Avengers Academy #2

Avengers Academy #2 actually came out last Wednesday, and real life commitments (also known as work, chores and attempting to eke out a healthy, financially responsible social life between them) have prevented me from settling down with a cup of matcha and giving this issue a thorough little look-see. Fortunately, I managed to somehow get ahead of schedule at work for the first time in I don’t know how long. Instead of plopping down with the last disc of Mad Men‘s 3rd season, I’m following through with my monthly synthesis of overanalyzing literary criticism and unapologetic geekery.

The sophomore issue shifts narration from archetypal (yet still intriguing) teenager Veil to her staggeringly different contemporary Jeanne “Finesse” Foucault (significant name?). As with the previous perspective, writer Christos Gage uses familiar characterizations as a starting point for some potentially revealing deconstructions later on in the story. With Finesse, he slowly starts building upon the broad foundation of an exceptionally brilliant individual who can figure out anything except human emotions. She is essentially the Dr. Manhattan of the Avengers Academy series, albeit with different superpowers and under a different set of circumstances. Unlike her big, blue, bare counterpart in Watchmen, she possesses the ability to absorb knowledge at an accelerated rate – essentially mastering skills both academic and physical in a matter of minutes. A polymath with an eidetic memory, Finesse  picks up everything from advanced robotics to back room billiards through reading, witnessing and even watching videos. The transition between Veil’s wavering self-esteem and the arrogance of this issue’s narrator certainly jarred me.

Gage treads no new territory with this character at first, though small pockets hinting at greater depth and questioning begin to emerge as her story progresses. This technique right here leads me to believe that he means to begin dissecting the familiar further into the series – anything too new right off the bat may compromise the effectiveness of any compelling, impacting changes and growth to come. I am curious to see if my theory proves correct. One of the most obvious hints Gage drops involves an introspective interlude where Finesse gives herself a brief round of psychoanalysis. After inadvertently embarrassing Reptil in front of the other students and watching Hazmat destroying a berserk Arsenal (more on that later), she reflects upon the concept of alexithymia.

Alexithymia manifests itself alongside a surprisingly broad spectrum of mental and developmental conditions. It involves, as Finesse’s character epitomizes, “a deficiency in understanding, processing or describing emotions” (12). Although present in clinical depression, eating disorders, post traumatic stress disorder and other illnesses, Gage initially narrows down the source of Finesse’s inability to 2 options. She mulls over the autism spectrum and clinical psychopathy, noting how she does not think she fits the diagnostic criteria for the former. The true origins remain unknown – and they probably will for the foreseeable future. Navigating this character will certainly prove a challenge for reader and writer alike now that psychology has explicitly factored into her story – most especially if it comes to pass that she lay on the autism spectrum. I’ve done plenty of research on the subject for work. I’ve met  and talked to many individuals with diagnoses of autism and Asperger’s as well as their families. The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time came extremely close to genuinely capturing everything I have learned about the subject so far, and just about the only thing Finesse has in common with any of it is the alexithymia.

Her calculated blackmail against veteran Avenger and Academy instructor Pietro “Quicksilver” Maximoff will prove problematic should Gage decide to take the autism route with Finesse. As is, individuals with developmental and mental health issues already struggle against negative portrayal in the media. Because the polymath’s portrayal involves acts that parallel psychopathic and sociopathic behavior, anything heavier than a delicate hand can lead to some extremely unfortunate implications. That does not, of course, mean that she cannot be written as a well-rounded autistic character with a nice balance of positives and negatives. Gage just needs to approach her with painstaking care if he hopes to play with such concepts. As she currently stands, however, Finesse shares far more in common with individuals I have met who fit the diagnostic criteria of sociopathy. Not only does she mimic human emotion and behavior rather than genuinely feel it, she also brashly bucks common courtesy and generally approaches others as if completely above universal moral constructs.

More specifically, Finesse sees no issue with manipulating her teachers in order to win their favor and receive special training. She takes a cue from Veil and unsuccessfully attempts to flirt with Hank Pym, but manages to find success in blackmailing Quicksilver for the same terrorist training he underwent during his stint with the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants. The scene where she nonchalantly threatens to expose his battery of lies from the later issues of the now-defunct Mighty Avengers comes off as initially chilly. As if she sees other people as little more than stepping stones towards attaining her own wants, caring little about who may get hurt along the way. Reading it reminded me far too much of my own dealings with such individuals in real life.

However, Gage does leave a door open for Finesse to grow into her own as a true hero someday. She ought not be dismissed as truly sociopathic only 2 issues into the series, especially given this one’s overarching theme of free will. Quicksilver and Greer “Tigra” Nelson verbally spar with one another over the direction their lessons have taken. Behind the backs of his fellow instructors, Quicksilver had applied experiences gained under association his mutant separatist father Magneto to the Avengers Academy classroom. He ordered the repair of the indestructible but thankfully nonlethal battle robot Arsenal and launched a surprise assault on the students at breakfast. Although he hoped to teach him the potentially lifesaving skill of preparedness and improvisation, the others took issue with forcing them to unexpectedly undergo such trauma so early in their academic careers.

