Dirty Dozen: FBP: Federal Bureau of Physics

Dirty Dozen is a semi-regular feature with twelve disconnected thoughts on the first twelve issues of a current ongoing series.

1. Perhaps my favorite thing about FBP is that it feels like the kind of concept that doesn't just lend itself to the comicbook medium but actually needs to exist in that medium in order to be what it wants to be. The prose is necessary for the explanations of the big physics ideas. The art is necessary to show us what a world where the laws of physics are coming to pieces actually looks like and how it operates. And even the monthly serialization is important in that it allows each new concept to be explored more completely than might be possible if they all had to share the same, smaller space. It's the perfect idea for a comic, and I'm not sure it would even get off the ground in any other format.

2. I don't know how I would feel about the lengthy and on-the-nose title of FBP: Federal Bureau of Physics if that had been this book's name all along. I doubt I'd love it, but I might not hate it so damn much if the first issue hadn't been published under the immeasurably superior name of Collider. What a raw deal that it had to change with the second issue. I wonder how much potential audience was lost in the transition.

3. Robbi Rodriguez's art is great for many reasons, but what makes him such an awesome choice for this series in particular is how he manages to show us immediately and regularly how unstable the world of FBP is. The characters are a little bit warped in their designs; the linework is jittery but in a controlled, strategic way; the set pieces are all sprawling and manic. In a story where the fabric of existence is coming apart at the seams, it's important to have an artist who can capture the madcap energy of that reality and relay it to the reader. Rodriquez does so page after page, because his natural style is a bit madder and less restrained than most, and on top of that he often intentionally plays up the craziness and chaos in this book, always with purpose and to great effect.

4. Hey, Vertigo, what possible reason could there be to not include colorist Rico Renzi and letterer Steve Wands on the covers? Renzi has colored every issue, and Wands has lettered all but one. And they've both done impeccable work all the way through. Give them some damn credit, ya jerks.

5. The opening arc, "The Paradigm Shift," is probably still my favorite, though technically "Wish You Were Here" won't end until issue #13 so maybe my opinion will change when that concludes. "The Paradigm Shift" was such a strong introduction to the series, though, and it was followed by the considerably weaker "There's Something About Rosa," which had some problems that were hard to ignore. For one thing, the opening sequence in which Rosa is tied to a chair by the arc's villains is never returned to---even when we see her get kidnapped, she isn't ever tortured or bound like that. Then in the end, Rosa, Adam, and Cicero all agree on trapping the baddies in an infinite black hole loop, a rather heavy-handed response to their villainy, and one with some enormous moral/ethical implications that never get discussed. I don't have a problem with the protagonists going to such extremes, necessarily, but it would've been nice to see them weigh their options at all, or for at least one of them to have had some qualms about their decision for even a second. They are so cavalier about it that the impact of what they do is actually lessened by their unnaturally casual attitudes. Following "There's Something About Rosa" meant that "Wish You Were Here" had some goodwill to earn back, and I think it pretty much has, but even that arc doesn't feel as tight as "The Paradigm Shift" did. On the other hand, the story of "The Paradigm Shift" wasn't nearly as dense or daring as either "There's Something..." or "Wish..." so maybe what I'm reacting to is the book's growing complexity, and I need to just shut up and enjoy the ever-more-intricate ride.

6. I like how Adam is such a shameless slut. He doesn't look down on or even actively objectify women, but he does flirt compulsively and sleep with anyone who's into the idea. It's unusual to see a character who is so sexually aggressive without being immature about it or overly interested in it. Adam is at times distracted by his sex drive, yes, but it's far from being his defining characteristic, and it's never really a big deal in the scheme of things.

7. Nathan Fox's approach to the cover art is perfect. For one thing, his style complements Rodriguez's, so there's consistency there which is always a plus. What I really admire, though, is how Fox always captures the spirit of each issue in a beautifully boiled-down form. Sometimes it's a scene or detail from the issue reimagined and highly stylized on the cover, sometimes it's more a visual representation of the central themes or characters of the story inside, but it's always a great fit and a strong first beat to each chapter.

8. Simon Oliver isn't afraid to jump suddenly from one scene to the next, or even leave out some things, letting the in-between moments happen off-panel so the reader can get more of the meaty good stuff. Sometimes this is a little jarring, when the transitions take place mid-page and without warning, and then all of a sudden the characters have information we don't. But Oliver is smart and structured enough to fill in any gaps quickly; he never leaves us hanging for very long. It's an efficient way to write, especially in a book so full of huge, hard-to-understand ideas, and it's nice that Oliver respects his readers enough to not worry about everything being perfectly smooth or easily consumable. He provides all the details we need to make sense of the story, he just does it via an unexpected, syncopated narrative rhythm that's as hard to predict as the physics of the story itself.

9. I did not care for the "too be revealed" panel in issue #12. If you want to allude to events I haven't seen yet, then just do it, and show them to me when the time is right. Give your audience enough credit to suss out what's being discussed from context clues without needing an editorial interruption to say that the answers are forthcoming. Also, don't advertise a series I'm already reading within the pages of that same series. It was distracting and off-putting, and wholly unnecessary.

10. I appreciate the diversity of the cast of FBP, and the way it's handled by the creators. It is never ignored, and even sometimes openly discussed, most notably when Sen and Cicero talk about Sen's gender identity, but even then it is not the point of the story, never the center of attention. FBP doesn't show off or brag about its diversity, nor does it try to dig too deep into the politics of race or gender or any of those sticking points. It stays true to its mission and its narrative, and just happens to have a less homogenous cast than is unfortunately still the norm. The characters are aware of and realistic about their differences, but that is never their focus, nor is it the book's.

11. If I had to choose a single scene as my favorite thus far, it'd have to be in issue #11 when the bad guys shoot wildly at Adam as he jumps into Newton's Gulch, only to have one-third of their bullets return through the weird physics of the area and kill the shooters instead. It's a nice bit of comically violent justice, and a perfect payoff for the concept of the Gulch, introduced a few issues earlier.

12. Right from the start, FBP is all about change. The series' central concept has to do with changes in our world due to the laws of physics breaking down, and no sooner is that established than there's another major change when the government decides to open up the physics game to private industry, making the FBP practically obsolete overnight. Adam's partner changes from the first arc to the second, and his goals and priorities seem to be in a state of near-constant flux. Sen changed herself so her body would match the gender with which she identified internally. Cicero represents a change in the FBP's approach from learning in the field via hands-on experience to learning in a classroom and then bringing that education to the field. And so forth. This is a series about the impermanence of anything and the instability of everything, and it is that theme—way more than the scientific theory or the zany action or any other aspect of this book—that keeps me coming back for more.

