This Exists!: Captain Awareness: Assault on Campus

This Exists! is a semi-regular column about particularly strange, ridiculous, and/or obscure comicbooks I happen to have stumbled across.

I can't remember exactly where it was that I found Captain Awareness: Assault on Campus, but I know from the sticker on the cover of my copy that it only cost me 25 cents. It must have been years ago, since I'm sure I read it back when I first picked it up---otherwise it wouldn't be stored in a longbox but instead sitting in one of many growing  piles of unread comics---but I have zero recollection of that initial reading experience. My assumption is that I bought the issue simply because it was cheap and looked sort of goofy, whizzed through it without much thought back in the day, and then stashed it away and forgot about it until it caught my attention recently while I was mining my collection for something new to write about.

Rereading Captain Awareness for this column, I was unexpectedly impressed with a lot of the material, which was thoughtful and honest in its dealings with the incredibly sensitive subjects of rape and sexual assault on college campuses. That it chooses to discuss these problems in the context of a superhero comic is arguably a bad call, not because superheroes can't deal with such serious things (they can and have), but because writer/artist D. DeAngelo's superhero work isn't nearly as deep or detailed as his handling of rape. Captain Awareness is an interesting concept, and a nice if obvious metaphor, but ultimately as a character it's a ham-fisted stock superhero persona, which is always hard to take entirely seriously. Therefore, the potential exists for the title character of this story to actually detract from its message by making it seem sillier than it is. But I do think DeAngelo avoids making that mistake as much as possible here, so in the end this is a successful effort.

Make no mistake, it's an after school special. I can't pretend that DeAngelo's dialogue is anything less than forced and unnatural, with characters shooting sexual assault statistics at one another and everyone, even the villains, openly discussing their feelings and points of view in no uncertain terms. The main bad guy, Rick, is as bad as they come, a bully and serial rapist with a pseudo-mullet who feels no remorse and flaunts his conquests to everyone. There are no real layers to his or any character, because everyone has a single role to play to the max: the horny asshole, the respectful good guy, the damaged victim, the concerned friend, and Captain Awareness as the do-gooder who's just as pure as Rick is wicked. DeAngelo isn't going for subtlety or even realism, because this comic is trying first and foremost to be comprehensive, then accurate, and only at the bottom of the priority list is being a great piece of fiction. If it has to sacrifice nuanced storytelling so all of its points can be made clearly, it does so, and where I might usually take issue with that tactic, in this case I think it works.
     In the space of only 36 pages, if your aim is to examine the innumerable causes and consequences of rape on America's campuses, you're going to have to trim the fat and get right down to it. That's what DeAngelo does, by having his characters speak plainly and directly about the topics at hand. It allows the reader to see things from many different angles, and get a fuller picture of all the ways rape can affect someone's life. It's not just Diane, Rick's most recent victim and the comic's narrator, whose life is dramatically and forever changed. Her roommate, Denise, is also deeply affected by the events, as are Denise's boyfriend Mike, new student Maria, and Rick's ex-girlfriend and previous victim Helen. That's a decent number of brand new characters to move through, and even if they aren't entirely three-dimensional, they at least have distinct attitudes about and reactions to the incidents of the story. Between them, they cover a lot of ground, so DeAngelo can discuss not only the mindset of rapist and victim, but those of the people around them, too, good, bad, and ugly.

I can also understand the impulse to lay everything out overtly in a story like this, if for no other reason than to avoid any chance of misinterpretation. Not that DeAngelo was worried his comic would come across as pro rape, but if what Captain Awareness wants most is to give a voice to the victims, and that certainly seems to be its primary goal, then it's absolutely essential to have that voice be loud and clear. Which is what we get in Diane, a straightforward and emotionally raw expression of the shame, fear, anger, disgust, self-doubt, and other miseries being sexually violated can (and does) bring about. Her narration is bold and brutally forthcoming, and certainly the aspect of the writing which DeAngelo gives the most attention. Running throughout the issue, Diane's description of what was done to her and how it made her feel, and continues to make her feel, is the true heart of this book. She is very much the star of this story, and its biggest creative strength as well.

