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.
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I’d like to crack a joke like, “I love this title because it’s basically my life� except that would be a lie, because I’m actually killing it at adultI’d like to crack a joke like, “I love this title because it’s basically my life� except that would be a lie, because I’m actually killing it at adulting this year � not that I want to be. Sometimes just have to. Still, Bad at Adulting, Good at Feminism really does have an excellent title. Prudence Geerts has produced a cornucopia of tiny comics that illustrate, reflect upon, and poke fun at her own experiences, the way she sees the world, and the way the world might see her. As the title implies, she is, of course, discussing that millennial experience of growing up as the web came of age, of transitioning into adulthood in the age of social media, and, in her case, of being a woman all at the same time. There is a lot in here that I think would resonate with many readers, particularly people in that millennial bracket—but these experiences are by no means unique to that generation.
Geerts� cartoon style is interesting. Her comics usually feature a version of herself, with occasional guest characters (mostly her cat). They present a story in a minimum of words and an economy of visuals. The most predominant comic form is that of a side-by-side of two situations, either two of Geerts, or Geerts and someone else (often a hyper-idealized stereotypical woman), to depict the “expectation� versus the “reality� of a situation. These ones in particular are always clever, and even when they don’t apply to me, I can still sympathize with and understand the point Geerts makes with each one.
Small content note/trigger warning for aromisic language: the section titled “Love Letters� begins with the phrase, “We all fall in love at least once in our lives…�, and the section is quite obviously about the ups and downs of romantic love. These kinds of blanket statements are dehumanizing for aromantic people; not everyone falls “in love� in the sense almost always meant by that phrase. One could simply change it to, “Many of us fall in love at least once in our lives…� and suddenly it isn’t a universal that excludes/erases aro people.
There may be other problematic aspects to these comics, but most of them are about experiences quite different from my own, so it isn’t really my lane to comment on that. I have some thoughts about the “feminism� portion of the adulting/feminist content � suffice it to say, I just think that I’m in a somewhat different place right now in terms of the type of feminist reading I’m looking for. But I really don’t want to invalidate the work that Geerts has put into these comics, because they do embody feminist ideas and messages, and for some people they might land.
Also, this is not the type of book I really enjoy reading. Novels are, of course, my primary jam. When I read comics, I tend to gravitate towards graphic novels. Collections of comics don’t do as well with me. If I had read some of Geerts� comics individually somewhere, I would definitely be entertained, just as I am with xkcd, or The Oatmeal, etc., even though I’m not a huge fan of collection books in general. My friend Rebecca, who lent me this book, absolutely loved it. And I can see why she did! There are delightful things about it. She also pointed out to me that it wasn’t really meant to be read cover-from-cover, as I did, but rather dipped into and sipped at, and that’s a valid point.
And this raises an interesting philosophical issue of literary criticism. When a reader doesn’t consume a book in the way it was intended to be consumed, is that on them? If I attend an arthouse drama and then complain there weren’t enough explosions, aren’t I being a dick for not tempering my expectations to the form? So can I really even properly rate a book if I think I haven’t experienced it in a way that does it justice? Aren’t I being a grumpy curmudgeon?
I mean, you can see that I’ve obviously rated this book. But this is all just a long-winded disclaimer to remind you I’m just here to record my thoughts, and this review is probably not the one you want to be reading if you’re trying to decide whether or not to read this book. Unless you are me, in which case � you’ve already read this book, Ben. Get with the program.
Anyway, I liked many of these comics individually. I like the idea behind the collection, even if the execution isn’t everything I wanted. I definitely think that a lot of people could pick up this collection and enjoy it—for me, personally, Bad at Adulting, Good at Feminism has its moments but overall didn’t leave me wanting more.
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?
She wants her darker skin to be celebrated, not medicated.
She wants to escape the memories of abuse at the hands of heShe doesn’t want to get married.
She wants her darker skin to be celebrated, not medicated.
She wants to escape the memories of abuse at the hands of her uncle and break the cycle for her own daughter.
She wants a job and doesn’t understand why it’s so hard for the men who might hire her to look her in the eye instead of her breasts.
