[At the end of every month, Aaron surveys the comics he read, celebrates the best, considers the rest, and takes stock of what it means to be a contemporary comic fan. Follow "The State of My Pull List" here.]

Spotlight

Saga #2

Had last month’s column not been waylaid by end of semester chaos and other roadblocks to productivity it would’ve featured Saga #1, from Image Comics, as my Spotlight read. That I’ve selected Saga #2 as my Spotlight book for April shouldn’t be read as a consolation prize, or a way to make up for last month; I would’ve happily celebrated the first ever back-to-back Spotlight pick for the Pull List, had last month gone according to plan. It’s a brilliant title, unlike anything else on the shelves and well worth discussing at length. And if it’s brilliant again next month and I have to rename this column “Saga and Some Other Comics” then so be it.

What Saga does best is open up the science fiction adventure story, filling it with ideas and trusting to reader to follow along. Whereas a lot of sci-fi comics follow the Blade Runner model, where the entire fictional world seems to grow out of a single design choice, Saga feels more like Star Wars, filled with weird creatures and technologies that don’t necessarily make sense together but we accept them as a whole because the story never stops to let us figure out how the giant gangster slug fits with the admiral who looks like a prawn. The characters in Saga (and Star Wars and Blade Runner, for that matter) are rich and complex enough that I don’t really care about the how – I only want to know what they’ll do next, and what the consequences of their actions will be.

Saga’s main story concerns Marko and Alana, alien soldiers from opposite sides of a war who have fallen in love and deserted. Saga #1 opens with Alana giving birth in hiding, just before the pair are tracked down by Alana’s former confederates. They escape, and begin searching for something called the Rocketship Forest that they hope will take them far away from the war where they can raise their daughter in peace. Along the way we meet Coalition officers with humanoid bodies and televisions for heads, giant turtles with laser eyes, and bounty hunters with names like The Will and The Stalk, the latter of which is the principle threat in issue two. Alana and Marko are also humanoid, but are distinguished by a pair of wings and a set of ram’s horns, respectively, which are the unique characteristics of their particular races. Writer Brian K. Vaughan and artist Fiona Staples understand that a well-constructed story will sweep that quantity of detail along and use it to set-up even more sophisticated plot points, and that readers are more likely to appreciate the richness of everything than to complain that everything and everyone looks too weird.

All of that oddity would mean nothing if the characters weren’t relatable and interesting, though. Marko is an awkward new parent, nervously optimistic about their chances of escaping the war but also slightly a bit of a bumbler, while Alana is more collected and pessimistic. When The Stalk (a bounty hunter with a forked, weaponized tongue) stabs Marko and tells Fiona to hand over the child, Alana points a stun gun not at the monster, but at her own daughter, deadpanning that she’ll do anything to keep her away from the powers that are hunting her family. Even The Stalk is shocked, and as a reader I found myself in the strange situation of relating to the ruthless professional killer. So far, Saga is made up almost entirely of quiet character moments like that, with a smattering of action sequences mixed in. When the action does inevitably pick up, the stakes will be even greater because we’ve come to care about Marko, Alana, and even baby Hazel, who narrates the story from some point in the future.

Outside of the clever plotting and rich character work, Saga is notable in that it represents Vaughan’s return to comics. A critical darling of the 2000s, who built a loyal fan following around titles like Y: the Last Man, Runaways, and Ex Machina, Vaughan was celebrated for his deep plotting and dynamic characters, which made him a natural to make the transition to screenwriting, most notably three seasons writing for Lost. It’s too early to speculate about how that time away might’ve changed his writing, but nevertheless it’s good to have a gifted writer, especially one capable of drawing a non-traditional comics audience, working in the medium.

That said, the star of this series is clearly Staples. She broke through with Mystery Society (written by Steve Niles) in 2010, but Saga is the first in hopefully a string of high-profile gigs for the artist. Her linework is a bit sketchy but still clear, and suited to rendering all of the detail necessary for the kind of world-building she and Vaughan are up to. Staples particularly excels in acting – her characters are expressive, not only in their faces but in postures and gestures. When Prince Robot IV enters in issue two he is upright, striding as his position would dictate, but as soon as he learns something new about Alana his confidence is shaken and he takes this stance, somewhere between petulant defiance and a slouch, that tells us everything about Prince Robot in a single panel.

Staples’s backgrounds don’t quite grab me, though. They’re rendered digitally, and appear hazy and soft, whereas the foreground figures (also, I suspect, rendered digitally) are clear and defined, outlined in black lines. The result is a cel-animation feel, which is interesting in some ways but seems to rob the story of some of its depth and richness.