Really quickly, I should probably talk about Captain Awareness itself (not himself or herself, see below), because it's the title of the damn book and also a genuinely interesting idea. The concept behind Captain Awareness is that, rather than being a single individual, it is a set of powers---strength, invulnerability, flight, and "cosmic awareness"---that can be granted to literally anyone when they need it. In this issue alone, Mike, Denise, and two different unnamed character all get a turn in the costume, each contributing to the fight against Rick's widespread damage in their own way. That's a neat idea, and not one I can remember seeing before, although it's the kind of thing I have to assume someone else has done somewhere else at least one other time. Regardless, DeAngelo introduces the mechanics of Captain Awareness on the first page, and from there lets the character speak for itself. And there is a definite, unique voice for Captain Awareness, no matter who specifically is playing the part at any given moment, which, again, is something I rather like. Captain Awareness is a single entity with infinite possible bodies and minds, the opposite of a secret identity, basically. Everyone knows about it and what it stands for, and they all seem to be in on the fact that anyone can become Captain Awareness at any time. That's a bizarre and original relationship for the public to have with a superhero, and though it is not at all the point of this comicbook, it's an idea worth applauding.
     The artwork is also noteworthy, though not necessarily for DeAngelo's pencils, which are serviceable but never amazing. What is pretty amazing is the line-up of inkers: George Perez, Gordon Purcell, Norm Breyfogle, Dick Giordano, and Jimmy Palmiotti, among others. Each of these recognizable and respctable industry professionals handles only a few pages worth of inking duties, but they all help to solidify DeAngelo's work and message. There are also some pin-ups in the back of the issue by the likes of Colleen Doran, Dan Jurgens, Trina Robbins, and Mike Wieringo, as well as Purcell and Breyfogle again, plus a cover by Phil Jimenez. And they're all nice additions to the Captain Awareness tapestry. Except, I guess, the first pin-up, by Alex Ross and Brent Anderson, which for some wholly inexplicable reason is of Winged Victory from Astro City. I mean, cool character to throw in there, and thematically related inasmuch as Winged Victory's whole deal is female empowerment, but still a weird choice.

Colleen Doran delivers my favorite pin-up

Captain Awareness: Assault on Campus is hokey and often awkwardly scripted, but done with such earnestness and care that it still manages to be a success. It tackles its subject matter with very little reservation, opting for wholehearted honesty rather than emotional subtlety and subtext, using a spotlight instead of a flashlight. This doesn't make for an exceptional superhero comicbook, but it's a damn fine attempt at discussing a serious and widespread problem, as relevant today as it was in 1998 when this was first published. If you can't take my word for, "Comics With Problems" has the whole issue available online for free (really starts on page 4). They seem to be poking fun at it, which I think is in poor taste, and I'm not entirely certain that reprinting it digitally like that is even legal, but it's there nonetheless. And if you're interested, there also exists the official Captain Awareness website, which appears to be way out of date, but has some interesting background bits and pieces as well as a discussion of plans to change the character's name to Major Impact. Not sure if that ever really happened, but the idea made me smile.
     Did DeAngelo ever do anything concrete with Captain Awareness beyond this one issue? I don't know, and it doesn't really matter. The issue itself is a complete narrative, and an ambitious stab at dealing with taboo but important content. Not the greatest of creative triumphs, and not even the most effective, I don't think, strategy to employ in the fight against college sexual assault. Yet still a worthwhile and in many ways impressive effort from all involved, DeAngelo especially, since it is his pet project. He clearly put a lot of himself and those close to him into this book, and his bottomless concern and care comes through on every page.

Dungeons & Dragons & Digital Comics or Why Order of the Stick Sticks With Me

I don't read a lot of digital comicbook material yet. I'm not such a luddite that I can't admit that someday, it'll probably be a regular part of my collecting habits. But I do so love the act of bagging and organizing my comics. I like having a physical item to revisit, one that wears with use and eventually, in some cases, falls apart and has to be replaced. All of that is part of the appeal for me.
     There is also a financial aspect, meaning I don't have a lot of extra money to spend on the kinds of books I'm interested in digitally, even at their sometimes lower price points. So what I do tend to read digitally are free webcomics, and I've been following a number of them for years, none of which are more rewarding or enjoyable than the Order of the Stick.
     It is one of the nerdiest and most niche series I read. Not only is it set in a Dungeons-&-Dragons-specific world, there are constant references to actual rules and mechanics from the game's third edition. Indeed, when the series began, that's all it was: insider gags about rules that were silly or illogical. But over time, it has become a sprawling epic that remains grounded in its incredibly well-developed core cast. Creator/writer/artist Rich Burlew has become a master of the long game, but never loses sight of the importance of telling smaller stories along the way. In fact, the main team's central goal and primary villain haven't changed in nearly 900 strips, but they've accomplished many smaller tasks and made plenty of less significant enemies along the way. Burlew will split them up, disable certain members for weeks or months on end, and even killed team leader Roy once and had him spend a remarkably long time off the board, hanging out in the afterlife. Whenever these longer plots resolve, there is an immense satisfaction, but Burlew is quick to introduce new threats and dramatic complications, so nothing ever fully settles down. It's the very definition of epic, with all the war, romance, and tragedy to back up that claim.
     In no way is Order of the Stick a perfectly crafted comicstrip. Burlew's writing can be excessively long-winded, something he himself points to many times in his scripts. But even when the words crowd the panels, there is important and carefully thought-out information contained there. Sometimes it's emotional windbagging, sure, when characters arrive at the peaks of their various arcs. But more often than not, Burlew puts a lot of time into every dialogue balloon, and though a bit of brevity would be nice, its absence is not a crippling defect.
     And Burlew can also do a lot with silence, even in his crude, stick figure style. Sometimes whole strips will be wordless, but every beat pushes the story forward for somebody. Though characters are set aside for long stretches so that others can be focused on more closely, no one is ever forgotten, and there is a tremendous effort on Burlew's part to maintain continuity. This also means a lot of self-referential material and call-back humor which, again, is part of what makes Burlew such a great longform writer. There are various levels of payoff from a variety of storytelling techniques every step of the way, and that's a nice kind of reliability for a series to have.
     Order of the Stick is not for everyone, but I honestly believe it could be enjoyed by people who've never played D&D, provided they forced their way through the first dozen strips or so. Once the characters start to blossom and the story begins to unfold before them, there is enough dramatic tension and humor based on story context that you could get a lot out of it without understanding the gamer in-jokes. But if you're a D&D fan, I can't recommend anything more strongly. Years into its incredible run, it has a larger cast and more complex story than ever, but everything progresses so steadily that it's easy to follow the myriad threads. And Burlew keeps amping up the stakes and increasing the emotional impact, most notably through a recent unexpected character death that properly brought me to tears. Not sobbing uncontrollably, but wipe-awayable tears. When you can do that with stick figure characters who all began as tired D&D cliches, you've obviously built something great.