Dirty Dozen: Sex

Dirty Dozen is a semi-regular feature with twelve disconnected thoughts on the first twelve issues of a current ongoing series.

1. I go back and forth over whether or not Simon Cooke is the worst protagonist ever. It seems to fluctuate issue-to-issue; once in a while he says something legitimately interesting that brings me back to his good side, but most of the time he's so boring it gives me a stress headache. He's an over-privileged, self-important jackass who can't figure out how to interact with the world, and watching him pretend to try while whining and constantly resisting has grown tiresome. If he died, it would be a relief, and open the book up for its numerous more interesting characters.

2. Piotr Kowalski was new to me when this series began, but I suspect I'll follow him pretty much anywhere in the future. Though I'm not always wild about what it is he draws in this book, he does a mighty find job of drawing it with meticulous detail in every panel. It's too bad that he has to waste much his talent on so many shots of Cooke staring blankly and mundane sex scenes, but when he gets to branch out it's always worth it. And his cityscapes are bananas good.

3. The sex scenes often feel like they exist more to justify the title than for any necessary story reason. Also, they are very repetitive, and disappointingly tame, considering the possibilities of the medium.

4. While my feelings on Cooke are hard to predict at any given moment, The Old Man is always the worst, most simplistic, uninspired, laughable caricature of a villain I've seen or ever hope to see again. Every scene he's in is the worst kind of empty shock value violence horseshit, and all he's ever done is torture and interrogate other villains. He did it to one cipher character for several issues, and as soon as that finally ended, he turned around and did the exact same thing to another boring bad guy. Which is what's happening now, meaning in 12 issues The Old Man has failed to rise above the role of pointless torturer. Maybe it's leading somewhere cool, but it could not possibly be worth wading through this swamp.

5. When it comes to cast- and world-building, I think that Joe Casey's writing is maybe at its strongest ever on this title, except for the fact that the main character is exceedingly dull. The supporting cast is considerably livelier, and very diverse in voice and point of view. It's a full, massive world Casey's cobbled together, and the cast grows all the time with new characters of all sizes. There are lots of balls in the air, and they can't all get equal attention, but nothing is ignored for too long. It all moves forward all the time, even when we're not watching it, and it that sense I'm very impressed with the story. There's a lot to like in here, but it's all built around a flimsy central character.

6. The Saturnalia was so stupid. Big build-up about the mystery for the answer to be, "it's an orgy."

7. My problems with Cooke and The Old Man are significantly mitigated by my total fascination with Keenan and his whole deal. I'm a sucker for any sidekick coming of age story, and the added element of Cooke having walked away from his superhero days makes it even better. Keenan is on his own and ferociously determined to prove he can pull it off. So far, he's doing just that, and in a level-headed and self-reflective way that gives me a lot of faith is his continued success. Keenan is the reason to read this series, the best character and star of the only regularly interesting plotline. His one present-tense interaction with Cooke is the best Cooke has ever been. And unlike 90% of them, Keenan's sex scenes serve a real narrative purpose, because his relationship matters a lot, and it develops in these moments of intimacy. Again, I vote for killing Cooke off somehow and giving Keenan twice as many pages. Some issues just plain don't have him in them, which is horrible.

8. Brad Simpson rules, and is just as much a part of my love for Sex's art as Kowalski. Simpson doesn't just do the colors, he's responsible for the lighting, which is a big deal in this book. Cooke's business world is neon, but at home he tends to live in more normal colors. The streets and poorer parts of the city, though, are dim and sickly in their tone. Kowalski puts the same heart and life into all of these places, but Simpson makes them distinct with some simple, natural coloring choices that have become an integral part of the aesthetic.

9. Annabelle's eye problems were a nice touch, and I'd like to see more stuff like that, especially from her. As a madam she's pretty stereotypical, but the notion of an ex-super-person paying in tangible ways now for their past is interesting, and Annabelle's commitment to her tough and capable reputation makes her a particularly strong choice to suffer those kinds of consequences. It'd be good to see Cooke go through some of that, too, but whoever it happens to, I definitely want this concept to be further explored. 

10. I'm not super clear on why we never get to see the Armored Saint in full. Is a big reveal coming someday? Just kind of a fun game to play with the audience, like the neighbor on Home Improvement? Or am I missing some symbolism in his hidden appearance?

11. The highlighted words in the dialogue drive me crazy. I don't know if they are chosen by Casey, letterer Russ Wooton, or some combination, but they're so frustratingly inconsistent and arbitrary that I just ignore them now. Whatever they were supposed to do, all they actually accomplish is adding superfluous spots of color in an already arrestingly colorful book.

12. I've said it before, and it's still true: I just don't know whether or not Sex is a comic I really want to keep following. I was hoping that making it the focus of this column would help with that decision. It did not.

Dirty Dozen: Young Avengers

Dirty Dozen is a semi-regular feature with twelve disconnected thoughts on the first twelve issues of a current ongoing series*.

*I know that calling Young Avengers a "current ongoing series" is kinda-sorta a stretch considering it's going to end with issue #15, and the whole thing has basically been one long story. But I think it counts because its endpoint wasn't predetermined when the series began—the story dictated its own length to some extent, as opposed to this having always been planned and announced as "a fifteen-issue series."

1. Loki is the star, right? The story is centered on Wiccan and his relationship with Hulkling, yet Loki is still somehow the main character. He knows the most, he does the most, he's the funniest, the most likable, the least trustworthy, the best. I very much think of it as an ensemble cast, but he's the breakout character and also the anchor.

2. Love and sex are both handled very well. Hulking and Wiccan have a different kind of totally equal, two-way affection than Kate and Noh-Varr. They're both healthy relationships, sincere and therefore valid. But the two couples aren't looking for the same things, so what they offer one another differs, too.

3. Young Avengers does credits pages like nobody else.

4. All the endless hype Jamie McKelvie gets for his layouts/page designs is more than deserved. It's not just that he does something innovative almost every issue, he also keeps finding new ways to do it. The two-page spread of Noh-Varr fighting his way across a room with numbered movements creates an extremely different effect than the page showing more or less every teenaged superhero in the Marvel Universe connected through the world's most well-built social-media-based flow chart. McKelvie is a powerfully creative cat. That said, there is never any way of knowing how much credit goes to writer or artist, and Kieron Gillen's close collaborative partnership/friendship with McKelvie is well-documented, so the praise goes to both to some degree, I'm sure. When the thing that knocks me out is the actual physical structure of the page, though, I have to assume the artist gets a bigger nod. Also, of course, major kudos to Mike Norton, who inks and/or finishes McKelvie's art depending on the issue.

