#john review

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Counter Monkey John Arminio reviews ‘Snow, Glass, Apples’

Neil Gaiman's affinity for myth and stories-about-storytelling has been well-documented, and his mastery of those stories has remained consistent since he first emerged as the writer of the legendary 'Sandman' comic series. These skills make revisiting his work uniquely rewarding, as there is a timelessness to his writing that few other authors can match. When Neil Gaiman decides to revisit a myth or a fairy tale, it is not because he wishes to make the reader feel comfortable or to bask in the nostalgia of an oft-heard narrative. Rather, Gaiman is able to utilize familiar imagery and symbols, recontextualize them in original and previously unimagined ways, turning something we thought we knew since childhood into something terrifying, unfamiliar, yet irresistible. Gaiman has made a career out of turning Grandmother's House into a bleak, desolate castle surrounded by thorns, or a cottage in the woods inhabited by a witch looking to fatten us up and eat us. He turns our nostalgia into nightmares.

Such is the case for 'Snow, Glass, Apples,' the new graphic novel from Dark Horse Comics that adapts Gaiman's 1994 short story of the same name. Coming back to the story 25 years after it was written, it seems just as fresh and bold as it ever did, yet at the same time, ancient and formidable (much like the fairy tale character at the center of this re-imagined tale). The trick of flipping the Snow White story to be told from the Queen's perspective instead of Snow's could always have come off as a mere gimmick, but not so here. The terror and realization of what is inhabiting the Queen's home, draining the lifeblood of her family and kingdom, is drenched in inevitability. There's plenty of blood and physical terror along the way, sure, but the looming presence of an ancient evil, knowing it is there, and not being able to do anything about it takes the reader back to childhood and that ineffable sense that something dark and terrible was under our bed.

Reading 'Snow, Glass, Apples' feels like reading a fairy tale inside a fairy tale, like something out of the Queen's library; a true magical tome of dark power. That sense comes from the art of Colleen Doran, whose gorgeous illustrations take Gaiman's work from the page and make it a true sensory experience. There is a definite influence of fantasy and folklore illustrators of the past, like Harry Clarke and Aubrey Beardsley (whom Doran herself cites in her afterward), but 'Snow, Glass, Apples' feels so timeless, so simultaneously ancient and new, that it never comes off as familiar or backwards-looking. There is a blending of stained glass imagery, woven fabric patterns, and literal figure representation that creates texture to everything Doran has created. What Doran has accomplished here is remarkable; manifesting fortresses of ice and glass and forests out of shadows and fear. She has put them in a world in which magic is real, is as much flesh and blood as the humans who wield it.

Even if 'Snow, Glass, Apples' is a short story, the efficiency and effectiveness with which it transports the reader to the fairy tale realm makes its setting and characters whole and realized. The dynamism of Doran and Gaiman's (who have been making beautiful art together since 'Sandman') collaboration is utterly unique in comics. It's so natural and unforced, yet ethereal and incredibly accomplished. It's as if 'Snow Glass Apples' was summoned by the world's most ancient sorcerer into being yet, writing this, I am cognizant of the fact that it took a great deal of craft, skill, and effort to accomplish that effect. If there is one book that could fill you with the magic of storytelling, it's 'Snow, Glass, Apples.'

[This book is for mature readers only]

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Counter Monkey John Arminio looks back at ‘Resident Alien’

While all the world is a-tizzy over what Marvel and Star Wars properties Disney is releasing and on what platform (and whether or not they will contain Spider-Man), we can take comfort that other, more idiosyncratic, and wonderful stories are also being adapted from comics.

In 2012, Dark Horse began publishing a strange, utterly original yet remarkably comfortable and familiar detective/mystery/science fiction series called Resident Alien. Written and illustrated by Englishmen and 2000AD veterans Peter Hogan and Steve Parkhouse, respectively, the series concerns an alien (of the extraterrestrial variety) attempting to hide in plain sight and live his life in peace amidst the humans of the American rural Northwest after his spacecraft crash lands on Earth. Taking up the name "Harry Vanderspeigle," the alien refugee rents a cabin in Patience, Washington, posing as a retired doctor, which is where we first meet him. Harry values his privacy and goes to great (but not conspicuous) lengths to remain independent of the normal goings-on in the town. It is only when Patience's real doctor dies that the desperate townspeople approach "Dr. Harry" and ask him to provide medical care, and possibly contribute some forensic insight into the previous doctor's demise.

And thus unfolds a murder mystery. The increased mental and social stimulation being a medical doctor and a murder investigator brings to Harry only serves to make him realize how bored he has become since his crash. Despite the grisly circumstances that brought him out of his isolation, helping people brings Harry to life, both in his capacity as a murder investigator and in providing medical care. Even if his has to keep his true identity obscured from the townsfolk, he seems very willing to see the good in all of them, even if they are drug addicts, philanderers, or hiding secrets of their own.

