Megan Purdy

This month Michelle catches up with vampires and vampire slayers with Buffy Season Nine and Angel & Faith, while Megan visits the Twilight Zone through Underwater Welder, and the trencoats-and-tentacles world of Fatale.

Welcome back to Not By Manga Alone!

Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season Nine, Vol. 1 | By Joss Whedon, et al. | Dark Horse – After pretty much hating Season Eight by the end, I wasn’t sure I was going to bother with Season Nine. The completist in me couldn’t quit so easily, however, and I ended up tentatively checking out the first issue. It was loads better than anticipated, and so here we are!

This first collected volume includes the first five issues of the series, which comprise the four-issue “Freefall” arc and a oneshot entitled “Slayer, Interrupted.” The former introduces readers to Buffy’s new life in San Francisco, where she’s working as a barista and living with a couple of new roommates. Willow’s got a job as a computer programmer, and Dawn and Xander are trying to distance themselves from the supernatural element and move on with their lives. Buffy’s keen to have a normal existence, too, but soon finds herself a fugitive when some formerly vampire corpses turn up and she’s the prime suspect.

The plot here is not exactly exciting, but there are some good moments. Despite seeming somewhat younger than she did at the end of the TV series, Buffy feels more or less in character, especially when you consider that she’s finally free to act her age. At times, the dialogue seems a little too focussed on being amusing, but it’s hard to really complain about that. And if you’re a Spike fan and missed him in Season Eight, you’ll be gratified by his interaction with Buffy in these issues. You might, though, be a little bummed that Xander and Willow don’t seem to be playing much of a role in Buffy’s life these days. And you might be further bummed that Georges Jeanty’s art is still occasionally downright bad, including some abysmal renderings of Willow.

So far, Season Nine is a distinct improvement over Season Eight, but it isn’t perfect. And we haven’t even gotten to the controversial twists in the next batch of issues! Those will have to wait for next time. – Michelle Smith

Angel & Faith, Vol. 1 | By Christos Gage, et al. | Published by Dark Horse – I’ve always found Angel and Faith’s relationship to be a really interesting one. They’ve bonded over their search for atonement for past misdeeds and have seen each other at their worst. So it makes perfect sense that, after Angel does something terrible at the end of Season Eight (seriously, it’s impossible to avoid spoilers, so get out now if you don’t want to know!), Faith is the only one who cares enough about how it affects him to stay by his side.

I have to say… I really love this series. It is, by far, the best Buffy comic I’ve ever read. There are a few reasons for that. Time for a list!

It’s got a cool premise. Angel and Faith are now living in London, following up on cases from Giles’ journals. Angel has gotten it into his head that he’s going to bring Giles back to life, and Faith is torn between supporting someone who’s been there for her in some terrible moments and stopping him from committing a tremendous mistake.

Tighter focus than other Buffy comics. There’s no obligation to include half a dozen recurring characters (though a fluff piece about Harmony is included here) and therefore no grumblings when they appear to receive short shrift.

Faith is really a terrific character. She has matured so much, and has several great lines of dialogue as she confronts this realization, like, “I’m the — what? You’re kidding, right? If I’m the grownup, we’re screwed.”

The art. Hallelujah, Faith is free from the mangling inflicted upon her by Georges Jeanty. As drawn by Rebekah Isaacs, Faith not only looks as lovely as Eliza Dushku, but she’s expressive in ways Jeanty could never dream of achieving.

In short, this comic is great. Even if you hated Season Eight and even if you have no interest in Season Nine, Angel & Faith is still worth your time. – Michelle Smith

Underwater Welder | By Jeff Lemire | Top Shelf — I heard a lot about this book before I read it. That’s what happens when you go to a ook launch cold. Lemire talked a lot about process (did you know he redraws every panel, rather than scanning and editing? take note, tracers), and a lot about how hard it is to find time to work on passion projects. Underwater Welder is four years in the making. Lemire made substantial changes to the plot and character designs along the way, and it all pays off. Underwater Welder is a weirdly pretty book. It’s also a smart one, tightly written and illustrated. There are no unnecessary panels, few misfires, and no dropped threads. This is 220 pages of wrung out coming of age, through a glass darkly.