None of these stories are my stories. My story is one of comfort and privilege, ensconced in my male, white, Canadian body. These are the stories of 14 ordinary women from India, women who had the courage to show up at a comic-drawing workshop put on by an Indian artist, Priya Kuriyan, and two German artists, Ludmilla Bartscht and Larissa Bertonasco. Drawing the Line: Indian Women Fight Back! is the product of this creative awakening. As these three explain in their afterword, no one knew quite what to expect. Bartscht and Bertonasco went to India with all these pre-conceptions about what the women would and would not be comfortable drawing and telling. Kuriyan had no idea if she would get along with two foreign artists. No one knew if the women, most of whom had never drawn in their life, would open up enough to share themselves.
Well, spoiler alert: it turned out fantastically.
I backed Ad Astra’s Kickstarter for this North American edition. I don’t really know why; I think someone shared it on Twitter, and it seemed like a nice idea, and I could back at a level appropriate for my budget and get a copy of the book—win-win. This is not the type of book I usually read.
And that is exactly why it’s so important that I read it.
I think a lot about the idea of “reading widely�, both what it means and why it is important.
Even when we try not to judge others for what they read, we are often judgmental through how we profess our own reading tastes. “Oh, science fiction? I don’t touch the stuff� is not really much better than just coming out and telling me you think my sci-fi habit is juvenile or silly. And I’m just as guilty of looking down my nose at romance-readers, Western enthusiasts, or hardcore thriller tasters. We’re a judgy species; we like to label and categorize ourselves and others.
I don’t often read graphic novels. Visual storytelling does not fill the space in my soul the same way a page packed with words does.
And I don’t often read the types of stories contained in Drawing the Line—though this, I feel, is more because I have not sought out such stories, nor are they as ubiquitous, rather than a preference on my part.
So it’s important for me, every once in a while, to stretch myself. To read outside of that comfort zone. Sometimes that means trying on a romance or a thriller for size. Sometimes that means picking up an anthology of comics created by women who want to share their voices with the world.
I didn’t understand every nuance of these stories, of course, but in general they are eye-opening glimpses at incidents and ideas I wouldn’t otherwise consider. The whole thing about skin-lightening, for instance. Several women link the lightness of their skin to marriage prospects and family attitudes. Also, I really enjoyed “An Ideal Girl� by Soumya Menon, both in its artistic execution and in the story it tells. Menon’s positive depiction of how the eponymous girl breaks out of the mould of expectations set for her to take agency is quite compelling.
The variety of art styles might be distracting to some, but I kind of like it. I like the idea that in the future I can take this down from the shelf, open it to a story at random, and get something a little different every time.
I don’t know if I would recommend Drawing the Line specifically to everyone, though I’d encourage you to check it out if you get an opportunity. But this is the type of book I’d recommend to everyone, in so far as I think everyone should read more, and read widely.
**spoiler alert** It has been over a year since I last reviewed a volume of Supernormal Step, the by Michael Lee Lunsford about Fio**spoiler alert** It has been over a year since I last reviewed a volume of Supernormal Step, the 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 . Then later 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 , 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 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 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 , 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 (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.
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.
Given my reading habits, and how quickly I read, I find it difficult to go out and get every issue of a serial. I’vI don’t read comic books that much.
Given my reading habits, and how quickly I read, I find it difficult to go out and get every issue of a serial. I’ve read some collected works, like Sandman, and enjoyed them—storytelling is storytelling, whether it’s in words or art on a page. Digital editions might help, once we finally give up on that DRM nonsense. However, even with that hurdle cleared, I’ll admit I’m not a very visual person. Pictures, whether they are paintings or prints or ink drawings, do not communicate with me the same way words on a page do—they don’t, as I explained to a friend while we saw Picasso at the AGO, convey as much semantic information to me. This is why, above any other literary form, I am so drawn to the novel: it’s a word-dense method of storytelling, and that appeals to me.
Nevertheless, I think I “dig� comics. I appreciate them, perhaps not as fervently as other fans, but with an eye towards their cultural and artistic significance nonetheless. Even if that weren’t the case, after Lynne M. Thomas� excellent Chicks Dig Time Lords, pre-ordering this from Amazon was a no-brainer. Besides, we nerd genres need to stick together!