That is what is so immediately enjoyable about this series. While the Private Detective archetype can lean towards the misanthrope (see: Jessica Jones) or the loner (Mike Hammer, Sam Spade), Harry is energized by his interaction with others. There is an element of anthropological curiosity on his part, as every human interaction is a new experience for him, and he gets to learn about this strange species inhabiting Earth even as he is curing their maladies and solving their crimes. A definite touchstone for Resident Alien in Harry's characterization is the version of Phillip Marlowe seen in the Robert Altman film version of The Long Goodbye. Not that Harry is slumming it in a dump apartment in 1970s LA like Altman's Marlowe, but he is a man out of time and place, puzzled by the strange behavior of the humans around him, dedicating himself to doing the right thing nonetheless.

It's the characters that make a murder mystery. Sure, the mysteries each detective investigates can be thrilling and unpredictable, but if the detective at the center of it all, the villain who committed the crime, and the supporting cast aren't interesting, it's really not worth caring about. That is where Resident Alien gets the genre so right, as Harry's combination of loneliness, otherness, and empathetic fascination with his human companions makes him perpetually fascinating. The population of Patience is realistic and varied, from skeevy-yet-competent mayors, cookbook authors, to goth Native American nurses, the cast is fully realized and engaging. As for the "villains." they are more often tragic than nefarious, making one bad decision too many as they fight against circumstances that none of us would find tolerable.

What really sets Resident Alien apart from so many other detective stories is the art. While there are the necessary shadows and mysterious figures smoking cigarettes in the dark, so much of the book, being set in the rural Northwest, is full of lush, green landscapes, glowing blue bodies of water, and rustic cabins. It's a world so inviting, we might want to go there on our next vacation. The sewers of Vienna in Carol Reed's The Third Man this is not. Steve Parkhouse is able to imbue his characters with subtle facial expressions and gestures, rendering both human and alien characters with instantly recognizable and relatable emotions. Harry, as an alien posing as a human, could easily come off as cold and unreadable or ridiculous self-parody, but Parkhouse somehow finds something universal in his art and helps us connect with Harry across galactic distances, and in the distance between the reader and the page.

Resident Alien is set to be adapted into a TV series for SyFy starring the great Alan Tudyk as Harry Vanderspeigle. It's the perfect casting, as Tudyk is able to embody the subtle humor and warmth underneath the false veneer of introverted bitterness that is required for the role. Whether or not the series is a faithful adaptation or commercially successful, the source material remains an outstanding melding of genres and a wonderful story in its own right. Buy it now so you can tell all your friends "the book was better."

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Counter Monkey John Arminio reviews ‘Spider-Man: Life Story’

Writer Chip Zdarsky (Daredevil, Invaders, Sex Criminals) won the Eisner Award for Best Single Issue/One-Shot for his Peter Parker: Spectacular Spider-Man #310 (Zdarsky did the art on that issue as well) at this year's San Diego Comic-Con. It was much deserved, as the issue wrapped up that series with a story that was as humorous as it was touching, about not only the effect one man can have on those around him, but on the effects random encounters can have on our own lives. It also addressed the difficulties of being Spider-Man, how his public face can be so divisive; a hero to many, a villain to others, and how the ripple effects of his every action can have unforeseen, infinite destinations in a city as interconnected as New York. To be able to encapsulate all this in a single issue spoke to a deep and profound understanding of the character, so it is both fitting and tragic that issue #310 was the last of the series (but don't worry, you can currently pick up that issue, contained in Peter Parker: Spectacular Spider-Man, vol. 4: Coming Home at Comix Connection right now!). While Zdarsky has certainly stayed busy writing a wide swath of characters for Marvel, as well as several creator-owned projects, he is still plying his unique brand of brilliant superhero insight on the miniseries Spider-Man: Life Story. The comic is a sort of "What If?" series in which, as in the original Amazing Fantasy #15, Peter Parker was bitten by a radioactive spider in 1962, but instead of staying perpetually youthful in the style of comic book storytelling, he ages through history as a normal person (as does the entire Marvel universe).

What does life hold for a middle-aged Peter Parker? An elderly Spider-Man? How does our perception of a teenage Peter change knowing we will see him grow old? In Life Story, he only has one chance to be a high school and college student, a young professional, and a newlywed, as opposed to the thousands of Spidey tales we've seen of those particular times in his life since the character made its debut. Each action is more precious in Life Story, so when Peter is late for a date with Mary Jane or misses an appointment to take Aunt May to the doctor because being Spider-Man has, once again, ripped him away from his duties as part of the Parker family, it's forever, as opposed to next month when he'll get another chance. Peter's relationship to historical events is given added weight as well. The first issue deals largely with his decision on whether or not to enter the Vietnam war, especially considering the added power his spider-abilities give him. Of course, his classmate and rival Flash Thompson has signed up to fight, but Peter doesn't even know if that is the correct decision. This is his generation's conflict, both on the battlefield halfway around the world and at home, in the hearts and minds of human and superhuman alike. Zdarsky is able to crystallize that conflict via superheroes, and it's an original, compelling take on a story so many have told before. Seeing how the stories we know so well change or stay the same as Peter acquires both age and wisdom is fascinating to read. The famous Black Suit, for example, acquired during the industry-changing comic event that was Secret Wars, has an entirely different context if the Peter Parker donning the suit is well into adulthood, a family man, even approaching middle-age, as opposed to a young man. Faced with the inevitable diminishing of his physical abilities because of age, the added responsibility of having a family, and the knowledge of the unfathomable, cosmic threats the events of Secret Wars revealed to him, the powerful enhancements afforded him by the Black Suit are put in a completely different light. Sure, the suit infects his mind, is a living thing with its own agenda and therefore causes him to act more violently towards criminals and his family alike, but how can he afford to abandon it? He's a hero. He has to make sacrifices. How long before his body fails him? Won't he need that extra boost of power to defeat whatever is... out there, waiting to kill him and everything he loves?