In the introduction, Damon Lindeloff says that Underwater Welder is akin to one of the great Twilight Zone episodes, and man is he right. (All the cool reviewers are saying so!) Jack, our eponymous (literal) welder, is an expectant father with daddy issues grounded in real tragedy. When Jack was a boy, his father went diving one Halloween night and never came back. Jack was left waiting, and he’s never stopped waiting. With a baby on the way, and the looming promise of being dry docked while waiting out an injury and parental leave, things come to a head. Spoiler alert! Jack goes diving, and with the help of a lost and found pocket watch, things get weird. Jack gets the time and space, in the form of an emptied out town gone moebius strip, to work out those issues. And, you know how these things work, soon enough it becomes obvious that working things out is necessary to his ever getting home. This is a really spare narrative. It feels about as long as an hour long tv episode, quickly sketched, and full of supporting characters who I wish we’d had more time with. The focus is strictly on Jack and his dad, with the slightest detour for Jack’s wife and his mother. Jack’s wife is a latter days addition–Lemire originally intended her role to be filled by a male friend–and while it’s a smart choice, I still wish she’d gotten more page time.

Fundamentally, Underwater Welder is about fathers and sons. Jack and his dad are allied actually and thematically, even with Jack’s dad dead or MIA for most of the book. They both love the water, need the water, and are disconnected from the ordinary because of it. The demands that Jack’s wife and mother put on him have some weight, but once he’s in the water, they’re lifted. But only for a while, because this is a coming of age story. Specifically a coming into fatherhood story. Jack’s task, the thing he’s got to work out during his supernatural time out, is to be the man and the father that his own father never could be, and to be the one he should and needs to be. Lemire and his wife were starting their own family while he worked on the book, and that gives the book some of its weight and purpose. Lemire is nothing like Jack, but Jack’s journey is, supernatural experiences aside, an utterly ordinary one.

At the talk, Lemire mentioned that he’s one of those artists who can’t look at old work. The increase in skill from Essex County (nominated for everything, a few years back) to Underwater Welder, is pretty obvious. It’s a tighter, prettier, and more thoughtful book. The mix of scratchy figures and wide expanses of dreamy wash are, you know, Lemire’s thing, but also a wonderfully useful tagteam for storytelling purposes. This is a book where art and layout always perfectly in tune with story. The town is characterized by claustrophobic grids of same size panels; the ocean by splash pages. It’s considered, and arresting, and makes the book an even better read. – Megan Purdy

Fatale Vol. 1 | By Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips | Image — I’m a trade waiter, so I do a lot of breathless waiting. But this is a Brubaker and Phillips book, and as they say on Tumblr, my feels, let me show you them. I discovered Brubaker through Catwoman, rediscovered him through Captain America, and then, adoration cemented, I started in on his creator owned stuff. His work with Phillips is by now effortless. They’ve been teaming up regularly since 2003, when they started on Wildstorm’s (underrated and unread) superheroes-and-spies limited series Sleeper. In 2006 they gave us the critically acclaimed (and adored by Megan) crime drama Criminal, and in 2008 the superhero/pulp mashup Incognito, and now there’s Fatale.

The pitch everyone gives for this series is that Fatale is cthulhu noir, and, wow. Ok. Who needs a review, right? Trench coats and tentacles. Cthulhu noir. It’s a perfect premise, but does it work? Kind of.

Fatale Vol. 1 is strictly an introductory book, but because it’s dominated by a flashback and has an ending bereft of pressing questions, it’s hard to know where the series will go next. It’s a weak first volume that focuses on premise and feeling more than character, to the extent that it’s hard to get a handle on any of them. Will Dominic, the male lead of the flashback sequence, be back? I don’t know. Do I care about what’s going on with Nick, the male lead of the framing story? Not really. Who is Josephine, the female lead of both stories, aside from the femme fatale to end all femme fatales? I’m not sure. But so far, she’s the only character I’m interested in seeing more of. The hook here is all in the what, rather than the who.

