with them. (I like the Will, unlike my feelings towards Robot IV—I feel like, despite his past, he seems like he can be redeemed with the right sort of experience.)
Even as Vaughan’s storytelling expands the universe and advances the plot, Staples’ art once again elevates Saga above simply “a good space opera.” Her characters are fun and diverse: robots, humanoids, mice medics…. This time I want to remark on the backgrounds and the scenery. Thanks to the different POVs and the magic of flashbacks, we see quite a few planets: Cleave, Landfall, Wreath, Quietus, and others. Staples gives each different characteristics and climates. I suspect that is difficult to do given the limited page space and how much has to be taken up by characters, action, or dialogue. But this, combined with the dialogue and narration, really helps lend a sense of grandeur to the setting of Saga. People in this universe get around. They planet hop, whether on their own ships, like the Will does, or chartered cruisers, like Prince Robot IV does when he goes from Landfall to Cleave (until he gets his own wheels, because reasons).
Volume Two ends on a sweet twist/reveal and cliffhanger that left me really excited to read Volume Three. I loved watching Robot’s confrontation with Heist only for the “camera” to “pan up” and narrator!Hazel to reveal that, in fact, they preceded the Prince to Quietus. Sweet! Can’t wait to see how this turns out.
If Volume One hooked me into Saga, then Volume Two only reaffirmed that feeling. This is premium grade crack storytelling. Don’t look at me funny when I say that, or I will cut you.
Alana and Marko have escaped danger for now, but they are still fugitives. Their unique child, Hazel, will be recognized for what she is no matter wheAlana and Marko have escaped danger for now, but they are still fugitives. Their unique child, Hazel, will be recognized for what she is no matter where they go. So they are living in disguise on a backwater planet called Gardenia, and it’s causing no end of tension. Alana tries to support her family through a superhero soap opera, while Marko takes care of Hazel. Life seems both easier and harder than it was before. But as the end of the first chapter says, “This is the story of how my parents split up.” Sucker punch, much? Saga, Volume 4 delivers some of Brian K. Vaughan and Fiona Staples’ best work yet.
At first as I was all, “Noooooo, Alana/Marko forever!!!!” in my most fangirly of internal dialogues while I sat reading this volume. In retrospect, though, it was a cool move. It’s a natural development of the pressure they have been under—it shouldn’t come as a surprise to anyone. Vaughan and Staples don’t go for the cheap plays—they introduce a potential affair for Marko, but I really like how that gets resolved—and instead show us that the disagreement Alana and Marko have is a result of stress and tension. It’s not that Mommy and Daddy don’t love each other anymore—things are just … difficult … at the moment.
And then a robot shows up and kidnaps, like, everyone. Because Saga!
It has been literally a year since I read the first three volumes of Saga, because I bought those for a Christmas present for a friend. So my memory of the specifics is pretty vague. But it started coming back to me as Vaughan and Staples jumped to the various storylines. I suppose those multiple storylines is one reason this is called Saga, and I imagine it must be difficult deciding how much space in each chapter to devote to each story. So far they seem to be balancing it pretty well.
Although external conflict makes an appearance towards the end of this volume—and boy does it make an appearance when it finally shows up—most of the conflict in this volume is internal and emotional. I appreciate that, especially in a series that does have a lot of violence. This volume is a bit of a respite from that violence (at least at first) but no rest for Alana, Marko, et al. In particular, Vaughan and Staples show a new side of Alana we couldn’t see until now: motherhood guilt. She feels so bad not being able to spend enough time with Hazel, even though she is single-handedly supporting the family with her job. And it’s a crappy job at that. The resulting spiral culminating in substance abuse, recriminations, and an epic argument is nothing short of excellent.
Towards the end, as the storylines start to converge again, the theme of parenting and the extent to which parents will go for their children becomes more apparent. That very last shot at the end of Chapter 24 … well, without spoiling it, let’s just say that it’s the kind of use of the Enemy Mine trope (TVTropes) that we love.