Special attention should also be paid to the stellar artistry of Mark Bagley on Spider-Man: Life Story. He is a modern artist, to be sure, one in line with the sensibilities of comic books in the 21st Century, but there is something so classic and timeless about his art that seeing him work his magic on events written in past decades, about past decades, is incredibly striking. It certainly helps the reader transport themselves to the era the story takes place in. His line work certainly does not call to mind Spider-Man's co-creator Steve Ditko, but the reader can feel Bagely's connection to Peter Parker's comic book DNA in every line he draws. Bagley's style is very representational, but that does not limit his expansive imagination. His changes to character costumes, some subtle and some drastic, always feel true to the characters who don them. Perhaps his greatest achievement here is how he ages his characters. Bringing Peter Parker from adolescent to middle-age while bringing, for example, Tony Stark from middle-age to senior citizen, while keeping true to the design aesthetics established in the book (and their respective histories) is a monumental task. Oh yeah, and he has to tell an exciting, emotional super-hero story set in a new time period every issue. If all that doesn't deserve an Eisner nomination in 2020, I don't know what does.

What Zdarsky and artist Mark Bagley are able to achieve with Spider-Man: Life Story is nothing short of remarkable. Comic books is a medium particularly given to nostalgia, especially with a character so iconic, so beloved, and, frankly, so old as Spider-Man. We all want our new Spider-Man stories to make us feel like they did when we were first getting to know the character. We all know how he "should" be written, and we all have different notions of what that ideal Spider-Man is. So retelling the events of Spider-Man's past, from his awkward youth to the Clone Saga to the Inheritors, seems like it could be an empty nostalgia exercise, one that could be totally unoriginal or anger fans who hold those stories sacred. Life Story avoids all such pitfalls, forming a narrative that uses what the reader knows (or what we think we know) about the character and creating new, emotionally rich tales that move us. Even with more modern stories, or ones that we might not look back on as fondly as others, are put on equal footing in Zdarsky's writing because they play an equally important part of Peter's life. From Vietnam to psychic vampires, Peter's trauma (and the trauma of his family) from being a superhero is on display in every issue, not just the ones with the "real" Spider-Man stories. The conflicts between friends and family are given added weight as well. If Peter has a disagreement with Tony Stark, Reed Richards, or Aunt May, it's doubly tragic because, just like in real life, that person might be dead in the next ten years (i.e. the next issue). Funerals are forever in Spider-Man: Life Story, but that makes every day Peter spends with his family all the more precious. Accordingly, Zdarsky and Bagley might not have hundreds of issues to tell their spider-epic, but that makes each of these six precious as well.

I wanted to get this review completed and posted before the last issued came out to give people a chance to catch up. Issue #5 of Spider-Man: Life Story was just released on July 17th, and the final issue is set to arrive on August 28th. If you missed an issue and want to catch up, most of the series went into 2nd or 3rd printings, so it is still readily available as of this writing. If you want to make sure to get the series all at once, the complete miniseries will be collected in trade paperback and released on October 23rd, available for pre-order now. 5 *thwips* out of 5

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Counter Monkey John Arminio reviews ‘Mister Miracle’ #5

Now that Entertainment Weekly has declared Mister Miracle “Best Series” in it’s 2017 comic book roundup, it seems Jack Kirby’s vaunted Fourth World has gone... mainstream? So why do I need to add my voice to the avalanche of acclaim to Tom King and Mitch Gerads’s revolutionary take on the DC universe’s greatest escape artist? Heck, why do I need to offer yet more praise to the body of work of both Tom King and Mitch Gerads, whose comics I have already gushed with prolix prose and conversation about how much I adore them? Because Mister Miracle deserves it, that’s why. It’s a book that is creating an entirely new vision of a character while paying homage to his legendary creator. It celebrates in nostalgia while making it clear that such an outlook could have a deleterious effect on our psyches if we continue to gaze backwards. It comments on the metatextual nature of Mr. Miracle and of incorporating the intellectual property of an artist and creator whose own intellectual property was frequently co-opted while he was alive, yet is, at its core, a story about love, family, and how we combat despair. The is real deal comics.