Pull List Review: Ultimate Comics Spider-Man #23

I have talked many times before, online and in person, about how much I love David Marquez on this book. Don't get me wrong, Sara Pichelli is amazing, too, but Marquez has a certain ineffable something that just clicks with me. That tradition continues here, where he ages up the characters convincingly (maybe they look two years older instead of one, but that's a tough argument to make) and draws a strong, emotionally-wrought issue with his usual care and attention. There is so much life to his characters, warmth in their expressions, even when they are at their saddest. And there's a heaping plate of sadness in this issue, for Miles and those around him, but Marquez makes a smart choice in not going too dark or brooding with the visuals. He lets the strength of his characters' expressions work on their own without needing to cast everything in shadow and gloom. This is a more grounded sadness, a more human depression, and the art represents that.
     There's not a lot of action in the issue, but Marquez does those few moments of it well. I especially liked Miles in his hoodie and backpack climbing a building in a huff. And of course the last page, which I guess I won't spoil but has already been spoiled if you've seen the cover for issue #24. Whatever, the point is it looks awesome and has characters I am really stoked to see Marquez handle next time. He doesn't stray too far from their normal Marvel U look, but that is a smart call for this particular pair, I think. They have a distinct and recognizable look, so why mess with that?
     Brian Michael Bendis has a lot of strong dialogue in this issue, but that's really all there is to it. In classic Bendis fashion, this is an issue largely devoid of plot. There is story, things happens that matter, and seeds are even planted for plots that I'm sure will crop up down the line. But nothing really changes here, and the new threat, such as it is, isn't introduced until the final few pages. From the beginning of the comic until then, this could be summarized as, "Miles talks to various people about his past as Spider-Man but refuses to face it entirely or return to the costume."
     And that's perfectly fine. If you're going to start with a "One Year Later" banner, it makes sense to take a breather issue and catch the reader up. And it's important to know that, for the last year, anyway, Miles has kept his promise to himself not to be Spider-Man anymore. I always like his conversations with Ganke and his Dad, and Bendis writes a strong Spider-Woman, too, who chooses her words carefully to make her case. She clearly cares a lot about Miles and understands his reasons to stay out of the game, but she also sees it as his responsibility to use his powers for good, as she and her ilk do. A simple and predictable point of view, but also an important conversation for Miles to have, a significant person for him to turn down. It's one thing to say no to Ganke, and another entirely to say it to Spider-Woman.
     So this is Bendis as the top of his idle chatter game, but at the end of the day, it's still idle chatter. And for every line of actual importance, there is at least one of purely filler conversation, too, which slows things down and makes the issue as a whole feel light.
     Basically, this is exactly what you'd expect a Bendis-Marquez hiatus issue to look and feel like. A good and gorgeous read, but thin.
6.5/10