At first, I was a little disappointed with Chicks Dig Comics. It might be that I’m less excited about comics than I am about Doctor Who, so perhaps that dampened my enthusiasm for the subjects of these essays. However, I was expecting more of the focused critique of the medium that I saw in Chicks Dig Time Lords. Many of the essays therein were personal, yes, but they always referred back to the show, its production, and its delivery. It was an edification for me, as a fan who came to the series through its 2005 regeneration, to read those accounts. Chicks Dig Comics definitely has a more personal feel to it; almost every essay is about a female fan’s involvement with comic books and how this has enhanced or intersected with her other identities and roles in life.
In that sense, this book doesn’t disappoint—it just wasn’t quite what I expected at first. The essays and interviews are thoughtful, well-written, and above all, insightful. As I continued through the book, my initial disappointment evaporated and then condensed into approval. Because as I kept reading, I started to realize that Chicks Dig Comics isn’t actually “a celebration of comic books� like its subtitle claims. It’s a celebration—and a confession—of the experiences women have with comic books, their relationship to comic books over time. Hence, while the discussions of how most comic books seem aimed and young men are certainly there, they aren’t the focus here.
The value of Chicks Dig Comics comes from the fact it provides space for minorities to speak up about what comics mean to them. The value comes from a reader getting to hear about an experience and say, “Yes, I understand what you mean completely—I’ve had a similar one.� It’s that instant connection to the authors, that sense that you are not alone. It’s putting into words what other fans have felt but could not express. It’s a celebration of women who love comics by women who love comics—and that’s awesome.
The moment this clicked didn’t come until all the way on page 129, during the interview with Greg Rucka. In response to writing so many series with women as the leads, he says this:
But, I think, in all honesty? In all sincerity? I female-identify. I like writing about female characters. I can even go back through my writing—and here I’m talking about the stuff I wrote when I was in my teens � and those stories almost universally have female leads.
And then, to the follow-up question regarding his conscious choice to portray genderqueer characters:
Also, inasmuch as I have always been aware of feminism and interested in feminist politics, I’ve been very aware of sexual politics and issues of sexuality. And, not to be glib about it, but if I female-identify and I’m in a heterosexual relationship, what does that make me? I’ve always been comfortable in my own body, enough that I’m pretty content being biologically male. But certainly intellectually, and emotionally, I’d say that I’ve always identified far more as female than male.
This resonates with me quite a bit. I very carefully reached up to the top left corner of the page and deliberately folded it down into a neat triangle. I don’t dog-ear pages! I annotate; I underline, but to crease the page? I did it anyway.
My exploration of feminism and involvement in feminist discourse has been as much about exploring my own gender identity, and the way I perform gender, as it has been about critiquing gender roles in wider society. A lot of what Rucka says above applies to me—and I’ve said it in various bits and pieces to people at one time or another, but I don’t know if I’ve ever put it all together so succinctly. I tend to form stronger friendships with women than I do men. Like Rucka, my stories often involve women protagonists or at least very important women main characters. And I’m intensely interested in what it’s like to be a woman. (I’m not sure whether the relationship between these last two things is cause-and-effect or effect-and-cause.) It is a perspective I cannot, owing to my biology and socialization, realize myself; I have to seek it vicariously through literature and discussions with female friends. For me, personally, my involvement with feminism has been a quest for empathy.
The bottom line here, though, is that this is a book about women and comics, about women who love comics, and all the awesomeness that results. It crosses generations and occupations—there are essays and interviews here from fans, from authors, from editors, from artists. Rather than presenting a prescriptive, monolithic definition of what it means to be a female fan, Chicks Digs Comics embraces a diversity of perspectives. There are differing opinions on what makes a female character empowered, for instance, or the nature of Barbara Gordon’s transition from able-bodied Batgirl to the disabled Oracle. As with so many things viewed through the lens of feminism, I think it can be tempting to simply condemn comics for being bastions of the male gaze or otherwise demeaning to women—and some of the contributors note the surprised reactions they receive when other women learn of their self-professed feminist fandom. Chicks Digs Comics belies this approach to feminism by exposing the nuance that makes comics worthwhile.