Pym decides to take a more diplomatic approach and asks the students themselves for their input on whether or not they found such lessons effective, putting them in control of their own educations. He effectively restores their free will after Quicksilver attempted to symbolically snatch it away. A later conversation between Hazmat and Finesse propels plumbs this theme even deeper. The former grows more cynical with her education as the breakfast battle dredged up the anger she still felt over well-intentioned lies exposed in the previous issue. Along with her other classmates, she looks towards Finesse for answers. Her response succinctly sums up the entire concept of free will, one which I’m almost certain will prove indispensable to the series. She instructs her peers to learn everything they can from everyone who is willing to teach them. Once they feel as if they have soaked up enough from the world around them, they can make the contentious decision to pursue a path of either heroism or villainy. She demonizes neither choice, merely acknowledging that such a duality exists.

Therefore, it is entirely possible that she sees the terrorist training she manipulates her way into receiving from Quicksilver through the same neutral lens. After all, as Finesse narrates her life up to this point she makes note of how she embraces knowledge as knowledge – no matter where she finds it. The Avengers fear her because she willingly accepted an education from Norman Osborne…but they never made note of how she approached the opportunities they had to offer with the same enthusiasm. In spite of the blackmail, one can still interpret Finesse as morally neutral – she cares not for good or evil, but rather learning everything about everything. Gage could very easily kick her over to the hero’s side, using her intimate understanding of terrorist tactics to better thwart their activities. As with all her peers, she can easily succumb to the darkness or the lightness that resides in everyone.

Much like founding Avenger and current Academy headmaster Hank Pym, really. In spite of a storied history dating all the way back to January of 1962 (that’s older than my dad!), Pym never really scored too many fans until his recent revival as the Marvel Universe’s resident Dr. Who at the hands of Dan Slott. Part of this has to do with his spotty characterization as an explicitly mentally ill superhero. Possessive of a crippling inferiority complex and prone to nervous breakdowns and panic attacks – he even attempts suicide at one point – Pym could have easily become a wonderful study in resilience and fortitude in spite of crushing internal setbacks.

Instead, he cycles to extremes depending on the writer’s ability to sensitively and realistically portray mental illness…not to mention whether or not he or she even likes him in the first place! Jim Shooter had him suffer from a nervous breakdown and backhand his wife (Wasp, incidentally my favorite superhero), an unfortunate incident that furthered the negative stigmas attached to mental illnesses and resulted in future inconsistent characterizations. Kurt Busiek and Dan Slott both established him as a deeply troubled man who worked hard and yearned to rise above his mistakes and personal demons – extremely sensitive, realistic portrayals of how good people sometimes feel really bad things inside. Gage has thankfully been playing with this particular interpretation, hinting at the cracks without branding Pym as detestable for possessing them. Chuck Austen saw him as an impotent, whiny and ineffectual loser, losing the love of his life to a close friend who suddenly hates him. And almost everything in between.

I could devote a plethora of entries to the psychology of Hank Pym alone, but the similarities between him and Finesse are so undeniable she even brings it up herself. Both of them must grapple with either a mental or a developmental disorder, though the specifics of the latter remain hazy for the time being. This persistent inner struggle to try and make sense of the frequent nonsense that is human nature can lead to either devastating or world-saving consequences. Pym’s history comes with more than his fair share of both, and Finesse carries that very same potential. I hope that Gage uses his series to dispel many of the sadly negative depictions of the mentally and/or developmentally disordered in the media.

Bibliographic Information

Gage, Christos, writer. Avengers Academy. Art by Mike McKone. New York: Marvel, 2010. Print.

~Riot

Avengers Academy #1

Because I’m trying something a bit new by (hopefully) digging pretty deeply into the psychoanalytic and thematic devices of Avengers Academy, it stands to reason that these particular entries will contain a good amount of spoilers. I try to avoid them in my book reviews, but this particular project is going to veer more towards the literary criticism end of the spectrum – meaning that opening up plot twists and character nuances is unavoidable.

If possible, please give me some feedback as to whether or not you like this format. I’m hoping to expand my more in-depth analyses of literature on Burning Leaves, making it a place for non-spoiled reviews as well as dissections of different books that specifically peer into what many would consider spoiler territory. I’m starting off with a superhero comic because it seems like a genre where few consider that some – and I freely admit not all - titles actually come packed with excellent material for a formal (or semi-formal in my case) literary criticism session. Avengers Academy promises plenty.