Pull List Review: Dream Thief #1

I knew going into Dream Thief #1 that there was already a fair amount of buzz and hype surrounding it, so I tried to keep my expectations tempered. But this book is absolutely as good (better, even) as any and all the hype says it is. I was stunned by this debut, which was an amazing comicbook by any measure, and a truly perfect opening chapter for an exciting new series.
     At the beginning of the story, I felt very overwhelmed by what was going on. The opening page is of main character John Lincoln waking up in a strange place without knowing how he got there, and since I knew nothing about him yet, my own confusion was exponentially larger than his. That confusion felt like it lasted for a while, until there was a moment where I distinctly remember thinking, "Ok, Now I've settled in." Looking back, I can see now that this moment came on page six, which means in the first third of the issue alone, Jai Nitz and Greg Smallwood took me from dizzied and lost to comfortable and clear. They had also, by then, fully introduced the series' three central characters, four if you count Claire (hard to say if she'll matter much in the future since she dies this issue), and five if you include John's father, who is so far just a voice in a letter, but we'll see. That's a shitload of work to do in six pages, but Nitz and Smallwood make it seem easy.
     Nitz is a talented writer, able to show us his cast through their varied and realistic voices. Even when it serves as exposition, the dialogue sounds real, the characters talk to each other like people. That helps Nitz explain a lot about their relationships without needing to say anything at all---by seeing how they talk about the various problems in their lives, we also learn how they interact with one another. The strength of Reggie and John's friendship is apparent from their first phone conversation, and only gets bolstered by the scenes that follow. And John's general assheadedness comes through in his dealing with Claire and Jen, women who seem to want to love him but are running out of reasons. He has a strong supporting cast and interesting relationships with all of them, which helps him work as a successful protagonist. John's a thoroughly unlikable guy, but the story and people that surround him are fascinating, and so is his constant calm when faced with enormous, deadly, inexplicable things.
     But it's Nitz's incredible pacing that truly brings this issue home, ultimately even more impressive than his character work. We meet the core cast, are introduced to the series' high concept, and have three separate inciting incidents: John steals the mask, John kills Claire, John kills all those other guys. In a standard 22-page story, Nitz has already written what could be, like, half of a mini-series in another writer's hands. And the high concept is a complicated thing, a mask that somehow transfers the memories of dead people into its wearer's mind so said wearer can avenge their deaths. By sticking us right into John's head after the mask takes control, though, Nitz gets this new and large idea across to the reader efficiently, and in a way that also always propels the narrative forward. John never sits still to consider the implications of what's happening to him, because he's too busy covering it up from the rest of the world.
     For all the awesome writing from Nitz, though, Greg Smallwood earns most of the credit for Dream Thief #1, if only on the basis that all of the visuals---art, colors, and letters---are his work. And he impresses in all three areas. His stuff is moody and stylized but still down-to-earth, with figures and backgrounds that are equally realistic and detailed. His cast is expressive and consistent, everyone distinct and recognizable from their first appearances. Really, in terms of the characters, Smallwood delivers rock solid but not astounding artwork. But his layouts are inventive, and used for maximum effect, most notably in the scene when John first wakes up with the mask on. We get a page where the panels form a question mark followed by one where they're an exclamation point, but the images escape the borders of these shapes, too, heightening the drama and making the panels themselves a background. Then, immediately, there is a tremendous two-page spread done in all black and red and with curved, warped panels borders. These pages represent dreams or memories, so they reflect that visually, and the result is as surprising as it is beautiful as it is haunting.
     Smallwood does a lot of good color stuff, too, sometimes reminiscent of Tonci Zonjic in Who is Jake Ellis? where whole pages are done in a wash of yellow or blue. At other times, though, the colors are more true-to-life, and they're always carefully chosen and emotive. Even in the lettering, Smallwood does good stuff, with John's narration done in white text on top of stark black captions, and his father's letter popping up in chunks of lined yellow paper and handwriting. The best bit of lettering, though, is when John attacks his drug dealer. I don't know how to describe it, exactly, but basically the bubble letters of the battle sound effects have small but detailed visual flourishes in them that are just delightful.
     I can't say enough good stuff about this debut, and could not be more excited for the four chapters to follow. I haven't been so fully blown away by a single issue in a good long while.
10/10

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.