I never would’ve suspected this would happen, but Image Comics has been slowly taking over my pull list in the past few months. I’m reading more Image titles than ever, and gradually dropping Marvel and DC books. I still enjoy superhero titles, but I’m finding that books like Saga are making me all the more excited to visit my local store (Boston’s Comicopia) every Wednesday. …
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[At the end of every month, Aaron surveys the comics he read, celebrates the best, considers the rest, and takes stock of what it means to be a contemporary comic fan. Follow "The State of My Pull List" here.]

Spotlight

Mondo #1

There is a class divide in the comics community, and there has been for decades. But it’s not between haves and have nots, or red states and blue states; rather, it’s all about “mainstream” versus “ art” comics. Mainstream generally refers to superhero/adventure/fantasy comics published monthly in the 22-page format by one of the major companies (DC and Marvel, obviously, but also Image, Dynamite, Boom!, etc.), while art comics are graphic novels or otherwise whole collections published by Fantagraphics and Top Shelf, or serialized in journals like Mome, Taddle Creek, and McSweeney’s. Art comics are discussed and reviewed on The Comics Journal, mainstream comics are discussed and reviewed on Newsarama. Mainstream comics are produced by a group of writers and artists and are therefore sloppy, while art comics tend to be product of a single creator’s careful attention and concern for the story and art.

Those distinctions are tenuous and permeable – there are comics produced by Marvel and DC that are every bit as exquisitely rendered as something published by Drawn and Quarterly, and there are independent, creator-driven art comics that tell tedious stories with uninspired art. Talking this way doesn’t do much good for anyone who wishes to take comics seriously (another class distinction!). But that doesn’t stop fans, critics, and even industry professionals from ensconcing themselves in one camp or the other. I’m certainly not immune – I strive to be honest with my reading habits and taste in this column, and even a casual browse through each entry reveals that I read a lot of superhero comics every month. I’m not at all embarrassed or ashamed to enjoy superhero comics, but I acknowledge that my choice in reading (and, more importantly, buying) habits says something about what I value.

This division is a self-inflicted wound, and I didn’t think there was much to be done about it until I read Ted McKeever’s Mondo #1. The first of a three-part mini-series published by Image Comics, Mondo #1 is an oversized issue both in page count (40 versus the typical 20) and size (the pages are an inch wider than the standard format), and features a cardstock cover. In presentation it more closely resembles the heft and substance of the European album format, but priced and distributed like a typical issue of a monthly book (in fact, $5 for 40 pages is a better deal than the usual $3 or $4 for 20 pages.) I knew nothing about Mondo before I saw it on the shelf, and picked it up solely because of it stood out on the shelf, but didn’t seem out of place among other titles.

The story and art between the covers lives up to the promise of the format – Mondo was easily the best-looking book I read in February, if not the year so far (and probably 2011 as well). McKeever draws with an intense flexibility – it moves from scratchy and sketchy to intensely specific and detailed, sometimes in the same panel. “Cartoony” is an apt description of his art, but his line isn’t clean and elegant like Darwyn Cooke’s, or Cliff Chiang’s, or other artists who get categorized in the same way. One point of comparison would be Kevin Eastman and the early Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comics, which had the same darkness and rich detail; another is “Liquid Television”, MTV’s animation anthology from the 90s that featured similarly intense, bizarre worlds and loose caricatures (and it’s worth pointing out that several “Liquid Television” segments were derived from the indie comics scene).

And like those “Liquid Television” shorts, Mondo is aggressively bleak, and a bit juvenile. The story follows Catfish Mandu, a meek, harried employee of a nightmarish chicken processing facility, who only communicates through chicken-like clucking. He’s haunted by visions of a demonic chicken, and when one of those visions leads to an accident at the plant he is transformed into a muscled, violent monstrosity, venting his rage at his tormentors by mutilating them. There’s also a subplot about developments on Venice Beach, and one featuring a psychotic young woman named Kitten Kaboodle, but they’re still just surrealistic tangents at this point.

Juvenile doesn’t have to be a bad thing, though, particularly when it’s executed this well. Take the introduction of Kitten Kaboodle – when harassed by a lecherous gas station attendant, she flips and rips his arm off at the elbow. It’s a grotesque moment of ultraviolence, but the gore is expressive, and is reflected in the lettering of the attendant’s scream. And the action is made more effective by the transition from the previous panel, a staggeringly detailed close-up of Kitten’s face, with pursed lips, jagged bangs, and giant, terrifying owl eyes prefiguring the violence of the next page.