5. The mystery around Miss America Chavez's exact place in all of this needs to be cleared up posthaste.

6. I know it's not everyone's cup of tea, but I quite like Gillen and McKelvie's approach of telling a single, finite, longform story in fifteen issues and then calling it quits. It's true that sometimes this has made individual issues seems slow or light, but ultimately this has been a rewarding narrative told well, and when it does hit its natural endpoint (which you can feel it getting rapidly closer to all the time) I much prefer to have the book end, even temporarily, than keep going just because the sales justify its continued existence. If you've told the story you set out to tell, then by all means, take a bow and get the hell off the stage.

7. The weird, itty-bitty subplot where Kate was worried that when she turned 21 she would count as an adult and therefore not be able to help fight Mother was sort of botched. It was only barely hinted at for a few issues, then suddenly Kate stated her fears out loud, had the rest of the team shoot them down in no uncertain terms, and blammo, the problem was resolved. I would've liked a bit more tension, or, even better, for this silly and inconsequential detail to have never been introduced in the first place. 

8. Young Avengers is classic and modern at once. There's a whole lot of social media, teen slang, pop culture references, etc. that make the comic feel very now. There's also an unthinkable, world-ending threat that a group of heroes band together to defeat, which creates a more old-school vibe. The book's prioritization of inventiveness and, more importantly, fun, feels like more of a throwback attitude, yet it can also be a powerfully dismal comic when it wants to be, grimming and gritting with the best of 'em. The mashing of retro and neo elements is one of the title's biggest draws.

9. I hate this book's treatment of Ultimate Nullifier. He was the best character in Vengeance, which is one of my favorite Joe Casey superhero comics ever. In that title, UN was a ballsy young warrior and a bit of a visionary, leading a team of idealistic teen heroes who operated under the radar, more interested in saving the universe than getting any glory or even recognition for their do-gooding. Here, he's demoted to the role of whiny ex-boyfriend, so upset at having been rejected that he becomes a petty supervillain helping Mother attempt to destroy the universe. He completely reverses his entire worldview and overturns all of his priorities because the girl he likes doesn't like him back. It's a total misfire, so I choose to believe Gillen's UN is a different characters entirely than Casey's, since that's how they read.

10. Wiccan's probably not going to make it out alive. That's been apparent from the get-go, and has only grown more likely with each new chapter. 

11. The idea that Prodigy not only retained all the skills and knowledge of a slew of other super-people, but also their sexual proclivities, intrigues me to no end. What about their tastes in food, entertainment, fashion, etc.? Does he find himself simultaneously drawn to and repulsed by basically everything he encounters? What about political views, prejudices, misconceptions, etc.? Even if he doesn't believe them all, does he KNOW what most of the rest of the Marvel U thinks about these topics? Trying to imagine what it's like in his head is the world's best thought experiment. Dear Marvel, please give the guy a mini-series, if not an ongoing, so this can explored!

12. No matter what happens in the final fifth, I will miss this volume of Young Avengers. It did stuff I liked reading, looking at, and thinking about.

Dirty Dozen: Revival

Dirty Dozen is a semi-regular feature with twelve disconnected thoughts on the first twelve issues of a current ongoing series.

1. The premise of the book is introduced quite well. In the debut, the dead already returned to life a while back. Revival Day is old news, and now the people of Wausau are dealing with the fallout, the quarantine and murders and so forth. Nobody every has the sort of long, unnecessary expositional dialogue that often exists in these kinds of stories, where one character tells another character a bunch of facts that they both already know about the past. Instead, everyone's focus is on the future, how to keep normal life going in light of this extraordinary event. The details of what happened come out naturally while people debate what's best to do from here, instead of pointlessly and unrealistically rehashing Revival Day for one another.

2. Rereading this series' first twelve issues all at once, I was struck by how much I had forgotten. There's so much information about so many characters, and not all of it has proven its importance to the larger narrative(s) yet. But there's enough payoff and evidence of planning that I trust Tim Seeley and Mike Norton to make everything count eventually, so I think continuously revisiting the issues I've already read will likely prove beneficial.

3. Essentially, the entire book is propelled by two central questions: What caused Revival Day? and Who murdered Martha? Yet each of those mysteries raises so many other, smaller questions, that finding concrete answers to either of them is proving difficult. Not to mention that every member of the cast has his or her own motivations and focuses, and very few (if any) of them have the truth as their top priority.

4. The small town elements of the series are fantastic. Family problems, high school acquaintances reconnecting, old secrets and wounds that never completely go away. Some of the specific bits and pieces are a bit cliché, but intentionally so, allowing the reader familiar footholds on the long, difficult journey through the supernatural elements of the narrative. The setting is a way in, a recognizable stage on which the drama of this horror tale can play out.

5. There is definitely some intense blood-and-guts stuff sometimes, but it's not the only or even primary source of horror. Mike Norton can draw gross out panels with the best of them, but he strikes a good balance between exaggerated gore and realistic depictions of violence and pain. Also, he makes the moments of high tension, the quieter, more creeping types of horror, equally powerful and unsettling. The story uses numerous scare tactics, shocking disgust being only one of them. But that is not the biggest, most important, or most impressive strategy. Neither is the supernatural material. It is the more down-to-earth, human evils where Norton and Seeley both do their best work.

6. There aren't exactly story arcs in Revival, which I like. Things do resolve, like the Check brothers' body part smuggling operation or, before that, the stepsiblings who had an affair and Mrs. Dittman killing her daughter and then herself. But it's not a one-thing-ends-another-begins pattern. Threads start and stop based on their own momentum, and new complications and characters are introduced almost every issue. Problems don't arise one at a time, and it gives the book a more interesting and true-to-life pacing that isn't seen often enough in serialized storytelling in any medium.

7. There are a lot of pop culture references. I don't mind them but I'm not sure how much they add. The punchline of Blaine Abel having "Nookie" as his ringtone and May saying she'd pick Satan over a Limp Bizkit fan is superb, though.

8. The series of three panels where Anders Hine finally lets his façade slip and reveals the ugly evil within are my favorite thing in this series thus far.

9. Perhaps my favorite character is Ed Holt. Not as a person, but as an addition to this particular narrative. The dude is an obvious asshole, an ignorant, violent, self-important racist and fanatic. He's villainous in a real-world sense, and in a more human story, he would probably be the biggest evil around. But in this book, I'm not sure he's actually very much of a threat. There are such bigger, scarier, more immediate dangers that Holt comes across as a harmless old grump rather than the extremely unhinged gun nut he truly is. He could easily prove to be worse than he seems before all is said and done, and that intrigue is what draws me to him.

10. Martha and Dana are nicely similar yet distinct. Solid sister characters, written by someone who understands the nuances of that kind of relationship. Though they have their own unique personalities, there's enough crossover to see that they were raised in the same household. And of course, Norton's designs for them accomplish the same thing; they're clearly related, but easily identifiable and distinguishable, too.