Pull List Review: Twelve Reasons to Die #1

There is some definite ambition here, and that always counts for something. And the art is very good, and surprisingly cohesive considering the number of different artists. Breno Tamura and Gus Storms draw the two main stories, with Kyle Strahm and Joe Infurnari each handling a few shorter scenes, and they all have their own unique styles, but there's a clear common ground between them, too. The art is consistently a little gritty and a little loose.
     The opening story, presumably titled "The Lead Years" (the titles of each section are only named on the inside cover credits page, so I have to assume they go in the order they're listed, more or less), is Tamura's, and is the sketchiest, artistically, though not in a bad way. His lines are jagged and jittery, which matches the fluidity of the storytelling. The narrative is told is a pretty rushed manner in this section, all caption boxes summarizing things past. That's a weakness, but the art makes it a bit stronger, with its sense of constant motion pushing the story forward.
     The story itself is tired old material about a new crime family's rise to power. There's not a new idea to be found here, just the same old "We did crime better than the criminals we replaced," bullshit as always. Until the end when, surprise surprise, an even younger and newer criminal makes a move against them. Though the move he makes is brutal and inventive in its violence, and drawn with what felt like just the right amount of excess gore by Tamura, it's still expected. And because it is the ending of the story (which is only eleven pages long) it doesn't lead us anywhere yet. So not a lot of reason to come back to this particular story, really, since everything that happens here is formulaic and dull.
     There is then a four-page horror scene that I have to assume is the "Flashback 1" credited to Kyle Strahm. It's the best part of the issue, a standalone short that's effectively disturbing. I have no idea what the hell a guy getting killed by wolves (or maybe they're monsters?) in the middle of a flock of sheep has to do with the larger story of this series, but I enjoyed this interlude thoroughly all the same. Strahm does fear really well, and creepy animals even better, and that's essentially all there is to this piece. A terrified, jumpy dude confronts a bunch of creepy animals and gets devoured for it. Straightforward but haunting material.
     Finally, there is the last story, "The Dead Years," drawn mostly by Gus Storms with, I believe, the final few pages counting as "Flashback 2" by Joe Infurnari. Again, this is speculation based on the clues given on the credits page, so if I am fucking up who did what, apologies all around.
     This story is certainly fresher than the opener, but ultimately it still doesn't hook me. A young man buys a rare record for an older, wealthy gentleman whose face we aren't allowed to see all of for some frustrating reason. The older man then reveals the record is one of several he intends to collect, all of which were somehow connected to the deaths of their owners. That's an alright concept with definite potential, but the idea is so barely and briefly introduced here. There are too many pages of the younger guy getting and delivering the record, by the time we find out what makes it valuable, whammo, the issue is over. Who the old man is, why he wants the records, how he knows how many there are, and what they even exactly have to do with people's deaths is all still unknown. If one of those questions had been answered, even, this might have been a more satisfying first taste, but as is it feels like a teaser trailer for a story that might be good in its entirety, but might well not.
     On the art side, Storms has the smoothest lines and calmest art overall, though there is still a certain sketchiness to it in places. Not everyone always looks the same from one panel to the next,  and there are places where the background details are left a bit undefined, although that's not always the case. Storms' work is right for his part of the issue, to be sure, as it is the most subdued portion of the narrative as well.
     The final scene is of the old man discovering the first record in his bizarre collection, which played while his friend was killed by a swarm of bees or hornets or some kind of stinging insect. Infurnari's pencils are the angriest, heavy and thick chaotic. Perfect for drawing an attacking insect swarm, but the rest of the imagery feels a tad over-aggressive. Also, it's not laid out ideally, with some important panels being given too little space so that the events of the insect attack aren't immediately obvious. Nothing terrible or impossible to make out, but the weakest and ugliest pencils of the bunch.
     The whole issue is written by Matthew Rosenberg and Patrick Kindlon, though the project was created by Ghostface Killah and Adrian Younge, and is a companion piece to their new album, I guess. The story is credited to Younge, Rosenberg, and Ce Garcia, so obviously a lot of different creative minds are involved. Even so, there's a lack of originality and detail in these stories that underwhelms. Flashes of cool concepts and the beginnings of somewhat intriguing narratives are here, but nothing meaty enough to make me need to come back for more.
     Yet Twelve Reasons to Die is trying to be different, just not always succeeding, and it's trying to be daring, too, which goes a long way with me. Plus it looks good all the way through, even those pages I liked less than others. There's nothing to bemoan here, but nothing to celebrate, either. A debut that didn't grab me, nor did it send me running.
5.5/10

Pull List Review: Thor: God of Thunder #8

This book continues to be fantastic. Jason Aaron seems to feel the same way about Thor as I do: go big or go home. His top priority, far as I can tell, is making this story as epic and grandiose as possible, and it is definitely working for him. A bomb made of destroyed moons, planets, and stars that can kill every god in existence isn't even the most insane bit of badassery in this issue. No, that would be young Thor smacking current Thor in the face with a space shark. Right there, that's worth the cost of admission alone.
     Aaron is having fun with the character, even in the midst of a dark tale about a merciless butcher of immortals. The interplay between the three different Thors continues to be smooth and contain a lot of heart and humor, and each of them has a distinct voice and attitude. I also liked how the narration called them "Thor Odinson of the Viking Age," "Thor the Avenger," and "King Thor." It's nice wording, with the youngest Thor defined by his age, the middle one his job, and the last his status. The third-person narrator had a lot of smart, well-chosen wording, even if one or two places might've gone a shade too purple with the prose. In general, the narrative captions only deepened the sense of how important and, again, downright epic this story is.
     This issue's main goal, plot-wise, was to bring young Thor together with his future selves. But it did so by having him first do something characteristically brave, dangerous, and heroic. He attacks the godbomb, expecting to sacrifice himself in the process, and in order to pull that off he first summons a powerful storm on Gorr's world, something which previously seemed impossible. Even without his hammer or the experience of age, Thor is portrayed as one of the boldest and mightiest of gods. Yet all he's doing is lashing back against an enemy who's already defeated and captured him. Gorr remains as imposing and impressive a villain as ever, even though he doesn't actually do or even appear much this issue. His brainwashed child, the crucifixion of innumerable gods, and the plan of the godbomb itself all represent the scope of his evil and madness, so he doesn't need to appear on the page for his presence to permeate the issue.
     Esad Ribic is still the perfect choice for this title, because of the very epicness I keep referring to. He does grand scale action better than most, and his Thors are properly looming and muscular and regal in their manner. He adds a lot of nice, almost hidden detail to the many other gods he draws this issue, too. And there are a lot of memorable panels, but the single best has got to be the half-page of Thor wiping out Gorr's minions with a literal rain of lighting. You can almost feel it, and it's an image that captures the essence of Thor as a character as well as everything I am loving about this run.
     I have said this before, but there are times when Ribic's faces bother me. The eyes and mouths have a tendency to take on a fishlike quality in moments of great excitement, shock, or anger. And that's true here, more than once, but I am trying to learn to look past it as much as possible. It is only a tiny quibble, and it's not as if it makes the pictures significantly worse or inaccurate, even, necessarily. Just not my style, and I notice it every time.
     But otherwise, I have no major complaints about Ribic's artwork. He's been a reliably fitting artist for this title since its launch, and colorist Ive Svorcina has done a damn good job coloring his work since issue #2. This issue, the colors are particularly well-done in the scene of the gods meeting around a fire. The way Svorcina does the wash of orange light over everything is obvious and simple, but deceptively nuanced, too, for the sake of realism. The atmospheric mood is key to that scene's success, and Svorcina is the one who delivers it.
     Very fine work from everyone involved, which has been the norm for Thor: God of Thunder. Probably time for me to stop reviewing it until I have something to say other than, "This rocks!" But it fucking rocks, y'all.
8.5/10