Madeline “Veil” Berry (also known as “Maddy”) serves as this issue’s narrator, so we get a nice glimpse inside her head as she navigates her first day as ostensibly the best of the best metahumans rescued from torture at the hands of Norman Osborne’s Dark Reign. As we’ll see with her classmates, Gage portrays his new characters - all of them former victims of diabolical torment - with broader personality baselines. I’m fine with this in a first issue, since it (hopefully) promises a higher degree of development and analysis – maybe some deconstruction if we’re lucky - later on down the line. Too much too soon drives an audience away and ruins any sort of organic, believable growth.

“Believable” is actually a grand word to expand upon here. Because Avengers Academy #1 revolves less around action and emphasizes character and theme over plot for the time being, it is key for Gage to establish his creations as familiar and comfortable figures who could easily veer off into a multitude of different directions. And, by the end of the book, he does exactly that. Narrator Veil once passed her teenage years as an impoverished, apparently friendless young woman who finds herself cruelly victimized by her classmates. Humberto “Reptil” Lopez sports an upbeat, friendly confidence and outgoing personality. Ken “Mettle” Mack initially comes off as an optimistic sweetie-pie of a gentle giant. Jennifer “Hazmat” Takeda snips, snaps, and snarks her way through her interactions with everyone, be they teacher or student. Polymath Finesse and lightning-themed Striker both boast abrasive, self-centered personalities, with the former preferring isolating herself from what she perceives as dead weight classmates and the latter a depressing commentary on contemporary society’s obsession with fame, glory, and waves of attention.

Narrator Veil recently discovered her power to transform into different types of gases is killing her, resulting in what seems to be a budding emotional clinginess towards instructor Vance “Justice” Astrovik – and her constant obsession with the shape of her body reveals what may very well be an escalating case of body dysmorphia. Reptil’s cheerfulness reads as a disconcerting mask for post-traumatic stress disorder once you realize that Osborne likely tortured him worse than any of the other students. Mettle’s submissiveness, sweetness and self-awareness may very well end up resulting in abuse at the hands of others and conformity to negative self-fulfilling prophecies. Hazmat’s prickly anger is understandable when Justice reveals that her body’s toxicity and radiation unintentionally killed her dog, sent her boyfriend to the hospital, made both her parents very ill and ruined her chances to get into college – not to mention the fact that she now must whittle away the rest of her life in a containment suit. Finesse’s intense (and very, very chilling) self-centeredness and lack of emotional awareness very much reminds me of a sociopath I once knew. And Striker’s persistent braggadocio and lust for attention is pretty self-explanatory.

The final reveal of the book shows that these kids were not recruited because The Avengers thought of them as special little snowflakes to be shaped and molded into the heroes of tomorrow. They were recruited out of fear, because their psychological profiles flagged them as possessing character traits more common to villians. Every single one of these new characters now traipses a tightrope wire between doing great good or descending into outright evil. Players in a fantastic world facing down very real, very universal themes. Likely archetypes we have encountered at various points in our lives – I know I have, at least. In adding this dimension to the story, Gage piques interest in learning more about how these characters come to grips with balancing the lightness and darkness within themselves. Suffice to say, not everyone sports that sort of self-control. Surely one of more will end up descending into madness or villainy, and with all of them possessing the possibility to snap readers are playing a safe literary game of Russian Roulette.

Because Veil narrated this issue, she makes for a lovely example of the binary struggles that all the students must confront at some point during the series. This story bookends with her feeling betrayed and humiliated, first by her peers in high school who frown upon her poverty and awkwardness and again upon realizing that her recruitment into Avengers Academy was a result of her possible vulnerability to the sweet temptations of villainy. Even at the beginning of the story, she – tragically like many teenage girls – considers herself an aesthetic stain upon humanity. Gage hints that much of her poor body image (especially regarding breast size) actually stems from idolizing Ms. Marvel. As someone who has done extensive research on body dysmorphia, I found it a nice, subtle commentary regarding the physical portrayal of women in comic books, if not the media at large. In addition to her sad and relatable relationship with her externals, Veil’s other hurdle involves the recent revelation that Osborne’s torture unnaturally altered her core molecular structure. She possesses more sophisticated powers that allow her to transform into different types of gas, but the artificial jump-start will lead to an inevitable and permanent dissolving. Almost all of Veil’s major issues stem directly from perceptions and realities of her physical being, and the resulting insecurities and fears can very easily lead her down a questionable path. As is, she already emotionally fixates on inaccessible authority figure Justice – a one-sided relationship that will likely result in further hurt and vulnerability. These very real character flaws need only a few nudges to send her veering off into extremely constructive or devestatingly destructive ends, which Justice explicitly references upon witnessing her understandable emotional outburst following news of her deadly condition.