11. Cooper might be the weakest member of the cast, if only because his kid voice is sometimes too much for me. It works more often than not, but has scenes of being too on-the-nose or over-the-top, like when he says out loud that maybe the ghost/demon thing in the woods has a mom who is always away at work. Not that a kid wouldn't think or say that, but it feels like a lazy way to explain something we already understand about Cooper in the service of having him sound especially childish. I do love the comicbook he makes in issue #12. Some really excellent kid humor in there that I wish we'd see more of from Cooper.

12. Slowly but steadily, we do learn things about the revivers. There seems to be a common lack of emotion between them, expressed by Martha in her actions and reactions, and by Anders Hine and Joe Meyers out loud. They've all lost that part of themselves in their death and rebirth, and I have to assume it will be important down the line. There also appears to be some unseen connections between them. They can recognize one another by sight, or at least some of them can. And when the ghost/demon creature inhabited Martha, she was flooded with Joe Meyers memories. Meanwhile, Joe had a dream about that encounter from the point of view of the ghost/demon. These people are bound together by an unknown force, chosen to be brought back from death for what, more and more, feels like some specific purpose. Though the reasons for Revival Day remain undefined, it is becoming obvious that there were reasons.

Dirty Dozen: Saga

Dirty Dozen is a semi-regular feature with twelve disconnected thoughts on the first twelve issues of a current ongoing series.

1. Fiona Staples brings so much to this series, and is the most essential part of its creative success and quality. There's no shortage of things to praise about her work, but I think for me what stands out the most is the character designs. Obviously there is some big, flashy stuff like The Stalk or the welcome girls on Sextillion who are just giant heads on legs, but there's a lot of more careful work done, too. The most consistent example is the different types of wings and horns on the various characters, major and minor, from Landfall and Wreath. They are all different sizes and shapes and colors, some based on real animals, some on fantasy creatures, and a few that seem to be Staples originals. They are used to not just distinguish the characters but define them, showing us immediately what kind of people they are through a small but important physical attribute. It's indicative of the level of care Staples takes with all of her work on this title, and it handles a lot of the important world-building stuff in a subtle, silent way.

2. At first I thought I really liked The Will, but now I think it's just that I love Lying Cat on her own and as his partner, and The Will himself is just sort of a dull, blank, boring non-villain. I can't pin him down, and it makes it hard for me to feel strongly about him one way or the other. I see the difference between killing and enslaving children, sure, but his total emotional detachment when it comes to murder still doesn't jive with how hung up he gets on saving Slave Girl—which is a terrible name for a character, by the way...she needs to be fully humanized quickly, but that's another point entirely—or even The Stalk. I need to know more about his history or how his brain works or something, because right now I just don't really see what drives him, why he has the job he has or really does anything he does. He makes no sense to me, and isn't funny or rich enough of a personality to keep me interested without a better understanding.

3. I appreciate the approach to violence in Saga. It's not glorified, nor is it made overly brutal or horrific. Instead, it's treated as an ever-present evil, difficult if not impossible to avoid, and always with serious consequences. In other words, violence is in this world what it is in ours. Some people revel in it, others actively resist it, and everyone is worse off for its presence in their lives.

4. Brian K. Vaughan does endings well. Not just the endings of whole issues, but individual scenes, too. He has a knack for landing on just the right spot, showing the reader only exactly as much as needed and then switching focus to the next important beat. There's not a tremendous deal of empty filler in this series or many long moments of inactivity, which is how Vaughan manages to make so much happen each issue while still taking his sweet time with the pacing of the larger narrative. There are a lot of characters to keep up with, so the story advances gradually on the whole, but Vaughan tightly structures his scenes and cuts them short enough to give everyone the room they need in each chapter. From one issue to the next, we may not see a great deal of time pass, but within each issue plenty of shit goes down nonetheless.

5. While, again, it's all gorgeous work, the other single aspect of Staples' art that continually impresses me is the coloring. It's not just that she has an expansive palette of nuanced hues, but also the different textures her color work brings. The incalculable depths of space, the fickle movement of fire, all kinds of magical spells and futuristic weapons, all rendered in very specific ways so they not only look but feel different from one another.

6. Vaughan's dialogue can sometimes be the most natural thing in the world, and then you turn the page and get something so forcedly cutesy, crass, or both that it pulls you right out of the story. It shows off, calling attention to itself more than assisting in the telling of a story. Not that there's pointless conversation. By and large, everything is said for a reason, though even that isn't always true. But there's still a tendency to play with the words overmuch, and it can be distracting to a fault. "I came like a dump truck," is the starkest example I can recall. "Gwendolyn may have been tall, but her hips were boyish, not womanly like yours," is one on the other end of crass-cute the spectrum. Even something as simple as Slave Girl asking The Will what he is if not her new master, and him responding, "The lord of shit vacations." It's a non-answer, a bit of blackhearted edginess for the freelance assassin to spit out depressingly so we can all see how good he is at brooding. I'd much rather have him say something that provides insight into a new facet of his character, or actually attempts to explain to Slave Girl why he's so hell-bent on saving her. Often, Vaughan's characters are capable of that kind of openness, but they're just as likely to pull out some overly clever wordplay instead.

7. I'm a big fan of Izabel. I don't know that she always talks completely like a teenager from our world or time, but she a very consistent voice, and it is young enough for me to buy it as the speech patterns of a typical teen from Cleave. Because, who the hell knows what kinds of differences might develop? Plus she has a fun, weird look, and she carries it well, owning her revealed innards with the same confidence as her oversized hat. And honestly, she just makes me feel safer. An extra set of eyes, a level head, another person who cares about Hazel's best interests. It's important for Marko and Alana to have allies, and Izabel was their first.

8. I love that the back covers are all just a single, solid color. Classy.

9. Here's a tiny, nitpicky thing. In the first issue, Agent Gale says that Marko and Alana disappeared twelve hours after he was transferred to her facility. Now, admittedly, when we see them interact in flashback, there aren't like timestamps, so I suppose it's possible that they go from her jacking his jaw up with the butt of her rifle to devoted runaway lovers who've read and deeply discussed an entire novel together in half a day, but...that does not seem to be the indication. Alana talks about "Secret Book Club" being the "highlight of [her] career", which to me implies that it's been an ongoing secret between them, not a one-time thing that they are in the middle of when she says that. Also, she lends her copy of the book in question to a co-worker, and that girl still has it when Price Robot arrives, so...did Alana get another? I mean, that's fully believable, but not explained, and definitely not fitting into a twelve-hour timeline as far as her and Marko fleeing is concerned. I am bothered by this kind of sloppiness. Perhaps I'm reading it wrong and Vaughan knows exactly how long it all took and it really was twelve hours, but...I find that hard to swallow, and if it is a mistake, then, I don't know. I just don't like having something so specifically laid out in the very first issue and then abandoned.