If you’ve been reading Saga until now, you have no reason to stop. If you haven’t read Saga, go start at Volume 1 (or get Book 1, which collects the first three volumes) and settle in for a crazy ride.
Minor spoiler: I love that King Robot has a massive flatscreen TV as a head. I had to stop at that two-page spread and laugh for a solid minute before I could go in. It’s perfect.
Saga first came onto my radar last year when it was nominated for a Hugo Award. (Volume Two was nominated this year!) In fact, I’m pretty sure that itSaga first came onto my radar last year when it was nominated for a Hugo Award. (Volume Two was nominated this year!) In fact, I’m pretty sure that it was included in the Voters Packet.
I didn’t read it.
I don’t read many graphic novels. I understand why people like them, and part of me wishes I read more—but obviously that’s not a big enough part, or else I actually would. Simply put, I am a word person. I like massive blocks of text—the meatier the better, which is probably why Victorian novels are often my jam. When I see a page filled with pictures, and maybe a few speech bubbles, I skim. It’s a kind of inattention that others probably reserve for the opposite situation, when the only reaction to a wall of text is to read every couple of lines and interpolate. I feel bad for this reaction, because I’m aware that artists put amazing work into graphic novels, and I don’t want to devalue that work. I’m just wired to like and revel in words more than pictures. (This is why, despite having worked in an art gallery for six of the last eight years, I seldom spend much time actually looking at the exhibitions.)
When I read graphic novels, though—I’m saying this in my best Most Interesting Man in the World Voice—I read speculative fiction (but not, typically, superhero fiction). Saga is definitely in my wheelhouse in terms of what I want from a graphic novel. The actual motivation for reading it now is that I bought the first three volumes as a Christmas present for a friend. I like to give friends books I have read, so I can honestly recommend them; that isn’t always a realistic option, though, so sometimes I madly rush to read the book before I have to give it to them.
If anything, this first volume demonstrates the versatility and power that a graphic novel, unlike its literary sibling, wields in the hands of a good writer and artist. Since I spent a paragraph describing why I don’t prefer graphic novels, it only seems fair that I now spend some time talking about how graphic novels can do things that only the most sophisticated of novelists can accomplish with the written word. Fiona Staples isn’t simply illustrating Brian K. Vaughan’s story … she’s reifying a vividly imagined world of possibility.
The protagonists are humanoid. One has wings. The other has horns. They exist in a space operatic setting in which a planet and its moon are at war. There’s spider-like bounty hunters, lie-detecting cats, robot nobility with literal blue blood. The planet Sextillion features such weird imaginings as headless guards with mouths in their bellies (and rather … interesting codpieces). Saga is indubitably graphic, but in the most fascinating way. Perhaps the best way I can describe it is that Staples’ art comes as close as I can imagine to China Miéville’s words. Staples would do a good job illustrating New Crobuzon.
The plot of Saga, Volume One is simultaneously conventional and unique. Vaughan unites magic and technology into a single science fictional setting that is heavily reminiscent of Star Wars, if ILM had still done the special effects but somehow George Lucas had decided to outsource all the creative decisions to the directors of the Flash Gordon era of science-fiction filmmaking. Staples’ character design is iconic in its use of colours and shading—not only to create a brilliant sense of difference, as I describe above, but to create depths of tone. I love the expression on the characters’ faces.
The story is exactly what I want in a space fantasy opera, though: intense interpersonal relationships set against the backdrop of a larger, interstellar conflict. Alana and Marko just want their child to grow up and be loved—what parent doesn’t?—but neither Landfall nor Wreath can let that happen. Peace is too dangerous to their eternal warfare. It is a beautiful, heart-wrenching, gut-punching story. It is … a Saga.
I’m writing this review having finished the first two volumes; I’m about to start Volume Three. So excited. I am not a graphic novel reader, but Saga definitely got me hooked. It just goes to show that you need to keep an open mind and read widely, because every form and every genre has things to offer you.