(Image from Mister Miracle #1)

What immediately separates King and Gerads’s Mister Miracle from anything Kirby did is how restricted the movements of the characters are and how they are so confined by the panels we find them in. There is no room for the hyper-exaggerated poses or trademark Kirby Krackle that made Jack Kirby’s work so distinctive and dynamic. Much of the current series in structured in a ridged panel grid system, trapping the characters in an unvarnished, harsh reality with no escape (even for an escape artist). When the grid system is abandoned for a looser page setup, the images are still frequently dominated by close-ups and faces, the depressed or angry expressions of the characters telling much of the story thanks to Gerads’s incomparable facial renderings. We as readers are as trapped with the inescapable rage and angst as these characters, contained in their emotional myopia. It’s a harrowing experience, one made all the more desperate when it’s Mister Miracle, Scott Free himself, who is the trapped individual we are reading about. The greatest escape artist is trapped in this 12-issue story arc, riding to its inevitable conclusion.

Issue #5 opens with Scott Free, in full Mister Miracle garb, standing in front of a Grauman’s Chinese Theater-esque movie house, putting his own hands in the handprints, immortalized in concrete in front of the theater, of Jack Kirby himself. Later, resting on a hill with his wife Big Barda, Scott will pontificate on the nature of existence, God, and the “I Think Therefore I Am” philosophy of Rene Descartes. We have Scott putting his hands in those of his own creator, then, while reflecting with the woman he loves more than anything in the Universe, if he even exists; if anything exists. It’s an incredibly poignant moment, made all the more powerful by the fact that Kirby created the Fourth World and the New Gods as a means to ask those questions of himself.

This collision of meta-commentary and genuine, heartfelt emotion is something I would never have expected in... any narrative. Sure, we have Deadpool breaking the fourth wall and Christopher Nolan has used some of his non-Batman films (The Prestige and Inception in particular), to comment on the process of filmmaking itself, but those examples are usually an end unto themselves and tend to lack any emotional connection to the audience. I am hard-pressed to think of such synchronicity in which a story is using the medium of its own specific storytelling to comment on the medium and the story itself, WHILE being a compelling and heartbreaking narrative all at the same time. It brings to mind Shakespeare’s “All The World’s A Stage” monologues or Dante writing The Divine Comedy about ascending to Paradise all the while banished from his native home and an enemy of his church. Fitting, that the family dynamics of Mister Miracle are downright Shakespearean and the war of the New Gods is comparable to that between Heaven and Hell.

And even with all of that lofty presentation and historicity, both in the real world and in the Fourth World, Issue #5 resonates most powerfully as a love story between a husband and wife, a couple who love and depend on one another as fully when they are playing carnival games as when they are combating the innumerable parademon legions of Apokolips. Mister Miracle and Big Barda (can I call them “Bardacle?”) are a fascinating and unique couple, especially in comics, where stable, fulfilling marriages are rare. Jack Kirby purportedly modeled their marriage after his relationship with his own wife, and it manifests with a spirit of equanimity and trust. Free and Barda fully depend upon one another when they need to, have faith in each other’s emotions and motivations, and those aspects are mined by King and Gerads and made even richer and more fulfilled in this story. This Mister Miracle series is not an all-ages book and, since the physical relationship between any married couple is an essential part of a healthy relationship, it represents the sex life of Bardacle in an honest, funny, heartwarming, and even tasteful way. The height disparity between Scott and Barda is evident but never played for laughs. Instead, it is a charming aspect of their relationship; part of what makes their marriage unique. Issue #5 allows us to explore how perfect these two New Gods are for each other and how intimate and human their marriage really is.

Of course, this being a book by Tom King and Mitch Gerads, these moments of bliss are few and far between, tragically constructed to make us feel the full, desperate force of the despair to follow. In Issue #4, Scott Free was sentenced to death by his own step brother, Orion, for daring to question his leadership abilities in the New Gods’ war against Apokolips. Thus, Issue #5 functions as a sort of “Last Night On Earth” for our illustrious couple, at least before Scott is dragged away by the denizens of New Genesis to see his sentence carried out. When this finally occurs, every scene previous becomes more powerful and poignant in retrospect; the debates about existence, the stubbornness in the face of pointless carnival games, the last time the couple would make love; it all coalesces in a beautiful statement on how these two people love each other and why. Why, amid all the fighting and pain they have experienced in their lives, they are still willing to endure anything for each other, to go to war for each other. Now, that war has come home and woe to anyone who seeks to tear them apart.

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Counter Monkey John Arminio reviews ‘Four Points vol. 2: Knife’s Edge’

In 2016, Farrar, Straus and Giroux published Compass South, the first in the Four Points series of graphic novels written by Hope Larson and illustrated by Rebecca Mock. Compass South chronicled the trials and travails of twin brother and sister Cleopatra and Alexander Dodge (perfect names for a pair of adventuring siblings, by the way) as they set off on a cross-continental voyage to search for both their father and treasure. Along the way, they escaped pirates and quicksand, foiled the plans of press-gangs, and even broke a few hearts.... and got on each other’s nerves, as young siblings do. It was a fantastic tale of high adventure and family that stood out for both its quality and originality. A joy to read from back to front.