Dearly Departed: The Infinite Vacation

Dearly Departed is a semi-regular column where I look back on recently completed or canceled series.

Despite never fully liking the main character, I quite enjoyed The Infinite Vacation. The protagonist, Mark, doesn't particularly care for himself, either, so at least we agreed on that, and everything else that goes down in this story is so energetic, interesting, and goddamn gorgeous that it's easy to overlook a lame leading man. Also, it's not as if Mark has no redeeming qualities. He's just...more pathetic than sympathetic, a passive force for four issues before finally growing the brains and balls to take action in the fifth. Then again, Mark's passivity ties directly into one of the major themes of the book, namely how technology gives us so many choices that none can ever satisfy. It's hard for Mark to know for sure what he wants because he's never had to settle for any one reality in his life. This is a story about discovering the one thing that makes all other choices seem immaterial, and it is in that discovery that Mark becomes a man I can root for rather than merely put up with.
     Let me see how succinctly I can summarize this: The Infinite Vacation is a phone app that allows people to see all of the possible lives they could have led in all possible realities, and then bid on those lives against other version of themselves. If you win the bid, you are transported to the new reality, and get to live the life of a different you for as long as you please. Mark is a bit of a serial vacationer, never happy with the life he's chosen and constantly looking for a new, better Mark to become. The problem is that, no matter where he starts out, he finds himself ending up in the same places over and over again: dead-end jobs, stale romances, disillusionment, boredom, depression. This cycle persists until he meets Claire, the woman who's destiny is to push Mark toward his destiny.
     Claire is the strongest character in the series. She's everything Mark isn't, in more ways than one. Decisive, confident, comfortable in her own skin, and, most importantly, she's a Deadender, meaning she does not use The Infinite Vacation at all. One reality suits Claire just fine, which at first confuses and even frustrates Mark. But when they find themselves thrust together and fighting to preserve their very existence, Mark is able to find in Claire an understanding of and personal reason for the desire to lead a single, unique life instead of exploring the endless options of multiple realities.
     There is a definite heavy-handedness in the presentation of this lesson. Nick Spencer's script, like Mark as a character, can sometimes be a little much, becoming obnoxious with its repetition of the same ideas and the overt, bang-you-over-the-head delivery of its moral(s). There are a lot complex bits and pieces involved in the high concept of this series, and Spencer takes the time to explain and then reexplain them all, exploring the myriad ethical, technological, and philosophical questions something as powerful and popular as The Infinite Vacation would necessarily bring up. The side effect of that thoroughness is that things get revisited and reiterated several times by different characters with different viewpoints, and the ultimate resolution of Mark's journey is telegraphed many times before the man himself arrives there.
     In the opening issue, as a matter of fact, Mark is told in no uncertain terms by a surfer-dude version of himself that he should find one thing in this life that makes him happy and give that one this his all, rather than lily-padding from world to world without knowing what he's even looking for. So there's no great subtlety in Spencer's story, nor ambiguity as to where the book stands. And Mark's decision to choose Claire as his one thing is not at all a surprise, nor is it meant to be. She is set up to fill that role for him from her very first appearance, and never once slips from that position. Mark and Claire's path isn't entirely clear, but their destination always is. How they make it there is where things get more bizarre and unexpected.
     I mentioned that Spencer does a thorough job of discussing various problems or points of contention that The Infinite Vacation would raise if it really existed. And he does, with things like "boxing" (i.e. erasing from existence) hostile realities that pose a threat to others, having everyone go to copies of themselves for therapy and customer service, what "identity theft" means in a world where you can steal information from a different you, and so on, covering topics large and small at varying levels of detail. But the biggest and most important of these ideas is the Deadenders, who call themselves Singularists, and the Vacation-threatening philosophy they represent. For the bulk of Singularists, it isn't just a matter of not wanting to participate in The Infinite Vacation. There is a pseudo-religious aspect to their thinking, positing the idea that if, indeed, it is possible to visit any conceivable universe, then there must be a universe out there in which there is only one universe. I know that sounds a bit circular, but it also makes a weird kind of sense. If literally anything is possible, then it must be possible to go somewhere where nothing is possible, right?