I don’t always read comics. But I do occasionally read books about comics! Because sometimes, things about comics aren’t just about comics, in the same way that comics aren’t just about spandex and onomatapeia. There’s something good here, something human and true. It’s academic, and meaningful, and personal. So if you like comics, even if you don’t read them all that often, read this. And if you don’t like comics? Maybe this will lift the cloud of confusion over why so many women do.
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 (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.
My dad gave me this book Christmas 2009, and I prior to reading it last week, I had not experienced Calvin and Hobbes. Well, that isn't completely truMy dad gave me this book Christmas 2009, and I prior to reading it last week, I had not experienced Calvin and Hobbes. Well, that isn't completely true. I had read one or two strips, I suppose. Seen other people reading it. But I hadn't experienced it. I had not sat down with a thick, luscious book full of Calvin and Hobbes strips, full of wonderful, pinpoint and intelligent humour.
When I did finally sit down, I fell in love. So to all my friends out there: how dare you not kidnap me and force-feed me Calvin and Hobbes? For shame!
I fell in love with the way Bill Watterson portrays the truth and beauty of the universe through the cheeky eyes of a young boy. Children, lacking the filters that most adults come to acquire, often say the darnednest things, and Calvin says a lot that falls into that category. Calvin refuses to eat something on his plate, observing wryly that "you know you won't like it when they won't tell you what it is." Calvin, ever street-smart, sneaks out of bed late at night, then phones his house from a pay phone (remember those?) to say, "Hello, Dad! It is now three in the morning. Do you know where I am?" Precocious, clever, and self-aware, Calvin embodies that spark, dare I say that joie de vivre, that we all seek to retain from childhood.
I speak with the perspective of a 21-year-old who never wanted to grow up, but in spite of my best efforts, managed to do it anyway. Maturity sneaked up on me, stalked me, and played a game of cat-and-mouse through my adolescent years. Eventually, fortunately or unfortunately, it won. Which is not to say that I have entirely abandoned my childhood glee, my sense of wonder—I do, after all, read science fiction; in November I got involved in an awesome snowball fight with my coworkers. And I know now what I did not know as a child: it is tough to keep your child-like enthusiasm when the world expects you, requires you to be an adult.
So I think a child, an adolescent, or an older adult are all going to get something different from Calvin and Hobbes than I will. We all might find the strips funny, but our core enjoyment is going to come from an identification that is different for each of us. Calvin and Hobbes has a broad appeal, but it is not the same appeal to everyone. For me, it is a nostalgic retrospective on the days I have left behind. Not that I was ever a trouble-maker like Calvin, oh no. I did not launch wagons into lakes or trees. I was not a terror of babysitters, and as far as I know, I never flooded the bathroom while struggling against a shark in the bathtub. Nevertheless, there is something universal to the childhood experience about Calvin's exuberance. And now here I am, in my third decade, trying to reconnect with that aspect of my life.
The brilliance of these comic strips go deeper than just nostalgia. There is something profound about Calvin and Hobbes. At the same time that these two are cooking up a scheme straight out of—well, the comic books—and we are laughing right along with them, suddenly Hobbes will spring a Big Question on us:
Calvin: do you believe in Fate? Hobbes: You mean, that our lives are predestined? Calvin: Yeah ... that the things we do are inevitable. Hobbes: What a scary thought.
Hobbes says this last part as the wagon they are in goes careening off a dock into a lake, possibly as part of a crazy Calvin venture to jump across the lake in their wagon.
There is just such a broad range of humour and tone to these strips. Watterson takes us from the fantastical Spaceman Spiff sketches to the hilarious and intelligent insults Calvin hurls at his crush, Susie: "I hope you suffer a debilitating brain aneurysm, you freak!" (Which, if an adult uttered this, would be horrible; and in the real world, let's face it, a child might get soap mouthwash. But for me reading Calvin, it's just adorable.) And from these strips, Watterson takes us even further, to ponder those Big Questions of the universe—fun, yes, and funny, but those strips tend to end with a question mark hovering above them.