This year saw the release of the second volume in the Four Points series: Knife’s Edge, and it is everything Compass South was and more. Sequels are an inherently difficult prospect when the original saw the characters cross oceans, not to mention the sometimes more stormy cultural boundaries and gender politics that can occur for a young boy and girl traveling around the world on the sea during the 19th Century. How does one follow up such an epic journey and have it feel satisfying? What Larson and Mock have managed to do is tell the tale of how life for characters goes on after the reader reaches “The End,” no matter how satisfying a full story Compass South might have been. Yes, the Dodge twins have found their father, but what are the ramifications after so long a familial separation? Now that Cleopatra and Alexander have been independent for so long, can their father really be their father again? How will the expectations of being a young woman in 19th Century society affect Cleopatra after expressing more self-determination and grit than an entire crew of male pirates?

These are, of course, unanswerable questions. If there were real, permanent answers, we would always get along with our families and find a way to solve sexism. What Knife’s Edge does is present these knotted quandaries to capable, likable characters who sometimes lose their tempers or make grievous mistakes. The Dodge’s father has spent months under severe strain and toil and is thus severely weakened to the point of convalescence. While depending on his own children for succor and sustenance, he watches as his son learns the ways of a sailor and his daughter courts with pirate boys, fights with her brother, and learns the ways of the sword. These activities do not fit in with his plans, and as each Dodge family member attempts to control the activities of the others, jealousy and suspicion arise. It’s not even the possibility of treasure that creates these conflicts, nor is it any petty squabble. The deep love this family has for one another, when coupled with the constant fear and danger their quest necessitates, inevitably breaks out in the form of bickering, frustration, and words said that will later lead to regret. It is only the forces outside the Dodge family, the ones preoccupied with the more material obsessions in Knife’s Edge, that create discord because of treasure and quests for power. It is these dastardly actors, with their murder and hostage-taking, that impinge themselves upon the Family Dodge.

These nefarious forces not only manifest themselves in piracy, but also, when our protagonists sail to a friend’s home in the Marshall Islands, in the heinous specters of colonialism and slavery. Such global policies and practices are not only present in the abstract, but take an immediate and personal configuration in Knife’s Edge because the ship that is the setting for much of the story is commanded by the noble and capable Captain Tarboro, a black man, who has been mentoring the Dodge twins in their father’s absence. In this way, Larson and Mock have deftly found a way to address these issues honestly without depicting the brutality and inhuman ugliness that often went along with them, keeping Knife’s Edge appropriate for all ages, yet not without teeth. It’s a testament to Larson and Mock’s storytelling prowess that they are able to find this balance; a book that is truly all-ages, not just for children.

Knife’s Edge is at its most heartbreaking when the larger historical conflicts of civilization vs. piracy or individual desires vs. global forces are combined with the interpersonal conflicts of the characters. This is what the best historical fiction can do; it uses the past to tie themes and conflicts to the characters and it uses well-drawn characters to bring the past a new clarity and purpose. When a character like Cleopatra Dodge acts in a way that neither the reader nor the other characters expect, it is all the more surprising and poignant when the weight of history is hefted upon the backs of the Dodge family and their allies. This is essential reading for anyone interested in the age of sail, American History, or the 19th Century, not to mention great graphic fiction in general. Artist Rebecca Mock is a relative newcomer to graphic novels but she makes these characters, the times they lived in, and their actions come to life in vivid detail. Her drawings are precise and emotional, each facial expression brimming with authenticity and empathy. Along with the narrative wisdom of comic veteran Hope Larson, the Four Points series should be a source of great stories for many volumes to come. If you have read Compass South, Knife’s Edge is essential reading. If you are new to Four Points, Knife’s Edge is proof that it is a series well worth investing in.

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The Existential Joy of Jughead

In July of 2015, Archie Comics relaunched its brand with a fantastic new series written by Mark Waid with art by Fiona Staples, two brilliant comic creators with more awards than Archie Andrews has had awkward dates. This “new,” “contemporary yet classic” take on the Archie stable of characters remains a confoundingly entertaining, touching, exuberant, and entertaining series. Both Archie Comics and the creators behind the new series seem dedicated to telling wonderful stories about youth in America, about good people trying to be good, and the wacky shenanigans that can result from the best of intentions. The art, changing hands frequently from Staples to Veronica Fish to Joe Eisma, is consistently relatable, endearing, and empathy-inducing, even for characters that have been around since 1941. Breaking News: Mark Waid is good (and by that,I mean he is a legend and might be the greatest writer of superhero comics to ever live but WHATEVER).