     The Singularists take this one step further, though, and say that, because this universe-of-a-single-universe must exist, then there must, in fact, only be one true universe. It is here that things become a bit more faith-based, but it's not a totally illogical viewpoint, either. This theoretical one-universe reality would, if you were there, necessarily be the one true reality, so from that point it's easy to say that it is, therefore, the one true reality for all realities. Agree with that or not (and I don't know enough about the theoretical science you'd need to know about to back up and/or refute this argument) within The Infinite Vacation, it turns out the Singularists have it right. There is one true universe, and not only does it exist, but it's going to cause the collapse of every other reality in existence.
     This collapse is not a part of the Singularist movement's rhetoric, but instead comes to light when the corporation behind the The Infinite Vacation hires a team to research (and, they hope, disprove) the Singularists' claims. The researchers come back and explain that, in fact, the Singularists are correct, and that the appearance of multiple realities is merely just the one real reality waiting to be "observed." I'll admit, they lose me a bit during this part, but the long and short of it is this: the collapse of all realities into a unified one is not only inevitable, but already taking place, and Mark is the cause. Some action Mark will take or thought he'll have will set off the collapse and make it apparent to all, according to the findings. Why Mark? Well, that's the same question that The Infinite Vacation guys ask, and the best response they get is, "Why not?"
     The idea seems to be that it could be anyone, it could be anything, so it might as well be Mark. If the collapse is inevitable and, in truth, an already ongoing event, then there's got to be a trigger somewhere, and Mark's as good as any. He gets to be special and unique and dangerous arbitrarily, which, while a bit frustrating on a conceptual level, is humorous and strangely appropriate reasoning on a narrative one. Especially when The Infinite Vacation's own attempt to kill Mark before he can set off the collapse ends up being exactly what causes it.
     I won't spoil the ending entirely here, but suffice to say Mark does exactly what we're told he'll do, bringing The Infinite Vacation crashing down around itself and coming out the other end with only one reality left. It is a satisfying ending where our hero realizes his potential and everyone gets what they deserve. The villainous fat cats lose their wicked, dangerous business and Mark gets the girl. Or, perhaps a better way to look at it: Claire finally gets a Mark worthy of her love. He shifts from being a coward and Vacation addict who can't even work up the nerve to introduce himself into a daring action hero who's powered by his love for this incredible woman. As indecisive and unsure of himself as he is in the beginning, by the end he becomes equally confident that, regardless of what else his life throws at him, as long as Claire is a part of it he'll be ok. That's a lovely if simple sentiment, and one the series hammers hard into the reader's brain. No matter how many options modern life provides, none of them will ever be good enough if we don't first find some constants in our lives that make us happy. It may sound like common sense, but it is nevertheless a point that becomes more relevant every day as technology continues to offer us new products and experiences at ever faster and cheaper rates.
     Nick Spencer isn't a writer who I usually associate with tight pacing or structure, but The Infinite Vacation is an exception. The debut alone is a shining example, introducing Mark, Claire (and, through her, Deadenders as a group), the concept of The Infinite Vacation, and several funny and/or important details about how it works all in the space of a single issue. From there, Spencer uses each issue to expand in some way everything we've seen so far, whether it's meeting the amoral head of The Infinite Vacation Mr. Vernon, discovering Claire's heartbreaking reason for being a Deadender, learning about "boxing" of threatening realities, or any number of other bits and bobs, all of which come into play in the closing chapter. That final issue, which is something like triple-sized, brings together every character and concept introduced up to that point, closing the story by revisiting and reusing all of its established ideas. That's not easy to do in this kind of sprawling, head-scratching, sci-fi tale, but Spencer pulls it off without it even seeming like a struggle. He is as sure of himself in the end as Mark, and that confidence is key to the series' success.
     However, as well-planned and un-Spencerish as the scripts may be, without Christian Ward's artwork, The Infinite Vacation could've been an absolute dud. After all, even if the pacing is on point, Spencer's script does suffer sometimes from wearing its heart too much on its sleeve and/or over-explaining its bigger ideas. That's a lot easier to look past, though, when you're wrapped up in beautiful and inventive visuals, and Ward provides those on literally every page.
     Firstly, the comicbook medium is ideal for this story if only because the art can help to explain or demonstrate some of the larger concepts more interestingly and in less time than it would take for Spencer to write them all out. Indeed, the several-page stretch in the third issue that is largely prose, where Spencer explains the inevitability of the collapse and reasons for it, is the driest, dullest, most confusing part of the series. Any other time we're being introduced to a new element, Ward's artwork is there to lend a hand, showing the reader an example or multiple examples of whatever is being explained so it's easier to digest/comprehend. But more than assisting in our understanding, Ward's art brings a very specific energy to this book, a kinetic and psychedelic look that is at once perfectly tailored to and strangely ill-fitting for the story. In a series about technology and reality-hopping, the expectation might be to go futuristic with the style, something a little more mainstream sci-fi. Ward moves in an entirely different, arguably opposite direction, with tie-dye colors, loose figures, generous and intelligent use of blank space, and pages that are practically standalone pieces of abstract art. These looser, jazzier, more emotive stylistic choices speak to the book's ultimate message of love and being happy with the world you're in more than they relate to the high-tech parts of the narrative, which is a smart call. Mostly, though, what works so well about Ward's art is that it would be compelling, beautiful work even if taken out of context, so when it also serves as one half of a fresh and fun comicbook story, its value is heightened exponentially.