Fatale opens with Dominic’s funeral, and Nick standing over his grave. We learn that this man’s only friend, Nick’s father, is now institutionalized. We meet Jo, a beautiful woman with a past. Nick finds an unpublished manuscript, shots are fired, the caper begins. Soon we’re thrust back in time to Dominic’s own adventure, the story on which Nick’s newfound manuscript is based, but there’s a thematic disconnect. The opening is straight up noir and with the move to Dominic’s story, there’s a sudden genre shift into a Lovecraftian thriller. Things play out for Dominic more or less as you’d expect. And the volume closes with Nick, now looking for Jo. It’s a poor introduction in the sense that it’s all introduction. The volume feels unfinished, and doesn’t stand on it’s own. The framing story drags down the flashback. The flashback doesn’t pay enough forward to make the framing story intriguing. Neither part serves the other, and the sum of it is like, ok, that was a thing that happened. And while I want to know what happens next, don’t need to know–I’m not hooked. I’ll keep reading because Brubaker and Phillips have yet to fail me, but I wonder if another reader, one who isn’t already a fan, would make the same choice. Nick and Dominic are dull everymen, and while desperate, cursed Josephine has enough ruthlessness to be interesting, I’m not sure if she’s interesting enough to to carry the book. Premise and setting are doing all the heavy lifting so far. The villain and his minions, the crooked cops, the looming horror of elder gods, face tentacles–they’re where Fatale shows real energy.

Unsurprisingly, Phillips does good. The art is stylish and expressive, and there’s not much more I can say on that subject, other than a greater visual distinction between past and present would have given Brubaker’s script some more oomph. As it is, it’s a matter of period details (clothes, buildings), rather than a sense of visual character that divide the two parts of the book.

I can recommend Fatale, but mostly on the merits of the team’s previous work, and the expectation that it’s going to get better. As it is, this volume was a bit of a disappointment. – Megan Purdy

Chicks dig comics, Sean is the world’s foremost Kliban expert, and Wonder Woman was originally named Suprema. But you knew all of that already, right? Welcome back to Not By Manga Alone!

This month Sean pushes onward and upward, in his quest to read all the Kliban ever—this month he checked Two Guys Fooling Around With The Moon And Other Drawings off his list. Megan meanwhile, goes meta with The Comic Book History of Comics and Chicks Dig Comics.

Two Guys Fooling Around With The Moon And Other Drawings | By B. Kliban | Workman Publishing – After seeing Kliban’s two collections of Playboy cartoons, going back to the sketchbook collections is a relief. Not that they were bad, per se, but this feels like the real, unrestrained Kliban. Ugly, grotesque caricatures; sexual humor too risque even for Playboy; and of course a combination of wordplay and art like no other. The art in particular attracted me this time. It’s quite bold, with strong, thick lines and absolutely no attempt to make the characters and situation anything other than funny. In fact, in many ways the funny art helps to relief a few of the more controversial comics. Again, Kliban has no patience for corporate America or art critics, and both get savaged here. And even if Kliban wrote sexual punchlines for Playboy, some were a bit too weird even for them. The “earmuffs” gag, notably, features a self-portrait of Kliban as its focus—possible wish-fulfillment, if it weren’t so bizarre.

That’s what you really read these collections for. There’s a bit of sexual or political humor, but for the most part all this is just strange. Far stranger than anything The Far Side or Fusco Brothers ever hoped to come up with. There’s a series of Johann Sebastian Bach puns that are deadpan in their simplicity. There’s a couple using a sheet of plywood as if it was a swimming pool. There’s a clever variation on the “child won’t eat his vegetables” situation. It’s not perfect—several gags are here simply to pad out the book, or are simply TOO strange, and Kliban can be sexist at times. But again, this isn’t an author whose books you read just to laugh out loud, although you will several times here. But more often, you may cock your head to one side and go “huh?” Some gags need a bit of figuring out first, which is what B. Kliban is best at. – Sean Gaffney

The Comic Book History of Comics | Fred Van Lente and Ryan Dunlavey | IDW — Near the end of The Comic Book History of Comics, Van Lente says, “The industry might not survive. Should it?” It’s a smart and important question. Van Lente is talking about the great content industry boogie man, the digital revolution, and more specifically, torrents. Comics downloads probably do, as he argues, eat into the Big Two’s profits. They probably eat into their potential profits too, which is an even more ominous prospect for the health of the supposedly dying American comics industry. There’s a generation of comics fans who expect everything to be free—because in their experience, everything IS free. Downloading is easier than visiting a comic book store, especially in remote or rural areas. Downloading illegally is easier than navigating that weird digital back catalog thing Marvel offers. Comixology though, is easy to use and it’s cheap. And there are new and interesting ventures. Last week’s launch of MonkeyBrain Comics sent paroxysms of joy and terror through the industry, and for good reason. Cheap, high quality, creator-owned, digital indie comics? My god! The industry might not survive. Should it?