When Jughead #1 debuted in October of the same year with a similar rebooting philosophy, I found myself instantly in love. While it may have seemed incongruous to have the artist from the hilarious, observant, poignant yet decidedly R-rated Sex Criminals, Chip Zdarsky, to write the very PG-rated world of Riverdale teenagers, his acerbic wit and gleeful celebration of an idiosyncratic life is a perfect fit for Archie’s Best Pal. Combined with the charming and one-of-a-kind art of Unbeatable Squirrel Girl artist Erica Henderson, Jughead has been a hilarious and imaginative take on comics’ most notorious eater of hamburgers. Zdarsky and Henderson’s run saw Jughead fight the good fight for proper school lunches, imagine himself time-traveling-while-grounded, and even declare his own asexuality. While the mountains of food and fantastical daydreaming led to an altogether more freewheeling and sillier book than its sister titles, the latter revelations (or long overdue declaration) of Jughead’s disinterest in romantic entanglements provided some unexpected poignancy to the book.

However, it is one thing for a character to make such a declaration, but developing that feature into a compelling story is another. Chip Zdarsky had the vision to make Jughead’s asexuality a known quantity in the Riverdale Universe, but it fell on the (very tall) shoulders of Ryan North to make readers see how such a young man would function in that world, how he could love his friends very deeply, just not be in love with any of them. The story actually begins with Jughead meeting what could be considered his dream girl: a girl with a cheeseburger for a head. Well, it’s a young lady dressed in a hamburger mascot costume working at Pop’s Chok’lit Shoppe in an attempt to advertise Pop’s scrumptious wares.

Jughead, of course, hits it off immediately with the anthropomorphized object of his culinary desire and she with him because he actually treats her with respect and dignity. After all, this unique wonder, this Human Sized Hamburger, is the most beautiful unique thing in the world. Like a glimpse at a previously unknown work of Vermeer or a newly discovered species of deep-sea fish, Sabrina-as-Burger-Mascot is a wonder to behold. Then she takes her head off. Jughead is now forced to deal with her as a person, take into account her feelings, to deal with his own emotions when it comes to friendship, romance, and dating. He cares for Sabrina, wants her to be happy, but even with drafting in his friends to help, he can do nothing but cause chaos in both of their lives. His choice of Relationship Consigliere is dubious, however, as asking Archie Andrews to help with one’s dating life is as good an idea as asking the Incredible Hulk to assist in composing a Shakespearean sonnet. Still, Jughead does his best, and his utter failure at romance, going against his own natural instincts, results in some remarkably hilarious madcap antics. The madness is assisted by the magical interference of Sabrina when she mistakes Jughead’s haplessness for indifference (or even malice).

Because this is Riverdale, of course, even the powers of witchcraft, fast food, and teenage awkwardness cannot keep two good friends apart. Jughead comes to the very real, very mature realization that it is hard to communicate emotions he knows the other person will not and cannot be feeling. Not only that, but he must somehow comprehend how to process the emotions of others that he is incapable of feeling, all while making the other party feel loved and accepted. It’s a tall order for anyone, but with Ryan North’s insightful writing and hilarious joke-telling, along with Derek Charm’s adorable characters and delicious depictions of Pop’s cuisine, we can believe in Jughead’s journey. Imagine that, an Archie character with a completed arc. It’s pretty great.

Jughead’s asexuality also has an affect on his relationship with his best friend and walking teen hormone faux pas, Archie Andrews. Both friends only want what is best for the other, but their mutual bafflement at the other’s behavior sometimes brings them into conflict. During Zdarsky’s run, this manifested in the pair venturing on an oft-visited trope in the world of Archie Comics: a camping trip during the eternal Riverdale Summer (between the eternal Riverdale School Years). Archie sees girls and must peruse them because he is Archie and must cause chaos. Jughead sees Archie pursue girls, rather than his best friend and a good meal, and cannot help by feel rejected. It is really up to Jughead to forgive his best friend his boorish behavior, both to Jughead himself and to Betty and/or Veronica... because Archie is never not dating one of them, so the mere fact that he is trying to flirt with women he meets in the woods is a disaster of double-quarter-pounder-with-cheese-level proportions waiting to happen. It is only through their mutual willingness to understand one another, to love each other for their differences, that the two friends are able to emerge from the ordeal with their friendship stronger than ever.

When this susceptibility for misunderstanding collides with modern technology, and the Archie Gang at large, it only results in disaster for all of Riverdale. After the Awkwardness Avalanche of trying to date Sabrina, Ryan North pens a tale of video game bets gone awry and viral video shenanigans that is as on-point a  commentary on Internet culture as it is a poignant tale of youthful friendship. It provides some unexpected pathos from perpetual antagonist Reggie Mantle, as well as Jughead bending over backwards to try to please his friends but only making things worse. After all, what brings Internet mockery faster than unrestrained, genuine earnestness? And of course, the denizens of Riverdale are nothing if not earnest, even Jughead, who can fawn over the condensation on the glass containing his milkshake.

Our titular character might cultivate an image of aloofness, might want others to believe he is not to be swayed by emotions, but this is only to make himself feel safe, to make his peers feel as if he is unhurt by the many pricks he kicks against. In fact, he is deeply affected by how his friends feel. Not romantically, surely, but in a way that makes him eternally loyal to the people he cares about. Hell, in the brilliant (and non-canonical) Afterlife With Archie, he enlists Sabrina’s help in raising his dog from the dead, thereby ushering in the zombie apocalypse. Jughead defies to laws of God and the Universe to save his dog! Even more remarkable, in the main Jughead title, he invites Internet ridicule just to make his friends feel better! If only everyone had a friend willing to sacrifice so much, so determined to live a joyful life, as Jughead Jones.