     Where Spencer's repetitious, overly-explanatory writing can at times be detrimental, Ward uses repeated imagery to great effect, which in turn softens the blow when Spencer repeats himself needlessly. There are images we see over and over again throughout the entire series, some that are used only within a single issue, and even moments where an individual page or panel has multiple copies of something that will never again return. When Mark learns in the first issue that a lot of other Marks have been dying recently, Ward draws an enormous, spiraling image of a bunch of feet with toe tags on them, like you'd find in the morgue. It's not an image that gets revisited, but it sticks nonetheless, because it is so funny and peculiar and so succinctly yet precisely sums up what Mark is feeling in that moment. Meanwhile, the visuals that do carry over from issue to issue help create some consistency in a story that's all about change.
     Ward likes to pack his pages more often than not, so the art is very dense, which, again, goes along with the narrative nicely. Yet the strongest artistic moments, for me, at least, are when Ward instead pulls back and gives us a single, clean shot of something significant. Claire's first appearance springs to mind, where she gets an entire page with a blank background devoted to her. I think my favorite, though, comes in issue #4, where there's a two-page spread of Mark is lying in the snow with a young boy standing next to him saying, "You're not my dad." When it happens, it is intentionally confusing, yet even without knowing exactly what's going on there is an incredible sense of importance on those pages, which are, in fact, the beginning of a deeply moving and significant scene. These quieter, more focused moments, on top of being visually stunning, also serve to remind us of the series' ultimate message. While the world offers innumerable avenues of over-stimulation and distraction, it will always be more satisfying to zero our focus on the smaller things in life that bring us joy and let them drown out the rest of the noise. That's what Ward forces us to do on these pages, and it's what The Infinite Vacation wants us to do in the world beyond said pages.
     There is a final visual technique that I'm actually not certain should be attributed to Ward, but since he is credited with all of the artwork I have to assume he's responsible for this, too. I'm talking about the photographed pages. There is at least one scene in every issue where all of the panels are actual pictures of real live humans (except the finale, where we get photos on top of hand-drawn panels). Mostly these are used for Infinite Vacation promotional material, though the video laying out the Singularists' viewpoint is also done with this method. Though it's not immediately obvious why the change is made, over time it comes to light that these ads, done in the photographs, are basically lies, while the truth of the story is hand-drawn. It's a simple but effective reversal, using real people for scenes of deceit, and they're all brief and humorous enough not to detract from the series as a whole. It's also an opportunity for Spencer to discuss or even introduce some of his ideas from the point of view of characters other than Mark, without having to fully hand over the narration duties to someone else. And some of the title's strongest humor comes from these photos, which tend to be emotionally exaggerated and feature characters talking out their asses, trying to convince the world that The Infinite Vacation does more good than harm. Never overbearing and always well-timed, these photo scenes are one more visual flourish that sets this book apart.
     The Infinite Vacation is a remarkably simple love story folded into a more complex piece of science fiction societal commentary. Both of those facets are right there on the surface, though, which is, if nothing else, a change of pace for this type of story (and for Spencer as a writer). Though there are plenty of questions, there's not a great deal of mystery, because the series opts instead for transparency, laying out the rules and realities of its world honestly and eagerly. It tells us outright what Mark needs and what he's going to do, and then we watch him do it and, in the process, get just what he needs. Yet it manages to surprise along the way, divulging new details and heightening the stakes gradually until an infinite number of entire universes are destroyed. And Christian Ward attempts new feats of artistic acrobatics all the time, toying with color, layout, medium, non-linear storytelling, repeated imagery, and various other tricks and treats, all the while maintaining narrative clarity and a lightweight liveliness in the visual tone and texture. It's a romp, basically, a sweet and funny day-glo romance bearing warnings from a hypothetical not-too-distant future.