The Comic Book History of Comics traces the medium from its origins in newspaper cartooning, through the funnybook explosion, the crippling era of post-war censorship, the various booms and busts of a newly superhero-oriented industry, to the the challenges the industry faces today: the slow decline of the direct market, and the digital revolution. While this is a history of American comics, Van Lente and Dunlavey make smart—and necessary—visits to the British, French, and Japanese traditions. You can’t talk about American horror and fantasy comics without mentioning Metal Hurlant (and it needs to be said: Metal Hurlant is just the best). You can’t talk about the 90s grim and gritty trend, or the explosion of female readership, and the push into bookstores without talking about the “British invasion” of creators like Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman and Warren Ellis. And frankly, you can’t talk about contemporary comics without talking about manga.

The book is pretty much delightful. Dunlavey’s pencils, layouts, and numerous visual quotes make it a fun and easy read. And while Van Lente’s clearly done his research, and has serious and important things to say about the industry and the medium, his tone is breezy, more pop history than academic—and thank god. He quickly and efficiently leads us through the shift from newspaper funnies to funnybooks, as not just a thing that happened, but a radical shift for both creative and business reasons. He keeps the focus both on the ongoing creative transformations within the medium and its presentation—panels, subject, art style—and the economic factors both intersecting with and driving those changes. Why did so many early anthologies have a “house style”? Well, so the artists would be replaceable! Why did horror and crime comics all but disappear for a while? Why was Batman so milquetoast, for so long? Well, because of the comics code. And also because of the subsequent shrinking of the market, and the retreat of publishers into the few things that did still sell—namely, goofy, semi-nostalgic superhero stories. This dual narrative is crucial, because you can’t talk about the history of commercial art, without talking about the commerce.

The Comic Book History of Comics is at its best when covering the great moments and movements in comics history—at its worst, perhaps, when dealing with contemporary issues. Also—what do you really want to say about Stan Lee, guys? There’s a bit of an untold story there, as the famous writer/editor/huckster is depicted as a blithe kind of sinister—maybe the rat, who torpedoed Simon and Kirby’s scheme to working for both Timely (later renamed Marvel), and for themselves on the side—definitely an egomaniac who stole Kirby’s thunder—but was it intentional? Is Stan the badguy? A vaudevillian self-promoter and hack? Or was he just another overworked, underpaid cog in the comics machine, who stumbled into fame and found that he liked it? This is unclear. Unlike the rich, layered depiction we get of Kirby, Bill Gaines, and so many other comics heroes and villains, Stan Lee is little more than a mustache, a pair of glasses and a grin. Van Lente and Dunlavey don’t shy away from making judgements—Disney: definitely a visionary, also an epic asshole—but Lee is left a bit of a mystery.

Another issue is the treatment of digital comics piracy. The Comic Book History of Comics rigorously researched—I say, as a non-expert—and packed with anecdotes and data (no annecdata). This is a big part of why it’s such a fun read. But this fades away, necessarily, when dealing with contemporary issues. It’s hard to talk about comics distribution and the demographics of the readership right now, because the data isn’t very clear or very deep. How much does piracy cut into publisher’s profits? We don’t know. What percentage of the readership is female? We… don’t really know that either, because the direct market can’t give us reliable figures, and the Big Two have only recently started surveying their readers. And too, as any pundit will tell you, contemporary commentary and predictions are hard. I mean, I think ventures like MonkeyBrain Comics are the next big thing, but maybe I’m wrong. Maybe the publisher will be a minor footnote of history. It’s easier for Van Lente to organize the history of comics into broad themes and movements than to do the same with a transformation that’s still unfolding.