Unlike the majority of the other reviews on Goodreads for this book, I did not receive this as a NetGalley preview, so I did read 400 pages of adventuUnlike the majority of the other reviews on Goodreads for this book, I did not receive this as a NetGalley preview, so I did read 400 pages of adventure following the Tenth Doctor and the mysterious adversary the Advocate. As with my recent experience with a tie-in novel, I don’t ordinarily go for tie-in graphic novels. This was, again, a Christmas present.
I enjoyed Winter’s Dawn, Season’s End more than Engines of War. Maybe it’s the fact that, with pictures, we get to see more of the physicality of the Doctor come to life. This is a collection of 16 issues told over 6 chapters, the upshot being that it’s a hodgepodge of artists and writers. I liked a couple of the renditions of David Tennant but not all of them. However, the layout is extremely nice across every issue. The artists and writers make full use of the way the comic medium can draw attention to certain details or minimize others. Each page is carefully balanced; each panel conveys just the right amount of information. At times the speech bubbles struggle to contain the Doctor’s verbosity.
The first three chapters comprise the majority of the book. The Tenth Doctor is fresh from saving all the universes with the help of Donna—and fresh from the pain of losing her. (Donna is one of my favourite companions, and to me her loss is harsher even than death … because it’s like she never even got to travel with the Doctor. I’m still upset with RTD for doing that to her.) He stumbles onto a mysterious device in 1926, ends up on “trial” before the Shadow Proclamation, does lots and lots of running, takes on some companions, and bounces around time and space trying to foil the plans of the Advocate.
As far as Doctor Who stories go, it is fairly standard—almost slavishly so, one might say. The writers seem hellbent on paying tribute to any number of past stories and situations. The Advocate is a manipulator bent on playing mind games with the Doctor in the same vein as the Master or the Black Guardian. Matthew is overtly likened to Turlough numerous times. We get to revisit Martha and UNIT (which is a lot of fun), various weak-willed humans betray their species to sweet-talking aliens only to discover a change of heart and sacrifice themselves for the Doctor, and generally we get reminded that the Doctor inspires a lot of people to get hurt. And he’s very, very sorry about that.
Coming to this now, just as Peter Capaldi is about to start his second season as the Twelfth Doctor, evokes a certain nostalgia. This story is very much Tenth Doctor, in that it has his characteristic softness as well as his characteristic anger at injustice. He delivers some passionate invective against the use of weapons and force, and he shows us that almost irresponsible, joyful appreciation of the chaotic wonders of the cosmos. And underlying it all is the tragedy of the Tenth Doctor’s companions. He just can’t catch a break with them, and it’s really damaging his relationship with people in general.
(Just as I resent the way RTD wrote out Donna, what’s up in general with the way companions in the new series get written out so … dramatically? Martha is the only companion who has really just walked away, and not without considerable psychic baggage of her own. But the whole thing with Amy and Rory was just stupid. Anyway, I digress.)
So as a reader who considers the Tenth Doctor my Doctor, Winter’s Dawn, Season’s End creates all sorts of warm, bubbly feelings inside me. I appreciated and cherished every moment with this book … even though, objectively, the story is derivative and fairly lacklustre. I think this will not be a surprising sentiment to my fellow fans: Doctor Who has had some excellent storytelling, but fandom has never been about appreciating the show for its stories. We have stuck with Doctor Who through good and bad and terrible; we muddle along when the show does because we love the Doctor and the TARDIS and all the amazing companions who make those two even more amazing. The stories, really, are just there to give the characters something to do.
The back end of the collection is the 2010 Annual, which seems to be three very short, somewhat whimsical stories with little in the way of plot. I sped through them, shrugged, and flipped back through the earlier chapters quickly before sitting down to the write this review.
While I’m not going to become a collector or a regular reader of Doctor Who comics or graphic novels, this collection was a nice change of pace from what I usually read, and some welcome time with the Tenth Doctor. It’s more fun than good, if you know what I mean—and if you don’t, just move along. You have plenty other Doctors and adventures to enjoy.