10. A final round of applause for Staples: while not every single-page splash is an absolute stunner (often they are used just for a moment of high emotion or the arrival of a new character) any time there's a double-page spread you can be sure it was selected deliberately and will knock your socks off. The reveal of the rocketship tree in issue #6 is probably my favorite, although the planet hatching in #10 gives it a run for its money. There are a handful of others along the way, each of them enormous and important and jaw-droppingly beautiful.

11. Prince Robot IV and D. Oswald Heist's long, tense interaction in Saga #12 is excellent. Heist is a character I can't wait to see more of, and I hope we can have some flashback scenes of him in his youth, maybe even with his son before he died. His writing is central to Alana and Marko's romance, and he's a very intelligent, well-spoken, and brave man in his own right. Funny, too, and warm. Meanwhile, Prince Robot IV has been the best, smartest, scariest villain in this series from the debut, and continues to prove himself a capable and ruthless hunter, as well as a skilled interrogator. And now he is closer than ever to finding our heroes, the revelation of which made his conversation with Heist feel even weightier than it already did. I think this most recent issue may be my favorite, and certainly that scene (which makes up the bulk of the issue, anyway) is one of the very best the book has had.

12. I'm wholeheartedly into Marko and Alana's love, but them as individuals I'm not wild about. They're just a little too locked into the roles they want for themselves sometimes for me to believe, Alana always the spirited, courageous force of will and Marko ever the noble family man. Not that those kinds of people don't exist, I'm just not sure that's who Marko and Alana truly are underneath it all. I think they both used to be people they didn't like in lives they weren't suited for, so now they've selected idealized new versions of themselves who they stubbornly insist on being. But this new approach is no healthier than the old one, because neither are designed to just let them be themselves. And their true selves poke through more often than they'd like. Alana, secretly, is pretty much terrified of life's necessary unknowns, but level-headed enough to deal with them when they arise. And Marko is actually a deeply pissed off dude, sitting on anger at a lot of people and things that he's had from a very young age and never dealt with appropriately. Revealing these truer, more vulnerable identities to each other is what their love is doing for them, and it's for that reason I love their love and stay invested in their story. But if I met this couple in real life, they'd drive me crazy with their incessant facades and rotating series of increasingly brave but equally false faces. And sometimes it gets under my skin even in this fictional context. Hopefully the truth will becomes more and more common as their journey advances. It would sort of have to, or else this love I'm such a fan of isn't what I thought.

Dirty Dozen: Harbinger

Dirty Dozen is a semi-regular feature with twelve disconnected thoughts on the first twelve issues of a current ongoing series.

1. I have said this before and, no doubt, I'll say it again, but the biggest and most obvious strength of Harbinger is how naturally Joshua Dysart writes the numerous teenage characters. Not every line is exactly "realistic" or "accurate" in terms of how a typical modern teenager might talk, but then again, what is a "typical" modern teenager, and are these kids even supposed to fit that description? Regardless, on the whole they feel like believable and, above all else, consistent characters, each of them damaged but still young enough to possibly heal their larger wounds and grow into more stable, put-together, productive people. Yet that hope for a brighter future is constantly interrupted by the overwhelming and incredibly adult situations in which they find (or insert) themselves. And that, too, is reflected in their voices, the strain and insanity of their new lives affecting each of them in numerous ways, both obvious and more subtle, as the story rolls along.

2. In the debut issue, when we see 18-year-old Harada, we first learn where and when the scene takes place, and only then do we get his name and age. Immediately afterward, we meet Peter at 18, but the information comes in reverse order: first his name and age, then the time and place. This is indicative of their entire dynamic. Harada is a big-picture, long-term thinker, and Peter cares only about keeping himself and the people he cares about safe and alive from day to day. This difference is demonstrated more overtly when they talk in issue #3. Peter sees how luxurious his quarters at the Harbinger Foundation are, and says that way of living looks lonely. He than expands upon this sense of loneliness by looking at the view of Pittsburgh from his room and musing on the fact that, of all the people down there, he only knows Kris and Joe. Harada responds by asking Peter what he sees when he looks at the city, which Peter has essentially just answered, but it doesn't matter, because Harada doesn't want to hear the answer, anyway. What he wants is to give his own answer, but deliver it in second person, to try and sway Peter to his way of thinking. And Harada's answer is all struggle-for-survival rhetoric, humanity competing against itself and needing a new direction that he will provide and so on. These two men aren't even having the same conversation, and this disconnect between them is why they're perfect rivals.

3. I could take or leave the Bleeding Monk, who is a pretty archetypal cryptic old man with knowledge of the future who plays both sides and/or fights for a side all his own. On the whole he doesn't excite me much. But man, that gangster stroll on the final page of issue #5 is delectable.

4. It definitely moves quickly. Kris is introduced, raped through mind control, and released, causing a massive and understandable emotional breakdown, all in the space of two issues in which she is a relatively minor player. Joe's dead by issue #4, in spite of being one of the primary characters up to that point. His presence lingers much longer, but still, that's a fairly short run. I mean, Peter's entire journey from ignorant runaway to student at the Harbinger Foundation to knowledgeable runaway only takes five issues, and I think in a lot of other books with a lot of other writers, it would've been two if not three full arcs. One for him to get off the street, one to realize that Harada is really a villain, and a third to fight back and break out. I do think that the latter half of the series drags a bit, because not all of the Renegades need an entire issue devoted to their introductions. Charlene and Torkelson probably could've been recruited in a single issue wihtout too much being lost, at the very least. Plus the zero issue doesn't provide much new information or plot advancement (though it does serve its purpose), and issue #11, the most recent and the first of several tie-ins to the Harbinger Wars crossover, is more filler than meat. So lately the pace has slowed, but it still has a healthy clip compared to any number of more decompressed titles out there. For me, this is a positive, but I suppose others might make the same point as a criticism, and that's fair enough. Sometimes rapidity can mean glossing over or entirely ignoring important information, but this is such a character-based series, the plot is easy to follow even when it zips ahead. And the characters are all either running from or trying to catch one another, so the relentless forward momentum is appropriate and often necessary.