When the list of core instructors at Avengers Academy was revealed – Hank Pym, Quicksilver, Justice, Tigra, and Speedball - many fans expressed outrage that more popular and, frankly, stable characters such as Captain America and Thor weren’t chosen. Personally, I loved it. Even without knowing the final twist, I considered them all excellent choices. All of Gage’s picks harbor the same darkness as their students, making them far more able to relate to the kids in their care and better personalize lessons. All of them (at least) once swam the tempest of wrenching emotional torment as a result of their own actions, and they seek to prevent others from emulating their mistakes. Icons like Thor and Captain America rarely plumb the more twisted, frightening corners of the human psyche the way these seasoned heroes have. It’s why you get former addicts to lead recovery seminars. Even factoring out the “students-as-potential-villians” plot twist, I think the teachers all needed solid redemption stories and possessed the negative (and positive) elements of their hero careers necessary to establish a well-rounded syllabus.

A couple of parallels cropped up between the students and the instructors as well, I noticed. Like Pym, Finesse possesses an astounding intellect and curiousity to learn new skills, yet neither are able to genuinely relate to others on an emotional level. Though where Pym’s isolation leads more to depression, desperation and rash actions, Finesse comes off at first as a truly frightening sociopath. Both Quicksilver and Striker gravitate towards obnoxious arrogance and showboating, the result of extremely unhealthy relationships with one parent. Striker’s circumstances have yet to apparate in the comics, though Marvel makes explicit mention of them in one article. Justice and Hazmat both accidentally lost family members as a result of their powers manifesting, and Speedball and Reptil have had their spunky personalities compromised by nauseating guilt and torture. I’m hoping that Gage will address many of these similarities in due time, as they seem intentionally constructed.

The major overarching theme of the book revolves around the ethics of lying to students with the hopes of encouraging them to live up to their positive attributes rather than giving in to their negative. Pym explicitly states that hiding the potentially villainous profiles from the students will bolster their confidence and prevent them from slipping into dangerous self-fulfilling prophecies. Jennifer and Caroline at Fantastic Fangirls delve into the philosophies and psychologies behind educating children and the role they play in Avengers Academy far better than my minimal teaching experiences ever could. Even then, though, their assessment makes perfect sense even with the pedagogy facet factored out. The more individuals are exposed to negative criticism about themselves, the more likely they are to give in to them and put forth little effort towards self-improvement. When used in an educational setting, it does bring up some muddied ethical questions about whether or not lying to a student will help or hinder his or her performance - not to mention how to handle the situation of compromised trust once it becomes public knowledge. Such a situation occurs at the very end of this issue, with the students finding out exactly what their instructors have been hiding. It will be fascinating to see which of them ultimately use the information to prove the predictions wrong or just give in to evil temptations.

Mettle, I think, seems to be the character to watch out for the most. Gentle and seemingly kindhearted, prior to the big revelation he already makes note of he and his teammate’s destructive potential once the training sessions begin. But after finding out that his mentors have him pegged as a possible future villian, he looks as sad, betrayed and dejected as a young man constructed of solid iridium can. Blending this self-awareness with finally realizing what authority figures actually make of him can very easily lead to some potent events and bits of character development down the line.

This definitely reads as a far darker and morally grey interpretation of both the “older heroes training a new generation” and “teen drama” subgenre and genre, respectively. Gage definitely has the potential to completely deconstruct much of what we know about the tropes and archetypes associated with them, and with the twist at the end of the first issue I’m sincerely hoping that’s his ultimate goal. It’s definitely fertile territory for analysis of the familiar characters, themes and events, and it would be nice to see them filtered through a creative, critical lens that steers them in a new direction.

Bibliographic Information

Gage, Christos, writer. Avengers Academy. Art by Mike McKone. New York: Marvel, 2010. Print.

~Riot

The Avengers Academy Project: Introduction

For as big a comic book fan as I am, I do kind of sort of have a confession to make. I’m not really a collector, and for budget and space reasons I usually wait for releases of trade paperbacks before exploring what I want for my collection. Yes, I know this means I’m part of the problem when it comes to the survival of a much-beloved series. But being on a tight budget means I can’t afford to keep multiple subscriptions going for titles that may or may not prove worthwhile in the end. And my apartment isn’t exactly conducive to storing longboxes. My apologies to all the hardworking comic book writers and artists out there. I appreciate the medium as a viable, legitimate and frequently underestimated storytelling conduit, and I support the industry in whatever way I feasibly can.

I do, however, scan previews for any new books that seem promising. $3.99 for one title once a month won’t put too huge of a dent in my nest egg, and when the trade paperbacks come out I can purchase them and donate the monthlies to the library or Texas Children’s Hospital if they’ll take them. And if I end up not wanting to read past the first arc, someone else will still have free reading material to enjoy. I think I have enough money for everyone to win!