We don’t know if the industry as we know it is going to survive. And should it?

Of the early days of sweatshop comics, one creator says, “We wanted to be splendid, somehow.” That’s kind of the takeaway for me. The Comic Book History of Comics is the story of an artform still creating itself, while also paying the bills on time. And while I’ve maybe lingered more over its flaws than its virtues, it is splendid. Like Tom Spurgeon says in the introduction, this is necessary book. We need this history of comics—more and many varied histories of comics. So basically this. More of this. – Megan Purdy

Chicks Dig Comics | ed. Lynne M. Thomas and Sigrid Ellis | Mad Norwegian Press — It’s not actually a comic. It’s a book of essays and interviews about comics, chicks who work in comics, and chicks who love comics. I initially picked up the anthology because I’m, you know, a pretty loud geek feminist, and because of Kelly Thompson’s essay. (I’m preparing to interview her, so it was kind of a twofer). I have a lot feelings about Chicks Dig Comics, and they’re decidedly mixed.

To begin with, audience. Or, what is this book’s intended audience? I’m not sure, and the book doesn’t seem to be either. In the foreword, the editors say, “The title of this book describes a phenomenon so manifestly self-evident that we find it difficult to come up with more to say on the topic.” This stopped me short. Is the book intended for chicks who already dig comics? Chicks who would perhaps like to try out comics, and maybe also dig them? “The industry”? Guys who dig comics, who haven’t yet internalized the fact of female readership? I’m not sure. Compounding this confused messaging is the cover design. I read this book at work—during lunch, boss, I swear—at school, and on transit. Everyone wanted to know what I was reading. Everyone thought I was reading some adorable shoujo adventure story. The cover is attention grabbing, and that’s great. Not so great that even after checking out the title and subtitle, they couldn’t figure out what it was. Who is this book for? I don’t know. (These are the questions that keep me up at night…) That said, having checked out Chicks Dig Timelords and similar books, I have to admit that this kind of cover may be a genre convention—unfortunately, the intended “serious! also fun!” tone didn’t translate well to the uninitiated.

The anthology opens with an introduction by Mark Waid and an essay by Gail Simone. While I don’t object to the presence of men in a book billed as “A Celebration of Comics By the Chicks Who Love Them,” I have to wonder at the choice of a guy to introduce the topic. It reads less passing of the torch, than sop to the potential male audience, or an “all clear” for any potential male readers. “Mark Waid digs that chicks dig comics. Also Greg Rucka and Terry Moore.” Gail Simone’s essay hits many of the same points as he does. Both are personal retrospectives of the changing demographics of the industry and fandom. Basically, “When I was a kid not that many girls read comics, and now lots of girls do, and that is great.” All of which is true. When Mark and Gail were kids, girls weren’t a particularly visible or catered to segment of the comics reading population. Because of this thematic repetition, I’m left wondering why the editors didn’t lead with Gail’s essay. Is the book indeed for guys? Did they want a big name to anchor the book?

But this is all about the framing—you want to know about the content. A few of the essays are too brief or too light, and a couple of them are eminently skippable, but many are fantastic. The interviews and retrospective essays especially bring it. Carla Speed McNeil on how she broke into comics, and self-publishing then and now—fascinating! Terry Moore on the “why” of drawing—yes! Sara Ryan’s essay in script form—fantastic! The unevenness of the book made it a not always fun read, but there’s enough solid stuff here to make up for the bad. Sara Ryan’s Nineteen Panels About Me And Comics is tight, neatly constructed, quick, and genuinely interesting. I turned it into a recs list—her passion made me passionate about titles I haven’t even read. Jan Van Meter’s Vampirella: Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Page Turn is the comics-reader origin story I didn’t know I was looking for. It’s about monsters and horror and the closed world of childhood, in which horror fiction can be not just scary stories but hope—hope for justice, hope for yourself, hope even, for lesser monsters—and hope that one day, we too might be sexy space vampires with cute boyfriends. And that Kelly Thompson interview I got into this for? Awesome.