Jughead is currently available in two trade paperback collections. Both are highly recommended.

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"Harrow County" #12 review by Counter Monkey John Arminio

Io9 describes Harrow County as “One of 2015′s best horror comics.” ONE of the best. HORROR comics. Of 2015. It is “praise” so loaded with qualifiers that it means nothing more than, “yeah, it’s pretty good, I guess.” Even though I love the horror genre, there really aren’t that many good horror comics in any given year, so when one does come along, I tend to sit up and take notice. What Professional Critics should be saying about Harrow County is that it’s among the best stories to happen to horror in years, in any medium. It is one of the most consistently rewarding reads of any ongoing comic of any genre. For a book to be so frightening, chilling, and heartbreaking issue after issue, even after readers would presumably be accustomed to its methodology of instilling fear, is nothing short of astounding.

The basic premise, like many a good horror tale, is at its base, a simple one. Emmy is a young girl, connected to her ancestors and to the earth, especially that of her home town, who is imbued with mysterious and dangerous powers. Everyone from her father to her friends to the village elders of Harrow County are both terrified and fascinated by her, willing to use her gifts for their own purposes then decry her as an outsider or a witch when convenient to them. As she matures and her power grows, the stakes of her witchcraft likewise escalate, even as she is better able to control it. It seems her power is attracting more evil from the impenetrable black, swampy forests that surround her home… and they are after her. 

Tyler Crook’s art mines everything from slime-ridden EC books, Southern folktales, and sword-and-sorcery Sunday comic strips like ‘Prince Valiant.’ The result is something beautiful, mysterious, and hypnotic, able to be cute in one panel and horrifying in the next. It allows the reading to contain the potential for shock and surprise without the use of cheap tricks. His covers are universally gorgeous; pieces of entrancing art in themselves. However, they also imply an entire netherworld of menace, simultaneously inviting and full of foreboding. His yellows are of lemonade and golden honey but his blacks are deeper than the pupils of serpents. Of course, for issue 12, Mr. Crook is on a well-deserved break and the reader is treated to the more than capable hands of Hannah Christenson. Her art is less elegant and reminiscent of mythological witchcraft stories than Crook’s, but it does evoke a more palpable sense of childhood innocence (a characteristic intertwined in Crook’s character designs) which serves the haunting (pun intended) story well.  Emmy is dedicated to using her gifts for good and for the benefit of the good people around her, even if people literally spit at her as she walks by. She knows they are scared by what she represents, of the great evil she encounters every time she so much as crosses paths with a possum. That unassuming woodland pest might be a familiar, after all; a servant of a much more malevolent witch. This potential for wickedness inhabits every move Emmy makes, imbuing every scene with menace and potential disaster.

Even so, Emmy ventures to a lone and very haunted house, called there by its residents in hopes of exorcising the evil (or perhaps just the restless) spirits within. Things don’t go as planned. In the process, we get to witness the synthesis of Cullen Bunn’s expert and empathetic prose and Christenson’s art, each creating a sense of urgency and deep emotion in the characters. This is especially true for the children living in the house and even, in one case, a child’s rag doll. Amidst all this spiritual tumult, what makes ‘Harrow County’ truly scary is its ability to effortlessly, and quite surreptitiously, get the reader on the side of its characters. To hope against hope that with sheer good will and effort, the protagonists can conquer evil and all involved will be spared the pain of loss or further hauntings. 

Although Emmy has survived for twelve issues and has done a great amount of good in her community and the world, one gets the sense that the longer she practices her craft, the greater the burden she bears, both physically and spiritually. The look on the horrified faces of the family she tries to help, at every stage in this issue, takes its toll. Yet, if Emmy refused these pleas for help, her burden would be all that much greater. Her conscience would not allow her to turn her back on her fellow townsfolk, even if they hiss at her and curse her name when not in need. Her journey is therefore that much more difficult, her triumphs more exalted, and her defeats all the more devastating. The hands of ghosts pulling at her wrists might as well be the hands of her neighbors, begging for her to free them of their own burdens. Even if this issue is a one-way break between larger story arcs, it builds the relationship between Emmy and Harrow County, as well as the scope and power of the “Haints.” Haints are not just ghosts, but embodiments of the power of the Earth. Spiritual magic has manifested itself in the realm of the living, a power that certain individuals like Emmy can tap into. This curse/gift gives her ever-expanding powers and attracts an ever-expanding array of Haints who seek to devour that power. 