Christos Gage and Mike McKone’s Avengers Academy launched its first issue this week, and the preview piqued my interest enough to where I wanted to start reading it as new issues are released rather than waiting for the trades. I’m not normally a fan of teenybopper or high school stories, but with such a well-written introduction to the story and interviews promising a darker take on familiar territory I was actually sold on giving it a shot for reasons other than the presence of Hank Pym and Justice as instructors. Issue #1 showed just how much this series had to offer from a thematic and psychological perspective – a veritable playground for a literary critic! I am definitely wanting to see what Gage and McKone have in store for readers, so once a month I plan on intently dissecting the new pieces of the puzzle that fall into my hands. And considering some of the tactics used to introduce readers to the latest crop of Marvel metahumans, I get the feeling I’m entering in on the ground floor of something (hopefully!) special. It may be the weekend after a release considering work constraints, but updates should be a little more regular than my reviews. 26 pages read a lot faster than full novels, after all. Look for my thoughts on #1 coming soon! Spoilers will, of course, abound.

New series. New characters. New feature for Burning Leaves! Hope you enjoy!

~Riot

Phoenix: A Tale of the Future

Review

Although Phoenix: A Tale of the Future stands as the second volume in Osamu Tezuka’s achingly beautiful 12-book Phoenix series, the story can be read as a fully self-contained narrative with satisfaction. Part of what makes the structure of Phoenix so amazing and admirable is this ability to pick up any volume without worrying about losing track of continuity. While each story shares thematic and some character elements with one another, it is not necessary to read them all in order to understand Tezuka’s vision. Doing so certainly enhances appreciation for the impressive scope he takes in order to tell the story and makes for an intense bittersweet, provocative, and endearing experience, but it is not a requirement.

Set in far future where humanity has confined itself to cramped subterranean hegemonic nation-states, A Tale of the Future offers up a terrifying allegory to both World War II and the Cold War alongside a hauntingly tragic love story. World leaders submit to the will of allegedly infallible machines whose fanatical devotion to staunch conformity and unquestioning allegiance. Dissenters complain bitterly about the “debasement of basic human rights” (84) in this civic structure, citing how the citizenry reacts to the suppression by “wallowing in sentimentalism for ancient culture and history” (82). At the center of all the struggles for freedom and harmony between the last five bastions of humanity stands Space Patrolman Masato Yamanobe and his beloved, a sweet-natured, shapeshifting alien named Tamami.

Defecting from the totalitarian regime, the two seek refuge on the Earth’s surface with the well-meaning scientist Dr. Saruta. Saddled with all-too-human faults and “forced to live a lonely life devoid of love” (74) due to his grotesque physical appearance, the elderly scientist nevertheless “still [holds] an enormous love for mankind and the Earth upon which he live[s]” (67). He transcends the unwarranted prejudices thrust upon him and bumbles about his isolated laboratory in order to restore the dying planet to its former glory. Though Tezuka focuses the heaviest on Masato and Tamami, Dr. Saruta best embodies the main themes of the narrative. Never lose sight of integrity and love in the face of degredation and undeserved shame. No matter the miseries that people unkindly force onto others, there is always a place for kindness, compassion, and empathy in an otherwise ugly world. And, most importantly, that life moves in cycles. Glory gives way to ruin, and ruin in turn marches on into glory. The actions of one individual may ripple through millenia without their realization, but their personal issues amount to less than a grain of sand. It’s a familiar lesson, but one told so very touchingly.

Tezuka’s cinematic paneling and cartoony characters perfectly complement the heavy subject matter. It adds an element of earnesty to the message, with every unidealized figure adding to their occasionally painfully relatable characterization. Both thought-provoking and life-affirming, Phoenix: A Tale of the Future is a truly precious work of art in both its pictures and its words.

Bibliographic Information

Tezuka, Osamu. Phoenix: A Tale of the Future. Vol. 2. San Francisco: VIZ Medi, 2004.

Further Reading

Though I personally consider the Phoenix series his masterpiece, it’s hard to dispute Osamu Tezuka’s impressive bibliography.  Almost everything of his that I have read has been amazing, but Buddha, his epic on the life of Siddhartha, comes the closest to paralleling many of the points made in Phoenix. It’s emotional, intelligent, and features some incredibly solid storytelling and artwork.

~Riot

[Diversity Rocks! Challenge Progress: 13/24]

Smax

Review

Featuring characters from his limited series Top Ten, Alan Moore continues the adventures of Jeff Smax and Robyn “Toybox” Slinger in an absolutely hysterical deconstruction of popular fantasy tropes and clichés. Taking place in Smax’s home dimension – which lends itself to some pretty funny and politically incorrect satire of the American Deep South – the brooding blue demi-ogre and his human partner find themselves embroiled in a quest to slay a fractal cat-dragon. Every familiar and overused element of high fantasy literature is present and accounted for, and then gleefully parodied with Moore’s masterful postmodern flair.

One of the more amusing elements of the story involves Smax and Robyn compiling a generic grouping of adventurers based on precedents and quotas set by the government. Though the titular dragonslayer could likely subdue the menacing dragon Morningbright, he legally cannot do so without a minimum number of dwarves, females, elves, and magic users. This causes much frustration, mountains of paperwork, and plenty of laughs. Even ardent detractors of the entire fantasy genre would likely find at least one or two chuckles at Moore’s subversive love letter to its obligatory elements. Most of the cast speaks with a refreshing savviness, and Smax’s dwarven half-brother and his friends even set up a roll-playing session set inside a retail store as they wait outside Morningbright’s cave.