It’s undeniably true that women are present in the comics industry and fandom, in a way they weren’t in the recent past (remember, girls and women were big comics consumers before and after WW2!). We’re a loud demographic, sometimes angry, sometimes overjoyed. And slowly, even the Big Two are starting to get that our money too is good money. Those are, as the editors point out, self-evident facts. I love that a book like Chicks Dig Comics exists, and I hope that there will be more books like it. – Megan Purdy

Welcome back to Not By Manga Alone! This month Megan reviews the all-woman Womanthology, Sean looks at another Kilban collection, Tiny Footprints And Other Drawings, and Michelle visits with the young Beatles in Baby’s in Black.

Womanthology | By Renae de Liz, others | IDW Press – Womanthology was a Kickstarter sensation; the most successful comics project in the crowdfunding site’s history. The over $100,000 it raised has since been surpassed by Order of the Stick’s record breaking million dollar Kickstarter. Womanthology though, remains a singular project. It’s not the first all woman US comics anthology (far from it), but it continues to be high profile, generating both excitement and controversy. Maybe the project just came at the right time, when tensions over gender in the North American comics industry and community were hot, but the project’s continued high profile has meant valuable exposure for over a hundred creators, many of them up and comers.

Womanthology is an anthology with a social mission. It sought to build community among women creators, raise money for various Global Giving projects, and be a kickass comic book. It needs, therefore, to be judged by those, as well as artistic criteria. Does the book fulfil the projects threefold mission statement? Yes, yes and no. The results are mixed. Certainly Womanthology’s fundraising was impressive, and the excitement with which comics fans and creators greeted the project, suggest its gone a long way to its mission of building community. Womanthology was a nonprofit book, so it’s difficult to judge its sales figures against say, AvX, but it was recently announced that the anthology has been picked up as an ongoing series by its publisher IDW, so I think we can safely term it a commercial success.

Artistically it’s a mixed bag. The editors chose to pair up established and new and upcoming creators, which is a wonderful community building measure, but the art and writing is consequently varying degrees of polished. Some stories suffer under the shortness necessary for being part of an anthology. Endings are rushed, climaxes misplaced or absent. But one, two and four page stories are hard. It’s not surprising that the stories scripted and/or drawn by experienced cartoonists tend to be strongest. Stories that leaned on fairytale or newspaper/web comic strip tropes also tended to immune to the problem the page constraints. The one-two punch of a comic strip gag is perfectly suited to a tight frame; a superhero origin story might take a bit more breathing room.

Aside from length, some stories suffer from a layout that isn’t intuitive, and doesn’t always clearly delineate where stories begin and end. Titles and credits are too often weirdly placed, tiny, or bleeding into the background. The pages of the book are divided into two parts: up top are comics and pinups, footnoted below is an ongoing comic strip that’s interspersed with creator blurbs and quotes. It’s separated from the bulk of the page by a divider of three small stars rather than a straight line, and while this may sound like a minor issue, it took me a few seconds to figure out what part of the page needed my attention first. Confusing page design can be comic book death, so it’s a good thing the content of the book drew me in quickly. The creator quotes, all of them advice on how to make or break into comics, are the book’s standout design element. Besides being good advice, they contribute to a sense of continuity, which is so important in an anthology.

For me, the big draw of Womanthology is the sheer variety of styles and voices in the book. The art runs the gamut from the traditionally superheroic, to high fantasy, to picture book and even glamor pinups. Ming Doyle’s pulpy superheroine story is a predictable standout, but there is a lot of great work in this book, and not just from the big name creators. Janet Lee’s Ladybird is lovely, unusual and textured. Nado Pena’s colours in A Stuffed Bunny in Doll-Land are stunning; a nice bit of storytelling that perfectly compliments her pencils. Everwell, script by Jody Hauser, with art by Fiona Staples and Adriana Blake is another standout, an original fairytale with two different but equally dreamy art styles. The Culper Spy, script by Amanda Deibert and art by Amy Donohoe is a particularly fun story, introducing Agent 355 of the Revolutionary War’s Culper Ring, a savvy shoutout to Brian K. Vaughn’s Y: the Last Man. But while there’s lots of fresh and impressive talent in Womanthology, many stories could have used another go-through. Several otherwise outstanding stories suffer from misplaced word bubbles that utterly disorder conversations. Some of the book’s prettiest art is at times frustratingly opaque with action scenes that make little sense, and are hard to read.