5. Tull is a more interesting antagonist than Harada. Where Harada is a mishmash of cliched villain tropes pushed to logical extremes, Tull is very much specific to this particular title and some of its unifying central themes. I can't count how many Special Victims Unit episodes are based on the idea of a bad guy who, like Harada, has a great public image, and that's just one crime procedural. And certainly world domination, even under the pretense of altruism and improvement, is not an original motive for a supervillain. His views on psiots are the same as Magneto's on mutants, and his calm and serenity in the face of all obstacles is reminiscent of Watchmen's Ozymandias. But that's fine, those are great characters, and the specific blend of familiar elements that make up Harada is unique. But Tull, though many aspects of his character are just as well-worn, also has a singular attachment to this series that I just don't feel with Harada. Because Tull's mind is wiped by Peter regularly, he loses himself. He has no memory of hunting Peter in the past, and no real desire to do so now, only keeping it up because he's told it is his job. How much damage invading another person's mind can do and the moral implications of it are both ideas Harbinger explores regularly, and Tull is a walking argument against meddling too much or too often. He is a warning against what could come, and a demonstration of how much power Peter (and presumably other psiot characters) actually has. With an only slightly modified power set and goal, Harada would fit in a lot of books; Tull's only home is Harbinger. His last appearance made it seem like he was doomed to die, and that may be, but I suspect we'll see him again. He's too bound to the core of the series for me to believe he's really gone.

6. Kris is the best character, and her issue (#6) is the best as well. One of the things I most like about her is I feel like Peter could die and she'd step up and keep his mission going, but she also has potential, down the line, to replace Harada as the main villain. There's a definite darkness inside of her, and it leads to a certain unhingedness in her personality. Add to that how badly Peter messes her up at the beginning of the series and the fact that she is one of the only non-powered members of the cast, and it's easy to see her going through some pretty transformative shit and coming out the other side as evil. Not that I expect it, I just see her as the Renegade most likely to turn. But what Kris is best for is her humor. "Even if I kill you for what you've done to me... I'm still just giving you what you want?" That's hilarious, and hilariously bleak, which is the heart of Kris' sensibility. She understands, maybe better than any of her allies, how much trouble they've all gotten themselves into and how dangerous their future promises to be. But she manages to stay intelligent, sassy, alert, and smirking through it all, and finds the levity in their lives wherever it exists.

7. Having Joe's last words to Peter be, "You're the most terrifying person I've ever known" is easily the darkest, most tragic thing Harbigner has done.

8. There has been a definite lack of regularity in terms of artists from the beginning, with Khari Evans contributing the most, but even then having only a handful of issues on which he's the only penciler. Yet there is nevertheless a certain level consistency to the style, speaking, I guess, to editorial skill when it comes to picking similar artists. I wouldn't call it realism, but it's definitely more realistic than not, with detailed backgrounds and moody character expressions. Yet the art always manages to embrace the superpowered elements, too, blasts of electricity and glowing eyes and widespread wreckage and the like. None of that ever feels out of place, because all the artists make the rest of their pages just exaggerated enough so that the fantastical moments can cut loose without clashing. Which is all well and good, but there's still a lot of fluctuation when it comes to the finer details, and I would like a more unified visual identity for the book, because even if the ever-changing art team handles things satisfactorily, right now this is a title very much defined and distinguished by its narrative alone. The visuals get the job done, but they're never a draw, because there's no way of knowing quite what to expect from each new issue.

9. Peter is a hero where Harada is a villain because Peter can admit his flaws and shortcomings, and does so regularly, beating himself up over any and every mistake and always struggling to learn from them and better himself. Harada refuses to acknowledge his own personality defects, and that's why there is so much difference of opinion and even dissent amongst his ranks. It's hubris, baby, and it'll be what undoes him someday.

10. Faith is amazing, Charlene is growing on me, and Torkelson's sort of a pain in the ass but I get it. It's important to have Faith on the team because she is the only non-cynic, a true believer. Charlene's history was way too trite for me, but after her intro issue was over I grew to like her quite a bit. She interacts well with each of the other kids, and she's really the only one of them who can. As for Torkelson...he's repetitive and obnoxious, but as Kris says, it's sort of like dealing with a rescued puppy. Literally everything he is experiencing is brand new for him, and he's understandably emotionally stunted to begin with from spending his life confined to a bed in a trailer. He grates on me now, but I'm empathetic to his struggle, and I look forward to (hopefully) seeing him grow.

11. Darpan's on a slow burn, by which I mean we've seen disappointingly little of him so far even though he seems slated to be a pretty big deal before this saga concludes. He obviously has a special place in Harada's black heart, and there MUST be significance to he and Peter being two of three known psiots who were born activated. Also I just like him, have from the beginning. He's a bit simple, but it stands to reason, since everything in his life has been controlled by Harada. All Darpan knows is the Harbinger Foundation. It gave him a home and a purpose and an understanding of his abilities, so he is ever grateful and obedient. He also seems largely unaware of how devastating his powers are. I think he knows that he is the cause, but just has no real moral compass to tell him that forcing others to relive the worst moments of their lives is a terrible thing to do. He's one of the story's biggest threats, but he doesn't know it and likely wouldn't care one way or the other, and that is a nuanced role I want to see expanded rather than set aside.

12. Peter is not easy to like. He fucks up constantly, he wallows, he's got anger and control problems, etc. But he cuts through the bullshit more quickly and efficiently than anyone, even Kris, and ultimately that's why he's the star. Not just his power level but also his point of view make him singularly equipped to push back against Harada.

Dirty Dozen: Prophet

Dirty Dozen is a semi-regular feature with twelve disconnected thoughts on the first twelve issues of a current ongoing series. 

1. Though it is building an expansive world and story at an intentionally gradual pace, Prophet has already told numerous fascinating and complete smaller stories, too. The first three issues (#21-23 because this is technically the relaunch of an old Liefeld title) could have been an entire mini-series and left nothing to be desired. The same is true of several single issues that followed. But every one of them has by now revealed themselves to also be a tiny piece of an enormous overarching narrative, which makes their individual wholeness that much more impressive.

2. The language of the series shifts playfully between the strictly factual and the deeply personal. Nowhere is this truer than the third-person narration captions, which sometimes sound like a tour guide welcoming us to a scenic new area, and other times give significant insights into the nuanced mental and emotional states of the cast. But you can find it in the dialogue, too, most noticeably with the white and red word balloons of the Earth mothers (white tends to be emotional material while red is for facts and orders). This lingual dichotomy is essential to the tone of the project as a whole. It explores this distant future from both scientifically detached and psychologically intimate viewpoints, which helps to weave a more intricate narrative tapestry more quickly.