While the writing is certainly a joy, the real fun of the Smax miniseries comes with the dozens – if not hundreds - of Easter eggs artists Zander Cannon and Andrew Currie nestled into the artwork. Pop culture icons such as Trogdor the Burninator, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, the cat-bus from Tonari no Totoro, Death from The Seventh Seal and even Maggie from The Simpsons and Stewie from Family Guy all receive cameos alongside the classic movies, books, and – of course – fairytales which inspired and popularized the original clichés to begin with. Even Smax’s obligatory singing sword has an affinity for ABBA. Since the book is a quick read, I’d recommend going through it twice. Once for the story and once to look for all the sneaky homages, parodies, and references rendered with a lovely, bright palette. See if you can find Rorschach and The Question taking a walk together, no doubt discussing Objectivism!

Bibliographic Information

Moore, Alan. Smax. La Jolla, CA: America’s Best Comics, 2004.

Further Reading

Because of its comparatively light tone – though Alan Moore certainly does not shy away from serious and potentially controversial content in his comedy – the Smax miniseries has more in common with Terry Pratchett’s Discworld franchise than his other deconstructions. Both men know how to bend literary conventions into new and exciting interpretations of fantasy realms, and infuse them with great vibrance and humor to create highly entertaining packages. Almost every Discworld novel can be read as a standalone, so readers can pick up the series at any point. But for those who would like some semblance of order, The Colour of Magic came first. Almost every novel set in the Discworld, however, is worth reading.

~Riot

Batman: Year One

Review

There’s not much I can say about Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli’s Batman: Year One that hasn’t been said a thousand times before and won’t be a thousand more times. Along with Alan Moore and David Gibbons’s brilliant, near-perfect Watchmen, Miller brought the superhero genre into much darker places than the previous kitschy-spandex crowd. He plucked Batman from his campy adventures in the 1960′s and placed him in a gritty noir peppered with corrupt cops, hardened criminals, and salty prostitutes. And he made it work – the troubled, transparently insane Batman as my generation has come to understand him has become iconic and immortalized in his obsessive quest for revenge and justice. It’s an unquestionably solid and entertaining story, with Selina “Catwoman” Kyle reimagined as a jaded dominatrix inspired towards a life of cat burglary after witnessing Batman’s feats and Commissioner Gordon as a principled police officer but guiltily cheating husband.

However, what actually drove this work home with me was Mazzucchelli’s stellar artwork blended with Richmond Lewis’s appropriately somber color work. Though Miller provides a strong script, my eyes kept drifting more towards the dynamic visual pacing and richly realized characters and settings. Alleyways appear foreboding and full of danger, a red light district pulses with neon to coat the sleaze and grime, and Gordon and his mistress frequent a bar paying homage to Edward Hopper’s famed Nighthawks painting. As an added bonus to the edition I read, DC included the original india ink drawings by Mazzucchelli. They stand well enough on their own certainly, but comparing them side-by-side with their colored counterparts really highlights Richmond Lewis’s proof of how a masterfully assembled pallet can mark the difference between awesome-looking art and a moody think piece. I also particularly enjoyed the use of handwritten text in place of captions for Bruce Wayne’s internal monologue – it’s intimate, personal, and even a little bit indicative of his precarious mental state.

Bibliographic Information

Miller, Frank, and David Mazzucchelli. Batman: Year One. New York: DC Comics, 2005.

Further Reading

You know who else was a camp icon who later received a revamp into a comparatively more dark and tragic figure? Space Ghost, who has pretty much always been Batman From The Cosmos™, but has also always never been not awesome. Joe Kelly’s revisionist story of redemption and revenge shares a fair amount of parallels with Batman’s origins, and Ariel Olivetti’s artwork is droolingly gorgeous. It’s a good, quick read and is actually the series that got me into comic books to begin with. Owing to the fact that, you know, it’s about Space Ghost, who is more or less the greatest male superhero “that has ever existed in the world of the universe.” Even greater than Iron Man and Man-Wasp combined, probably. That’s saying something.

~Riot, who is terrifically exhausted. Can’t you tell?

Maxwell Strangewell

Review

The Fillbach Brothers’ Maxwell Strangewell is not the greatest or most original graphic novel in existence, but it’s worth picking up for those seeking a few hours of quirky, fun sci-fi escapism. With an altruistic overall message of “Love everybody and help somebody if you can” (383), the story involves a mute alien possessing infinite wisdom crash-landing onto Earth, where photographer Anna finds him in an amnesiatic state. He quickly forges an empathic bond with the kindly young woman, plunging her and her father into a dizzying journey through time and space.