At first I thought I wouldn’t be able to write a very deep review of Simon’s Cat vs The World. After all, what can one say about something that is, ulAt first I thought I wouldn’t be able to write a very deep review of Simon’s Cat vs The World. After all, what can one say about something that is, ultimately, an all-ages picture book? I thought, I’m going to review this just because I know I’m already going to miss my reading goal for this year, but damned if I’m not going to use a picture book to get me that much closer. Then I realized Ben the Literature Snob was rearing his ugly head once again: how dare I be so biased? This isn’t a picture book. It’s a satirical graphic novella about the relationship between an owner and his very independent, very spirited feline! It deserves serious review and critique!
Let’s do this.
Simon’s Cat vs The World opens with the usual shenanigans: Simon’s cat tries to get at birds, climbs too high on a stack of boxes, tears a hole in Simon’s tent, etc. We have the usual reluctance to go for walks, go to the vet, or basically do anything we want the cat to do. As the story progresses, the cat manifests multiple schemes against other anthropomorphized animals—dogs and doves, hedgehogs and rabbits and mice. Sometimes these animals are allies, sometimes they are foes who lay their own traps for the cat, and sometimes they are neutral, disinterested parties. Truly, Tofield captures the ever-shifting nature of animal relationships. Left alone, they might be predators and prey—but in the face of human intervention, they can work together to achieve interesting results.
The adage that cats have nine lives springs to mind when reading this book, for Simon’s cat invariably gets into precarious positions that would diminish or even extinguish lesser pets. It just goes to show the incredible resilience of cats, and their propensity for prevailing even against a preponderance of odds. Ultimately, Tofield lends credence to those who theorize that cats are the superior life-form, that they are the masters and we, the pets.
With this in mind, then, it’s important to note that Simon’s cat is far from invincible. Though he often depicts his cat as outsmarting the various inventions that a human uses to curtail cat activities, Simon’s cat is equally as likely to be bested by objects, both animate and inanimate, or even simple hubris (perhaps the most dangerous cat vice). I think it would be accurate to describe Simon’s cat less as a hero and more as an antihero; rather than following the monomyth, the cat instead traces a loose arc from nuisance and menace to an endearing but mischievous friend. The cat is chaotic neutral at best.
Of course, it’s impossible to critique any graphical depiction of cat lifestyles without talking about the ur-example of the genre: Garfield. This comic strip cemented the stereotype of the lazy, entitled feline whose only motivators were a love for lasagna and a distaste for younger, more energetic cats. Garfield is a funny character, but the dominance of his comic strip on cat-lit for the past few decades means that it’s always refreshing to see authors who take this genre in a different direction. I wouldn’t go so far as to say that Tofield subverts many of the tropes of cat-lit, but he definitely executes them in ways that belie the Garfield stereotype. While Simon often appears as frazzled as John might, he is clearly less pessimistic. It’s an open question whether this is because of, in spite of, or the reason for his cat’s energetic antics. Much like nature versus nurture, the complex feedback loop between cat and human will likely never be resolved.
As the book is more a series of single-page vignettes than a coherent plot, it’s difficult to review Simon’s Cat vs The World as a story. It’s more of a carousel of characterization. The art is lovely and the situations both diverse and highly risible. Children and adults alike will derive a good fifteen to thirty minutes of enjoyment from the initial reading of this book. And, as they continue to mull over the complex interplay of its subtext about the relationship between cats and humans, they will come to appreciate Tofield’s insights into the myriad ways in which cats manifest their intelligence and perspicacity in getting their own way. Any cat owner is bound to see their cat in Simon’s cat. As for those who aren’t cat lovers? Well … I guess you can always go read Tintin or something.
Zombie fiction always sneaks up on me. I never consciously seek it out, but I end up reading it nonetheless. Nowdays is different from any other zombiZombie fiction always sneaks up on me. I never consciously seek it out, but I end up reading it nonetheless. Nowdays is different from any other zombie fiction I’ve read so far in that it’s a graphic novel, a medium I enjoy but don’t necessarily follow as much as I could. It’s also notable in that its authors are from my hometown, and they chose to set the story in that area. Whereas most zombie fiction focuses on the survivors of a zombie apocalypse as a kind of microcosm for the remnants of society, Nowadays decides to turn most of its main characters into zombies. The twist is that, provided they aren’t too badly injured, zombie!you is pretty much the same as human!you, except with a thirst for blood.