Reading Calvin and Hobbes also affirms my opinion that comics are a sublime form of literature, and those snobs who look down their noses at this form as somehow "childish" or "immature" are poopyheads. Maybe you don't like Calvin and Hobbes—or perhaps, like me, you've merely never experienced it. Still, Calvin and Hobbes demonstrates the power of the comic form, that essential marriage of witty wordplay with evocative pictures, to convey both humourous and serious subjects. This is a medium that can tell amazing stories, stories both vast and magnificent in scope yet intimate and human in significance. From superheroes to supervillains to ordinary, everday kids, comic strips are awesome. They connect us to our imagination in a way few literary forms can manage. Don't get me wrong; I love novels with a white-hot passion. But there is something just so basic—and I think it is this primal element that snobs confuse with immaturity—to the comic form that makes it so versatile and powerful.
I must confess that, as a kid and an adolescent, I never shared the ardour for comic books many of my peers did. I collected Archie comics and read thI must confess that, as a kid and an adolescent, I never shared the ardour for comic books many of my peers did. I collected Archie comics and read the odd Superman comic, but that was about it. So unlike most, who come for the superheroes, I came to The Physics of Superheroes for the physics.
As an aspiring teacher, I love to hear about new ways of teaching difficult or boring topics to students. While I don't find physics boring, I can see it being difficult—and, depending on how it's presented, perhaps dull. There's no chance of that happening when the likes of Superman, Iron Man, and the Flash are involved. Even those like me, who aren't diehard comic book fans, will enjoy this innovative approach to freshman physics. I admit I was surprised to see Professor Kakalios derive examples from comic books for every major topic. From a pedagogical perspective, The Physics of Superheroes deserves high praise.
Because I am impatient, I powered through this book in three days. I do not recommend you do the same. This is, after all, a physics book—cunningly disguised as a discussion of superheroics, but a physics book nonetheless. There is a reason that freshman physics courses take up the entire school year: the brain is just not meant to absorb so much so fast. My math and physics background allowed me to keep afloat, but I can see many people buying this book for its attractive premise but then panning it for getting too difficult.
For the first few sections, Kakalios has no problem. Newtonian mechanics might be daunting at first, but its deterministic nature makes it reassuring: if you put the same variables in, you'll also get the same result. It's the probabilistic, indeterministic nature of quantum mechanics that leaves some people uncomfortable. If you have trouble visualizing an electron as matter wavefunction in a "probability cloud" about the atomic nucleus instead of the simpler "solar system" model we learn in high school, don't feel bad. Many of physics' most brilliant minds objected to quantum mechanics on similar grounds when it was in its infancy.
Modern physics is quite complex, and that's reflected in any book on the subject, no matter how well-written. Kakalios does not always succeed in the later chapters, and he often doesn't make enough connections to his superhero examples as he explains a physics concept. I'm willing to cut him slack, however, because this is a survey book. For those interested in more depth, there's a lengthy list of recommended reading in the back.
Still, I learned plenty. Certainly I won't forget what Kakalios taught me about the relationship between mass, density, and volume, thanks to the Atom, Ant-Man, and Mr. Fantastic. Density is mass divided by volume, and if you want to shrink yourself or grow larger, you're best to increase your mass and hold your density constant. On a related note, perhaps Kakalios' most impressive feat is one he accomplishes at the beginning of the book. First he calculates how much force Golden Age Superman's legs must provide to allow him to jump 1/8th of a mile in the air. From this, Kakalios deduces the acceleration due to gravity on Krypton and concludes that Krypton likely had matter from a neutron star in its core—hence why the planet exploded! Kakalios' love for his topics, both physics and comics, is obvious in the writing.
I should also mention that I went to see Professor Kakalios when he gave a talk at Lakehead University (when I subsequently bought this book). If you have a chance to attend a talk, do so. You can also see on the book's website. Certain examples, and much of Kakalios' humour, are better experienced in lecture instead of literary form. Nevertheless, The Physics of Superheroes joins Bill Nye the Science Guy and The Magic School Bus in teaching science as it is meant to be taught: with levity....more
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