3. All the artists are fantastic, so here's what I think they each do best: Simon Roy has the strongest Prophets, expressive and stoic in the right mix, with a clear caveman influence to their shape and movement. It's why Roy was the perfect choice for the opening arc, and he plays heavily to these strengths in the most recent issue (#32), which he wrote and drew in its entirety. There, he explores the humanity (or inhumanity) of being a Prophet by bringing one together with a band of primitive humans. Farel Dalrymple creates the most hideous, terrifying aliens, bringing more of a horror edge to this space story. The Ixtano Circus in issue #30 has the most abundant examples, but the strongest is the Prophet in #24 whose body has become twisted and ruined by a toxic environment. It's a thing of beauty in its ugliness. Giannis Milonogiannis is my favorite, because he does grandiosity better than anyone. The slow and ground-shaking steps of ancient beings the size of mountains, scenes of widespread combat from the old war against the Empire, the floating bodies of dead and sleeping space giants. Milonogiannis can capture these enormities in a single image (though, to be fair, it's often a two-page spread) and his visuals last in my memory more vividly and long-lastingly than most. Finally, there is Brandon Graham, who is primarily the writer but handled art as well for issue #26. Stylistically he's somewhat gentler, giving the vastness of space a calming effect. It feels like he has a great reverence for everything he draws, and it makes me feel the same way. The art of his issue may be soothing, but it is no less awe-inspiring when that is what the story calls for.

4. As we learn of the reach and power of the Empire, we simultaneously see some of its weaknesses, not the least of which is the seemingly-tenuous control it has over its army of Prophets. Even the first Prophet we meet questions and sometimes goes against the voice in his head telling him to stick to his mission. The next guy (with the awesome tail) ends up breaking free of the Empire's control completely. And the the most recent Prophet, John Ka, disobeys a direct order from her masters and tricks them into killing the enemies of their intended targets. She still joins up with the Empire as she is supposed to, but only after this deception. So in spite of what is clearly a vast network of well-trained, mentally-manipulable soldiers, the Empire may not have as tight a grasp on the universe as it expects to, and I am interested to see how that plays out.

5. There are many examples of days or even weeks passing in the space of a single panel and/or through the use of a single caption. The events of this book so far seem to span months, possibly even a year or two, and all of it is taking place after many ages of inactivity and slumber from both sides of the conflict. I love that this is a war no one is rushing into. The Empire and its enemies have to acclimate themselves to this future, organize their forces, and plan their next moves, and everyone seems to be doing so at a deliberate pace. So Prophet matches that pace as a series, within each issue and also in its overall storytelling methods. Switching focus from one Prophet to another, spending as much time in the mundane moments of their lives as the exciting ones, the book gives everyone and everything enough space to be completely explained, examined, and enjoyed.

6. There is an astounding singularity of vision considering the rotating group of artists on the title. Yes, everyone has their own artistic strengths and flourishes (see thought 3 above), but there's also a level of visual homogeneity, at least atmospherically speaking. Wide open spaces, settings reminiscent of the Wild West, alien races that are plantlike or buglike or both, John Prophet as grizzled and brooding---these can be found no matter who is doing the drawing, and it adds a cohesiveness that could easily be missing. So often when artists swap in and out like this, the change is stark to the point of being distracting. Somehow, the Prophet team has found a happy medium. Each artist has a distinct style, but the underlying visual feel of the book remains steadily the same.

7. The moment in Prophet #25 when Old Man Prophet suddenly bursts from the corpse of a Nephilim and so swiftly kills not only two other Prophets but their Earth mother commander...chills. I can still remember reading that scene for the first time and physically sitting up straight (I like to read comics lying on the couch) with excitement. And I didn't even know the full significance of the character yet. It was just such a powerful, well-timed moment, and it represented a clear promise of larger things to come. It marked a shift in the focus of the book. No longer just telling disconnected tales of different Prophets trying to survive, it instead became more personal and established more firmly a long-term story through the introduction of this anti-Empire protagonist. That was when I began to refer to this my favorite current series, and I haven't stopped since.

8. Brandon Graham, who wrote or at least co-wrote the first eleven issues, makes science fiction seem effortless. I have no doubt that it is, in fact, the result of tireless work, but the number of creatures, planets, cultures, biological idiosyncrasies, and the like that he introduces every damn issue is just an embarrassment of riches. And I admire that the scope of this series is so large that Graham will quickly abandon a setting or society in order to move us onto and into the next one. It keeps the book fresh, constantly expanding its world and history. Of course, many things are seen more than once as well (Qid-Pids come to mind as a race that's apparently everywhere), establishing a baseline consistency for the story even as it continues to grow outward and upward.

9. Ed Brisson has lettered every issue. Fantastically. Stylized and easy to follow, his work never gets in the way of the art but won't let you ignore the words, either. And the word balloons of alien symbols covered by balloons with their English translations is brilliant in its simplicity. My guess would be that Brisson did not invent that technique (only because it seems so obvious once you look at it as a way to handle translation), but he uses it expertly either way. The best bit of lettering work is the white or red dialogue balloons of the Earth mothers I mentioned above. It heightens their creepiness and, somehow, helps display the extent of their power. Brisson is one of the most regular elements of the Prophet experience, so he must be doing something right.

10. I love the cover art for this title, which almost always consists of either a single Prophet engaged in some adventurous activity or a gorgeous view of some sci-fi scenery. I guess #30 is really more of an alien than it is scenery, but because it's such a plantlike alien it creates the same feeling as the more scenic covers. The point is, this book knows exactly what it's about: Prophets traversing this beautiful, fantastical universe. The covers express that plainly and clearly, which is sort of rare in comics and something I always appreciate.

11. Like Brisson, Joseph Bergin III has been a reliable aspect of the book as the colorist from issue #24 on. The first arc was colored by Richard Ballerman, who is just as skilled as Bergin III, but only ever worked on Prophet with Simon Roy, making him less responsible for aiding the visual consistency I pointed to in thought 6. Bergin III may even deserve most of the credit for that consistency, and certainly a heaping portion of it should be directed his way. He can capture any environment, and move seamlessly between pages that are a wash of one color and those that are more detailed and realistic. Though his palette tends to favor neutral tones, he can pull out the brasher and more startling reds and blues when appropriate, which helps the many and varied action sequences stand out from the pages around them. Again, there's no question that Bergin III is a great talent, because he's been a part of so many issues of such a strong series.

12. Even though they have conflicting goals, I always find myself rooting for whichever John Prophet I am reading about at the time. As versions of the same man, they all posses an admirable bravery and sense of honor, even when they're working for an invasive evil empire. They are tough, quiet, and sure, and even the "bad guys" appear to be decent human beings at their core, despising injustice and desiring companionship. I love that consistency, and it demonstrates how fully-realized this character was in the minds of the creators before the book even began.

Dirty Dozen: Rachel Rising

Dirty Dozen is a semi-regular feature with twelve disconnected thoughts on the first twelve issues of a current ongoing series.