The book opens with a kind of prologue: a man wakes up to discover he has had a heart attack and is now a zombie. So he eats part of his dog. Then his dog becomes a zombie. Together, they dig up his wife and daughter, who died in a car crash, and find blood to help regenerate them. We meet this character again later in the book, but the action quickly jumps to follow the main cast: a group of young tree-planters and their boss, Tree, as well Ray, who escaped from alcohol rehab and joins up with them. They quickly fall prey to zombies, and as they begin to operate under the principal that, once you’re bitten you’re doomed to become one of them, the group begins to fracture as some people prove to be more ruthless than others.
Eventually they discover that a sense of self remains intact after zombification. This is a neat twist that introduces a number of new dilemmas. Should you still kill all the zombies when they can talk and reason? Will we instead have to find a way to co-exist with zombie-kind? Merk and Martell don’t really address these bigger issues, preferring instead to focus on what the apocalypse does to a small group of people thrown together by the outbreak. Their different reactions to the revelation that life doesn’t end after zombification offer a glimpse at what might be happening in the wider world.
I love that this was set in Northwestern Ontario, if only because I get a kick out of reading place names that I’m familiar with. The art in this book uses a combination of drawing and photo manipulation (the latter mostly on background scenery), which creates an interesting, surreal effect. I have to admit that I’m not overly impressed by the style of the drawing; it lacks a certain flair in favour of a simple colour palette and blocky depictions at a distance. But that doesn’t mean the art is bad—the style is clearly a deliberate choice that I’m sure will work for other people.
I really enjoyed the story. At first I was a little sceptical, both because of my general wariness towards zombie stories and because nothing grabbed me at first. So I was surprised when I turned the last page and found myself hungry for more. In part this is because of the kickass cliffhanger at the end—without spoiling anything, I am really interested to find out what the military are really up to in the cordoned off Thunder Bay. And, of course, what’s up with that weird voice uttering "Blood is power" in Latin to everyone who wakes up as a zombie? Nowadays tells a satisfying story on its own while still setting up enough to keep the series going into several books.
I’m not sure that if I truly hated zombie stories this would be enough to win me over (or maybe I’m just going soft in my old age). It helps that the authors don’t try to do too much here. They focus on the conflict created within the group by each person’s differing priorities. They aren’t afraid to split the group up and bring it back together after creating a certain amount of tension and exploring subplots. For example, both Ray and Tree become separated from the main group at different points, and it seems like they are “goners”, if you can say that about a world where the dead rise as zombies. But they both find their way back to the group (first after finding each other), both changed in different ways—Ray a zombie, Tree oddly sympathetic to the dead folk. Meanwhile, the rest of the group is holed up in a hotel, where one of them is going crazy and wants revenge. So it goes.
Nowadays is some good zombie fiction and a good graphic novel. It’s something new, something different from what I often encounter when I dip my toes into this sub-genre from time to time. And that’s always good.
This is such an amazing concept, and when I first heard about it, I was taken aback by how unbelievably awesome it might be. Some of Shakespeare’s mosThis is such an amazing concept, and when I first heard about it, I was taken aback by how unbelievably awesome it might be. Some of Shakespeare’s most memorable characters face off against each other in a desperate race to find a wizard named William Shakespeare. Othello, Juliet, Falstaff, and others believe that “Will” will deliver them from the tyranny of King Richard III. Richard, along with the Macbeths and Iago, plot to kill Shakespeare and obtain his quill—and with it, his magic. Thrust into the middle of this conflict is Hamlet, initially rescued by Richard and dubbed “the Shadow King”, prophesied, according to Richard, to kill Shakespeare and free England from the wizard’s tyranny. Later, Hamlet escapes from Richard’s grasp and learns that not all is what it seems with the King of England. But the question remains: whose side is he on, and who is this elusive Shakespeare?