But these are minor complaints, when the book as a whole is such a satisfying read. The sheer volume of content is impressive–this is isn’t a book you’ll get through in one sitting–and kind of wonderful. The undeniable hugeness of the book, along with the thoughtful creator interviews that wrap up the book, might help you through your sticker shock. Fifty dollars US! But worth a read. – Megan Purdy

Tiny Footprints And Other Drawings | By B. Kliban | Workman Publishing – I had said in my review of Kliban’s last collection, Whack Your Porcupine, that his use of art and wordplay was at its zenith. In Tiny Footprints, we see him going in the opposite direction. Except for one brief section dealing with rhyming sentences, these cartoons are almost entirely wordless, requiring you to focus on the art to get the humor. Perhaps as a result, the humor is much stranger here, and his cynicism that has popped up through the prior books seems stronger than before. I note that between his last book and this one, he had published a cat calendar and cat portfolio, so perhaps this collection is a contrast to the growing celebrity his cat drawings were getting in the public eye. This is the other Kliban, who could be crude and nasty towards humanity but also judged them with one of the best artist’s eyes in the business.

Some other things I noticed in this collection: there’s a lot of transposition of humans and animals in here, with Kliban never quite allowing us to forget our roots – or indeed how thin the veneer of ‘sophistication’ we have is. This goes both ways, of course – one cartoon has a delivery man being barked at by a naked man patrolling his fenced-in yard, while another sees an unimpressed princess holding a frog sticking out its enormous tongue, clearly ready for much more than a mere peck on the lips. There’s also some analysis of the ‘professional’ and the degrees you can get for it – we see a street corner with a prostitute who apparently has a Ph. D. in her field, and another street corner noting a beggar with the same. But as always, my favorite cartoons tend to be those that make me stare and say, “…what?”, such as the bus shaped like a duck walking down Main Street. Taken as a whole, these cartoons once again make you admire both the visual eye and the twisted mind of this artist. — Sean Gaffney

Baby’s in Black | By Arne Bellstorf | First Second – First off, let me state up-front that I am a huge fan of The Beatles. Not only that, but I am the kind of Beatles fan who has read multiple books about them and their early days and who would certainly be capable of finding fault with a graphic novel purporting to be about them. I clarify all this so that when I tell you that I enjoyed Baby’s in Black immensely you will realize how tough I will have been to please.

It’s a familiar story for me: The Beatles are playing in a club in a seedy area of Hamburg, Germany. One day, a young German named Klaus Voormann happens to catch a performance, and is so awestruck he insists that his quasi-girlfriend Astrid Kirchherr hear them for herself. Astrid, a photographer, is instantly intrigued by the group’s enigmatic bassist, Stu Sutcliffe, and while she befriends the band as a whole, she and Stu soon fall in love. He’s only in The Beatles to please his best friend, John, but with Astrid’s encouragement enrolls in a local art school and begins to attract notice as a painter. Alas, just as things are starting to go well, he begins getting these awful headaches.

Sometimes, a phrase can be really important. In this case, the phrase in question appears on the back flap and reads, “Written with extensive input from Astrid Kirchherr herself…” If this phrase hadn’t been present, my reaction to scenes of Stu and Astrid alone together might’ve been dubious. But because of her involvement, it felt like I was getting to see little moments between them that had never been considered significant enough to make it into any other chronicle. I wish the book could’ve been longer, or had a happier ending, but it wasn’t meant to be.

I do think Bellstorf handled Stu’s death in a tasteful yet striking way, and I was particularly fond of a few pages afterwards where Astrid’s gaze alights upon various spots in her home where Stu can no longer be found. Too, Bellstorf’s artwork, complete with scribbles that occasionally exceed panel borders, nicely captures the exuberance of The Beatles’ music as well as Stu’s painting sprees. If I had any gripe, it’s that the boys in the band are sometimes distinguishable only by their eyebrows and that I occasionally got Klaus and Stu confused, especially after Astrid gave the latter the haircut that the other lads would eventually ask for themselves.

If you’re new to early Beatles history, this would be an accessible place to start. And if you’re a seasoned fan, you still might learn something new. – Michelle Smith