One of Maxwell Strangewell‘s biggest strengths is the lively cast of secondary characters. Pleasant Buddhist monks, tricloptic alien accountants, and a curmudgeonly jogger make appearances alongside the meddling Man in the Moon and his drunken Martian compatriats who think only of “probing people up the bum and slaughtering cattle” (66). Among others. The brisk pacing and amusingly bloated roster prevent any real depth to the characters, but their eccentric actions infuse the story with enough energy and smiles to make up for it. As can be expected, the narrative itself twists and winds through a generous variety of time periods, planets, and dimensions, but in a manner that’s easy enough to follow and wraps up cleanly – perhaps a bit too much so – in the end.

Even though the titular extraterrestrial looks disturbingly like a member of Interpol got roped into modeling for a Max Factor demonstration, the monochromatic, heavily shaded artwork is stunning in its own stylized way. The Fillbach brothers favor a jagged, angular, and almost geometric approach to the human figure that gels nicely with the surrealisticly spiraling story. Anything too realistic would have jeoparized the overall cartoonish brevity of the work.

Bibliographic Information

Fillbach, Matt, and Shawn Fillbach. Maxwell Strangewell. New York: Dark Horse Comics, 2007.

Further Reading

Not surprisingly for a graphic novel focusing on a godlike being, Maxwell Strangewell follows the monomythic structure outlined in Joseph Campbell’s The Hero with a Thousand Faces almost exactly. This makes perfect sense, as the Fillbach Brothers first made a name for themselves as the team behind the Star Wars: Clone Wars Adventures series. I haven’t read any of them, but it’s common knowledge that George Lucas culled storytelling ideas for the original trilogy from this indispensable work of anthropology and literary criticism. Incidently, any writers or reviewers who haven’t read any of Joseph Campbell’s observant, intelligent, or influential works are doing themselves a severe disservice.

~Riot

Catwoman: When in Rome

Review

A stylish, sexy murder mystery that recalls swingin’ old spy films, Jeph Loeb and Tim Sale’s Catwoman: When in Rome unintentionally left me with several questions regarding the blurry line between female empowerment and exploitation. Loeb and Sale draw from Catwoman’s classic femme fatale roots, presenting her here with an unnaturally curvaceous body and the sly snark of a hardboiled private eye. Accompanied by the sniveling, perverted Riddler and a suave Sicilian hitman, she cavorts through the scenic streets of Rome in the pursuit of the true suspect behind the murder of a prominent Mafia don as well as trying to unravel the mystery of her parentage.

The standard-issue (though by no means boring) mysteries themselves don’t come off nearly as interesting as the themes that surround them. Within the DC Universe, it explores the complexity of the dynamic between Catwoman and her sometimes-rival, sometimes-lover Batman. She slips in and out of hallucinations depicting their often painfully confusing relationship, shedding light on the myriad of ways it emotionally and physically comes to effect her. In addition, When in Rome toys with the tropes of third-wave feminism by focusing on a strong, competent, independent, and intelligent female as its central character, but frequently portraying her in varying states of undress that have little to no bearing on the plot. Even by comic book standards, Sale endows Kyle with an exaggerated sensuousness that’s enough to drive male readers out of their minds and female readers to their scales and mirrors. Like the classic spy and noir films that no doubt inspired both the story and the artwork of When in Rome, the question of whether or not such a juxtaposition constitutes empowerment, exploitation, or a little bit of both cannot be answered in black-and-white terms. One thing’s for certain, however – Catwoman’s portrayal in this series ought to be considered an icon of third-wave/sex-positive feminism far above her fellow fictitious figures who traipse about with empty heads and overflowing shopping bags through Sex and the City and its ilk.

Sale’s dramatic, gorgeous artwork owes just as much to retro fashion advertisements as it does the entire noir genre, and it balances nicely with the flirtacious narration of the titular villainess. Colorist Dave Stewart uses a dark, muted pallet that alternates between pages of warm reds and oranges and cool blues and purples that add an appropriate atmosphere of exotic intrigue to the book.

Bibliographic Information

Loeb, Jeph, and Tim Sale. Catwoman: When in Rome. New York: DC Comics, 2005.

Further Reading

Even though I considered it a little thin, Alan Moore’s The Killing Joke is another Batman storyline that also reflects on the codependent interplay between hero and villain. Figures such as The Joker and Catwoman need Batman to maintain their momentum just as much as he needs them to keep himself constantly moving forward in his quest for justice.

~Riot

The Books of Magic

Earlier in the week, frequent Burning Leaves commenter and my eerie personality doppelgänger Andi over at Tripping Towards Lucidity posted an incomparable essay on why she reads comic books and graphic novels in her column “The Finicky Reader” at BiblioBuffet. For those of you who peer through opera glasses and swirl glasses of brandy while you read my reviews, oftentimes finding yourself stumped as to why a well-educated young woman who holds a master’s degree in English literature (pronounced lit-ra-chure amongst the opera-glasses-and-brandy crowd) and teaches writing for a living would waste her time reading those silly ol’ comic books of all things – Andi answers all your questions, and she answers them well. So now I don’t have to go through the trouble. Click on the link to her column to go read it.