Would that I could give this book the rating it deserves for its concept alone! Alas, in execution Kill Shakespeare leaves me feeling somewhat unsatisfied. There’s plenty to like about this book: witty dialogue, crafty villains, humorous situations, and allusions to many of Shakespeare’s plays. Yet beneath all these myriad elements of farce, the central element of story suffers.
Hamlet’s indecision is probably the most compelling conflict in this first volume. Exiled from Denmark for the murder of Polonius, Hamlet ends up in England, essentially a “guest” of Richard III. To both Hamlet and us (except, if you know who Richard III is, you know better), Richard seems like the good guy: a philosopher-king desperate to save his kingdom from the oppressive magic of this mysterious wizard. Only Hamlet, the shadow king, can save them by killing Shakespeare! Hamlet, still understandably traumatized, is not enamoured with the idea of becoming a contract killer. Still, he begins to form a friendship with Iago as they ride across the countryside in the company of Richard’s men.
Once Hamlet hears the other side of the story from Falstaff and Juliet, he—surprise, surprise—becomes indecisive! He’s a stranger to this land; he has no quarrel with either side, or with William Shakespeare. That being said, I feel like my background knowledge of these characters (and it’s rather obvious even if you aren’t familiar with Shakespeare’s plays) upset the dynamic in this moral ambiguity. It seems so obvious that Juliet and the Protagonists (as they are called, hah) are the “good guys” and that Richard and Lady Macbeth are Evil. In fact, when I think about it, there’s nothing all that original or unique about the overall plot here—one might as well have used some different, generic characters and still arrived at the same ending. What do the Shakespearean characters add to this story?
Not much. However, the opposite is true. I quite liked seeing Othello having to confront Iago, Juliet giving a speech about how much she has lost and how she needs to believe in this “Will”, Hamlet struggling with his guilt over the death of Polonius and his father’s death and in general being quite useless. Kill Shakespeare gives these characters a brand new environment in which they can continue to explore their motivations and grow from their experiences in their respective plays. (Of course, since most of Shakespeare’s tragic figures end up driving a dagger betwixt their breasts, they need a miracle exemption.) Not every character fares so well in this type of adaptation: I’m not a fan of Lady Macbeth’s recasting as some kind of evil sorceress. Yeah, in the Scottish Play she coveted power—perhaps more so even than her husband—but her role in Kill Shakespeare seems rather forced. The same might be said for Juliet: exactly how she went from weeping maiden to warrior maiden (TVTropes) isn’t clear. I’m willing to cut the authors some slack here, because Shakespeare is much like The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy: versatile and mutable, changing to fit its medium and its audience.
I’m completing my final year of my undergraduate degree, at the end of which I’ll be certified to teach high school math and English. So while I read Kill Shakespeare, I evaluated it not only as a book but with the eye of possibly using it to engage students with the world of Shakespeare. Let’s face it: the Bard is difficult, because he’s writing in a language (and meter) 400 years removed from us, for a style and form that has evolved well beyond the Elizabethan playhouse. So reimaginings, adaptations, and mashups of Shakespearean works are valuable tools for conveying Shakespeare’s plays to modern day audiences. I’m not certain Kill Shakespeare retains enough of the flavour and content of Shakespeare’s plays to be worth teaching on its own, but it would definitely make an interesting supplementary aid.
I suspect that ultimately my feelings about this story will be swayed by the final volume. Do they actually kill Shakespeare? (Probably not.) Will we get to see characters from some of his other works, such as King Lear or The Tempest? (A short comic included at the end implies that the dagger Richard gives to Hamlet to use on Shakespeare is the same dagger that Brutus used to stab Caesar.) I’m sure that half the fun the writers had was trying to come up with ways to include various characters—and there are so many of them—so I’m looking forward to seeing more of that in Volume 2. Kill Shakespeare didn’t blow my mind like I was hoping it would, but it this first volume is still a decent enough example of how, 400 years on, William Shakespeare is still rocking my world.