1. Rachel Rising is deceptively difficult to summarize. It doesn't feel like that vast an idea when you read it, but any boiled-down description feels like it detracts from it. If I try it in one sentence, the closest I can get is: In the present day in a small American town, a witch is taking her revenge on the descendants of the people that tried to kill her and successfully killed her witch friends, along with a bunch of innocent childless women, 300 years ago. But that doesn't even mention the title fucking character, except inasmuch as she's one of the witches. Only...she's also a totally normal non-witch living in the modern world. And this is where the summarizing hits a snag, because to be honest, I'm not even clear yet on exactly how that whole thing works. It seems like maybe Rachel's body is housing the spirit/soul of the murdered witch, but if that's the case, why does she have modern Rachel's memories and personality? And is that also true of the other resurrected witches? Does the woman with the snake in her throat remember her life from before in the same way Rachel does? And now I'm teetering on the edge of a rabbit hole, and there are still like five to ten major characters I've yet to mention. Maybe it's not difficult to summarize. It's impossible to summarize. It is too well-built and complex to be understood from a distance, and should instead be experienced firsthand. By everyone.

2. It is so, so easy to forget that, mixed in with everything else that's going on, there is still a murder mystery that needs solving. Rachel was strangled and buried by somebody, and it seems totally separate from all the witch trial stuff. Somebody killed modern-day Rachel, and that somebody hasn't been discovered yet or even talked about in a while. But he/she exists, and will have to turn up eventually.

3. There is an incredible balance between the violent climaxes and the gorgeous, deliberate scenes of total silence. The first issue opens with nine pages of silence, but it's captivating and significant stuff. The longest, loudest, most crowded conversations are often the least weighty or informative---they're used to show us who the characters are rather than drive the plot. When the important shit goes down, it is often wordless, and on top of that there are plenty of calm, almost mundane silences, too. Two rabbits casually munching on a fox corpse. Rachel walking through the heavy snow. Zoe hiding up in a tree. And so on. This back-and-forth between the dialogue-heavy scenes, violence-heavy scenes, and scenes which are just generally a bit lighter is perfectly calculated, and gives the book a unique and unsettling tone overall.

4. I did a bit of counting, and it looks like each issue is only 18 pages. Meaning these twelve issues have a total of 24 fewer pages than any twelve issues of any other current series. So if I wasn't thoroughly impressed with the size and scope of this book before (which I suspect I was) I sure as shit am now.

5. The way insanity is handled in Rachel Rising is atypical and admirable. Even the craziest characters are capable of functioning in the world, interacting with "normal" people, leading "regular" lives. And more to the point, their craziness is not all that defines them. Dr. Siemen may have meals and conversations with his long-dead wife, but that doesn't make him any less competent a medical professional. I trust him with fixing Jet's spine even though I don't buy any of his "Angel of Death" philosophy. It's not a treatment of madness I see very often in fiction, but it's true-to-life and I appreciate it tremendously.

6. So many badasses. Obviously the villains, meaning Lilith and Malus, have incredible power and use it for some crazy violence, but that's not what I mean. Or it's not the only thing I'm referring to. Rachel, of course, is a badass in her own right, if only because she takes everything in stride. She has several unthinkable situations and developments pop up, but never loses her level-headedness or rationality. Plus there's the end of issue #12 when she digs herself out of a grave for the second time and declares that Lilith made a big mistake, which I am guessing will lead to a pretty spectacular face-off between the two of them. And even Zoe, now free of Malus' possession, turns out to be a pretty badass little kid, able to laugh in the face of the demon who has controlled her for centuries and refuse to do his bidding any longer. Hell, the fact that she's the only person to ever survive his possession is a significant and impressive fact on its own. So yeah, there's a lot of that kind of thing in this book: tough-as-nails survivors who won't back down no matter how large the threat before them.

7. The covers may be my favorite artistic aspect of the series. Always using blacks and reds, but with a different "base" color for each set of (so far) six issues. So the first six are green, black, and red while the second six are orange, black, and red. It's a cool if simple way to tackle cover art, and makes for a seriously compelling visual if you lay them out next to each other. And of course, each image stands alone as an intriguing invite to look inside.

8. Somehow I have gotten this far without actually saying the name Terry Moore, which is just ridiculous, since he is the writer and artist for the entire series. It's amazing how complete the whole project seems to be already in Moore's mind. Every member of the vast and growing cast is fully-realized from their first appearance, and the shape and speed of the larger narrative is clearly under control. That's why we get hints about the witch trial from Johnny in Issue #2. It's why Zoe is convincingly both a brutal murderer and a scared little girl from the beginning. It's why Lilith doesn't even need to speak in order to introduce herself to the reader. Moore has thought all of this through to the end, you can tell, and is deliberately and carefully showing his readers only what we need to know at each stage in the game. It's rare to find that kind of consistent pacing, raising and answering questions at just the right times to keep the mystery alive without it growing overly confusing.

9. It's not often that the distinction needs to be made (especially in comicbooks where the majority of titles are superhero-based), but Rachel Rising has very little action and an awful lot of violence.

10. Earl's strange, sad, silent love for Jet is the single best detail in the book. He's the best character, I guess, in my opinion, although I wouldn't have said that until I just now thought it through. But he is. It would have been so easy for him to be a creep, but instead he is, as Jet says, a perfect gentleman, and I love that for several reasons. First of all, it was unexpected. In the initial scene where he pronounces his love to Jet's corpse I kept waiting for the creepy/inappropriate shoe to drop and instead he just got sweeter and more respectful. And as their relationship has advanced since Jet came back from the dead, Earl has only won me over more and more. His near-stoic admiration for Jet, his willingness to help out, his composition in the face of the impossible, his total honesty...he may be a bit left of center in appearance and mannerisms, but he's what all men should aspire to be like. All people, really. Let's not make this a gender thing.

11. There are definitely things that would be lost if this series were in color. In particular, I think of all the scenes with heavy falling snow. There is a sense that the snow takes over everything, washing out the rest of the world, and somehow that effect would be diminished if the rest of the book were fully colored. Having it already be in black and white makes the addition of even more white seem all the more significant. Also, I think that if the blood were red it would pull the focus in some of the death scenes. I am thinking specifically of Jet's death right now, but there are doubtlessly others where having a lack of color means the gore is easier to ignore in favor of the emotional weight of what's happening. And that's important. I'm sure that if Moore had chosen to work in color he would have adjusted accordingly and the series would still have the right look, but he didn't. He chose black and white, and therefore he plays to the strengths of that decision.

12. Having a snake that lives inside you and jumps out of your throat to kill people is the coolest goddamn power I've ever seen. I guess that's the teenage boy inside of me, maybe even younger, but I don't care. I love that shit. I eat it right up.