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Review

Neil Gaiman’s The Books of Magic is an unusual work. While it has a coherant narrative structure, it seems to serve more as a showcase of the various magical characters residing in the DC Universe than Gaiman’s usual ponderous fare. That’s not to say it’s entirely devoid of thought-provoking material – it just comes off as more of a Who’s Who List reminding fans that DC’s repetoire extends beyond superheroes than a labor of love for the fantasy genre.

In a plot echoing A Christmas Carol, four of the universe’s most adept and feared practitioners of magic – The Phantom Stranger, Doctor Occult, Mister E, and the always enjoyable John Constantine – guide mortal child Timothy Hunter through various fantastical realms. They intend to sway his latent powers towards the side of magic rather than science, and Gaiman characteristically incorporates elements from sources originating in all time periods and movements in order to piece together a rich, atmospheric story. To an extent he is successful, but as a whole The Books of Magic seems rushed and somewhat disjointed. Even though Zatanna and Jason Blood are always welcome and interesting characters, having to include so many figures from DC’s roster forces the story to move too quickly and leaves intriguing themes only lightly explored. It is not unreadable by any stretch of the imagination - Gaiman bequeaths John Constantine with brilliantly dry, sarcastic dialogue, and Mister E and Timothy’s excursion to the end of the universe includes some fantastic concepts – but as a whole it is not one of his essential works.

The painterly style of the artwork recalls delicate watercolors and could easily stand on its own separate from the dialogue. It is so beautiful, in fact, that oftentimes it distracted me from reading. Rather than working in tandem with the writing, the artwork diverted attention away from it, which only served to add to the overall sense of unevenness. However, I appreciated that, like the writing, the artists also draw their inspiration from a wide variety of eclectic materials. There were times when I felt like I was watching a fantasy interpretation of a Talking Heads video instead of reading a comic book.

Bibliographic Information

Gaiman, Neil, and John Bolton. The Books of Magic. New York: DC Comics, 1993.

Further Reading

Anyone interested in Gaiman’s ability to amalgamate history, philosophy, mythology, and other sources ought to read his masterful Sandman series. It is a quintessential example of postmodern fantasy, and some of his iconic Endless characters even have cameo appearances in The Books of Magic. Here, Gaiman is given enough space to introduce and flesh out a staggering cast of characters as well as delve deeply into weightier subject matter.

~Riot, who apologizes for the large spans of time between posts as of late. She’s been crazy busy and a touch sick.

American Born Chinese

Review

Although it is targeted towards a young adult audience, Gene Luen Yang’s graphic novel American Born Chinese has enough to please older readers as well. It involves the intersecting stories of The Monkey King from traditional Chinese legends, elementary school student Jin Wang, and high school basketball star Danny, though the true nature of the connection between the three is not revealed until near the end.

No matter their nationality, readers of all ages can relate to Jin Wang and Danny as they bumble awkwardly through adolescence – struggling to understand girls and feeling uncomfortable inside their own skins. Jin Wang, however, must fend off the cruel actions of students who mock his Chinese heritage, while caucasian Danny flees in shame from his cringingly stereotypic cousin Chin-Kee. American Born Chinese is an appropriate read for parents wanting to introduce their children to how other cultures integrate into American society, and that condescention towards the differences is inappropriate and hurtful towards their peers. The character of Chin-Kee may comicly represent the various negative stereotypes of Chinese culture, but Yang uses him as a conduit towards exposing the ignorance behind racism as well as symbolizing the fear that leads many first-generation Americans from all different backgrounds to deny or shirk their heritage. It’s a simple but effective device that perfectly illustrates his main themes in a manner that young adults and perhaps more advanced children can easily grasp.

Interspersed throughout the sagas of Jin Wang and Danny is the beloved and popular tale of The Monkey King and his legendary journey westward. Yang presents it with cheeky, charming humor underscored by his colorful artwork. His flat, cartoony style is nearly identical to the character designs in Genndy Tartakovsky’s early animations – The Monkey King and his subjects look exactly like the titular hero of Dial M for Monkey. It’s minimally detailed, making it fine for a parent-child tandem read.

Bibliographical Information

Yang, Gene Luen. American Born Chinese. New York: First Second Books, 2006.

Further Reading

The only other book I have read which combines traditional Chinese folktales and the experiences of first-generation Chinese-American children is Amy Tan’s The Joy Luck Club. It’s intended for an adult audience and focuses exclusively on female protagonists, but many of the main characters face the same challenges to their identity as Jin Wang and Danny.

~Riot

[Diversity Rocks! Challenge Progress: 1/24]