Somewhat disappointingly, this is not a story about what happens to Malcolm Reynolds and the crew of Serenityafter the Rapture. It's an interstitial Somewhat disappointingly, this is not a story about what happens to Malcolm Reynolds and the crew of Serenityafter the Rapture. It's an interstitial between the abrupt ending of Firefly and the Serenity movie, covering some of the difficulty the crew has getting work, as well as Shepherd Book and Inara's departures. We also see an old antagonist, Lawrence Dobson, return for revenge.
In case you don't remember him, Dobson was an Alliance agent on the trail of Simon and River in the first episode. Mal shoots out his eye and leaves him for dead. Now Dobson is back, and he wants Mal. He's rather obsessed about it. And now he gets a little help from the men in blue gloves. Only not that much, see, because his plan is ready to be put into action. He just doesn't have Alliance clearance, which makes his plan more difficult but not impossible. The men in blue gloves are a convenient opportunity and nothing more.
Yeah, this story is a little all over the place.
Unfortunately, Serenity: Those Left Behind just tries to do too much. It invokes several guest characters from the book: Dobson, the hands of blue, and even Badger. But the plot is messy, paced much too fast, and not all that enthralling. Mal and the crew are having a hard time getting work, but Badger supplies them with the coordinates to a spaceship graveyard left over from a famous battle in the War for Independence. This is apparently a setup, because Dobson lies in wait to ambush Mal why he's exploring the wreckage for Nazi gold. Er, Alliance gold.
It's all a little too convenient, contrived, and not at all clever. Seems to me that it would be much easier to ambush Mal on a planet. I guess Dobson, obsessed as he is with revenge instead of just eliminating Mal safely and efficiently, is not thinking too clearly. I expected something more formidable from the men in blue gloves, but they come off as a bumbling pair of incompetents.
The characterization isn't impressive either. There are some heavy-handed moments between Simon and Kaylee where the latter says something and Simon acts dense, and the mood is lost without the tone provided by Sean Maher and Jewel Staite. Similarly, any of the significance in the tension between Book and Mal or Inara and Mal suffers.
The trouble with tie-in media for my favourite television shows is that it just isn't the same. Comics and novels that continue the adventures of my beloved characters lack a crucial part of the experience: the actor's performance. When I was a child and an adolescent, this did not bother me as much (I remember that the first audiobook to which I ever listened was a Star Trek: Voyager audiobook on CD, narrated by Robert Picardo). Nowadays, I tend to avoid Star Trek novels. Buffy: The Vampire Slayer is a show that was so great, sometimes it hurts just thinking about its greatness. Yet I have been in no hurry to read its continuation in comic form—the same goes for Angel, and even for Firefly. Joss Whedon is a brilliant writer, but his characters are also partly the result of the acting of his well-casted talents. And those are absent from productions such as this.
I don't mean to be a hater. There are some "special features" that almost redeem this book: Nathan Fillion's introduction, Joss Whedon's pre-production notes for Sersnity, and artwork of the characters by various artists. It's a neat little package, but it has the misfortune to be wrapped around a story that does not meet my expectations when it comes to Whedon and the Firefly universe. There are a few moments where I can see the characters shine through, such as when Mal is about to surrender the money but then chooses to pick a fight when the other thief demands his gun as well. I knew even before I turned the page that there was no way Mal would part with his gun. But that is a trained reaction I acquired after coming to know and love these characters in the TV series. This comic book had great potential, but for the most part, I got left behind.
**spoiler alert** It's been several years since I first read Watchmen, so I decided to read it again in preparation for eventually seeing the film. La**spoiler alert** It's been several years since I first read Watchmen, so I decided to read it again in preparation for eventually seeing the film. Lauded on the cover as "One of TIME magazine's 100 best novels" and a "Winner of the Hugo Award" it's easy to get swept up in the love-fest that is Watchmen. While it's true I loved this book (as shown by the five star rating), I'm going to try to discuss aspects I didn't like or downright despised in addition to what I love about it.