Writer Cullen Bunn is one of the most multifaceted creators working in comics, going from Harrow County’s deeply emotional horror, to the fantasy western of Sixth Gun, to sword-and-sorcery in Helheim, and to out-and-out superhero melodrama with Uncanny X-Men. He can use the world of Harrow County to tell stories of racism, rural life, family loyalty, and small-minded paranoia, as well as humorous anecdotes in the bonus “Tales from Harrow County” supplementals that appear in each issue. With stories like this, with collaborators working in such dark harmony, Harrow County is due for mountain of unequivocal, unabashed praise. 

Five Creepy Sentient Dolls out of Five

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‘Illuminati’ #6 Review by Counter Monkey John Arminio

Even keeping in mind the plethora of amazing, mind-blowing comic books that are out this week, Illuminati is a title that consistently gives me heaps of pleasant surprises every time I read an issue. Maybe because it was one of those post-Secret Wars titles that seemed unnecessary, therefore I underestimated it. Maybe it was because the title, Illuminati, is a reference to a group of egomaniac superheroes; some of the mightiest in the Marvel pantheon like Iron Man, Namor, Black Panther, and Reed Richards; who took it upon themselves to manipulate world events to suit their own purposes. You know, “for the greater good,” and all that nonsense. Characters far more iconic and, frankly, important than any of the cast of Illuminati.

But that is why the series is sort of perfect. Of course a reader would underestimate a comic book with The Hood on the cover. He’s a... hood (as in gangster) with two guns and a... hood, and that is part of the book’s brilliance. Of course The Hood would be so harebrained and bursting with hubris to name his band of misfit crooks after the mightiest forces in the Marvel universe. He sees himself as deserving of that enthroned position and is willing to rope in anyone who is foolish enough to agree that they too are entitled and to join in his plans. Chaos is inevitable because, after all, what could be more dangerous than a well-armed entitled dimwit? Or, for that matter, a group of entitled dimwits looking to get even better arms.

The series kicked off with all guns blazing, as The Hood pulled lower-tier villains into his group, planning heists that were far beyond their meager reach. Characters like Titania, Black Ant, Thunderball, and Mad Thinker were thrown together in a sort of Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels-with-superpowers; a band of maladjusted criminals desperate for something better but not desperate enough to be good (be it at their jobs or morally). After a chain of setbacks and defeats, especially for Titania, the most sympathetic and intriguing member of the group, the characters are losing sight of what they wanted to change in their lives in the first place. By issue #6, the series has evolved into something akin to Ed Brubaker’s classic Wildstorm stories from the early 2000s like Point Blank and Sleeper. There is a group of superpowered humans made inhuman by their own faults and insecurities; blinded by what they truly need because they cannot get past wanting what they cannot have. They are doomed to perpetual failure: personal, professional, and even spiritual, because they think they deserve success.

This concept comes to a head brilliantly in issue six, as elements of the Standoff: Pleasant Hill event in the greater Marvel world are incorporated more elegantly and naturally than in any other Marvel book. The nature of the “prison” set up by peacekeeping/unilateral law enforcement/uniformed murdering organization SHIELD is that the minds of superpowered criminals are wiped and manipulated, implanted with false memories and false identities, all under a cloak of secrecy kept hidden from the rest of the world (even the Avengers). As such, numerous villains and lunatics are implanted in a Potemkin Village version of nostalgic American Suburbia, given jobs and false lives and even implanted emotions. Now, all those murderers and madmen are in a state of suspended mental animation, kept “pleasant” and at peace by SHIELD’s reality-warping. The kind of people who could easily populate The Hood’s Illuminati are serving ice cream and bagging groceries. Then, of course, it all goes wrong.

In previous issues of the Standoff event (Uncanny and All-New All-Different Avengers), various evil-doers broke free of SHIELD’s control and the Avengers came to town and wreaked havoc. Prisoners were loosed of their implanted realities and remembered who they were (or are). But now... what have they become? Absorbing Man, Titania’s husband, is set free from SHIELD’s clutches, but he is still a captive of the happiness that was forced upon him by his imprisonment. He was never happier than when forced to be happy and docile but is once more nothing but unsavory desires, violence, and depression. Any affection he found in Pleasant Hill is lost and any satisfaction he might gain from rejoining a cadre of villains like the Illuminati, even at his wife’s side, feels hollow. Titania, after battling top tier heroes in previous issues like Thor to reach her husband, now must face a newly disillusioned Absorbing Man knowing that she, his wife, could never bring him the happiness that an artificial reality brought him. What has been the point of their lives up until now, if their realities float and dissipate in the wind like smoke? Can they build new lives knowing that it might all be rendered pointless, and they not ever be aware of it? What of former inmates who now choose the side of “good”? Are they only doing so because of what Pleasant Hill did to them? Is there anything of their true selves left? Even if that’s true, does it matter? Are their current identities any less genuine because they have been morphed by circumstance? Are those feelings any less intense?

By asking these questions in the form of superhero heists, gritted teeth, and gunplay, Illuminati has transformed itself into the most entertaining and action-packed treatise on existence and experience going. I could read it for its philosophical and moral implications, but I could also read it to see very bad people do very bad things in a very entertaining way. Philosophy with punching; existentialism with explosions.