Now, I'm too young to have been around in the real 1985 (I was born four years later). I didn't know the McCarthy era; I didn't see the moon-landing; and I wasn't around for Vietnam or Watergate. People who live through those times no doubt have a slightly different perspective on this book, since it's an alternate history of a period with which they are so familiar. For me, the real history may as well be fiction.
The issues and themes that pervade Watchmen remain relevant today. We have not escaped the shadow of Mutually-Assured Destruction, even if tensions between the United States and Russia have cooled off into an amicable simmer. Alan Moore successfully took a world far-enough removed from our own to have fantastic elements, like Dr. Manhattan, but familiar enough to make us shiver when we read the very ending.
My favourite character is Dr. Manhattan, which I'm sure won't surprise people. I find his non-linear perception of time fascinating. Discussing predestination and non-linear time is a great way to pass an afternoon. While the theme of fighting against destiny is by no means original, Moore treats it in a refreshing way by turning it into a side-plot. It's incidental to the rest of the story. Yet Manhattan's remark to Veidt at the end of the novel, that nothing ever ends, is as chilling as it is pithy. Veidt went to all this trouble to prevent Manhattan from interfering, even going so far as to try to kill Dr. Manhattan--and to what end? If Manhattan is correct, everyone's actions and reactions--his, Veidt's, Nite Owl's, and Rorschach's--were predetermined. It was all meant to happen this way, because it has already happened that way.
Reading this book for the second time reminded me how much I disliked the Comedian. I understand the point that Moore was trying to make, but Edward Blake was just an offensive person! Rape scene aside, the entire scene with Blake, Manhattan--again with Manhattan--and the Vietnamese women pregnant with Blake's child ... it makes me shiver. Amorality is so much scarier than immorality--the latter knows it's wrong; the former doesn't care if it's right or wrong. Both the Comedian and Dr. Manhattan are intrinsically amoral beings--and in this way, Moore's observing that to be a superhero, you need to be amoral at least some of the time--but to different outcomes. Does that make one "better" than the other? I don't know.
The moral ambiguity that suffuses the protagonists of Watchmen alone makes the story interesting. Superhero movies seem to be popular recently, and we love to glorify the superhero even as we attempt to make him or her "flawed." Yet Watchmen makes superheroes flawed not because they're human, but because they're trying to be superhuman when they so obviously aren't. Rorshach understands and accepts this--his amoral behaviour is the price for what he believes is "utter clarity" of purpose.
I never really got into the whole "Black Freighter" story-within-a-story. From a literary standpoint, I see that it draws a parallel between the main character and the protagonists of Watchmen, who in their attempt to save the world run the risk of losing their own humanity. I just found it somewhat superfluous, however; I question if the narrative would be less effective if "Black Freighter" weren't included.
Likewise, the disappearance of the author of "Black Freighter", Max Shea, and his subsequent involvement with the infamous squid didn't make much sense to me. I never understood why Veidt needed a bunch of writers and artists to get his squid idea to work properly. Then again, I always skimmed through those last pages (both the first time I read it and this time) because Veidt spent so many of them droning on about how he wanted to be a modern-day Alexander the Great. Too bad he made the mistake of nearly starting a land war in Asia.
Love the poignant, nostalgic attitude toward the superhero in Watchmen. Love the science fiction. Love the drama and the romance and the high-stakes action. Could do without Bernard the Newspaperman's two-dimensional opinions. Could do without the psychologist who wants to figure out what makes Rorschach tick. But let's not dwell on these things.
Watchmen is, like any great tale, the kind of tale you must read more than once in order to catch the details planted by Moore and Gibbons. And it's the kind of book you can have multiple opinions about at the same time--you can like it and hate it, just because it's so vast and profound that these mutually-exclusive states don't preclude each other within the context of the work. For that reason alone, it deserves the praise given to it as a pinnacle in the form of the graphic novel. Whether or not you enjoy the story or the themes ... well, that's up to you....more
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