I’m not naïve enough to think that Mondo is the model for the future of the medium – not every mainstream superhero comic will look this good, and I don’t expect Chris Ware to begin publishing monthly issues anytime soon. And I don’t know how other readers reacted to it – be they dedicated genre fans, “literary” readers, or those who seek out and enjoy comics of all stripes. But Mondo #1 has the potential to change a reader’s mind, no matter how it’s set, and encourage experimentation in taste. And if risk and experimentation become the norm, for readers and creators alike, then the comics community will be a lot healthier in the years to come. …
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[At the end of every month, Aaron surveys the comics he read, celebrates the best, considers the rest, and takes stock of what it means to be a contemporary comic fan. Follow "The State of My Pull List" here.]

Spotlight

The Shade #4

Very few comic book writers have fallen as far out of critical and popular esteem as James Robinson; certainly no others who have experienced a similar fall are still producing major work. The closest is probably Jeph Loeb, but even his biggest critical hits were nothing compared to Robinson’s run in the mid to late 90s. The Golden Age, Leave It to Chance, Starman, the Legends of the Dark Knight story “Blades” – each of these featured rich, complex stories that made Robinson a critical darling. With his exceptional character sense and predilection for the under-appreciated corners of comic book history, Robinson’s place in history was already secure when he left comics for Hollywood in the early 2000s.

Then he wrote the screenplay for the awful League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, wrote and directed the forgettable Comic Book Villains, and stayed away from comics until 2006, when he returned to DC to write an 8-part story crossover story in Batman and Detective Comics. The Robinson of old was largely missing in that story, and seemed to have disappeared entirely by 2009’s Justice League: Cry for Justice mini-series. Critics and fans alike assailed the title, and it seemed that his celebrated earlier work would from now on be slightly tainted, a little asterisk next to each title to signify that the writer had gone to pot shortly afterward.

That said, The Shade #4 is a good indication that Robinson is becoming comfortable with his voice again, and is still capable of telling a nuanced story with recognizable, distinct character work. Reuniting the writer with arguably the most popular character to emerge from his Starman series, The Shade is a 12-issue maxiseries that follows the reformed villain/not-quite hero as he investigates an attempt on his life. That story is told in three-issue arcs, broken up by single-issue “Times Past” stories, which tell tales of the Shade’s adventures in different eras, with guest artists on hand to better evoke the “out of time” feel of the narrative. The first of these, issue four, features pencils by Darwyn Cooke and inks by his regular collaborator J. Bone, an art team ideally suited for a story set during World War II.

Issue 4 begins with the Shade at his desk, quill in hand, writing his memoirs, and through the narration we flash back to 1944, and the story of the character’s first heroic act. While planning a diamond heist, he learns about a Nazi plot to assassinate an American industrialist, Darnell Caldecott, and decides to provide his own variety of protection. Enlisting the aid of two Golden Age heroes, the motorcycle-riding cowboy Vigilante and the mysterious Madame Fatale, whose secret is revealed in the third act. It’s a fairly straightforward, tightly constructed story, but it reads more like a broad serial adventure, due largely to Cooke and Bone’s art.

Darwyn Cooke’s art is so closely associated with the post-World War II era of America – thanks to indelible work like The New Frontier and his adaptations of Richard Stark’s Parker novels – that it’d be tempting to say he was typecast if he wasn’t so clearly content to recreate (or reinterpret, depending on your perspective) that world. His clean, bold line and minimalist design work lends itself to the hard angles of art deco settings and lantern-jawed heroes. And though none of the characters in The Shade #4 fit that hard-boiled Cooke archetype, he conveys the title character’s unsettling urbanity, and Madame Fatale’s restraint, suggesting the character’s secret pages before it even plays into the story. J. Bone’s inks keep Cooke’s pencils a bit more elastic, which suits the fantastic element of the Shade’s shadow powers, particularly in a scene when he confronts the saboteur. And with all of that energetic storytelling fit into the rigid wide-panel grid Cooke is so fond of, the book feels big and busy; it’s cinematic, but the cinema of a bygone era.

Robinson’s best work captures that same feeling of dislocation. He thrives writing misfit characters that populate odd corners of the shared universe – at a very basic level Starman is about the rehabilitation of lost, unloved characters flung across DC’s publishing history. And though he tried to populate books like Superman and Justice League of America with similarly underused characters, it didn’t quite work because those are spotlight titles. Set apart from well-known characters and big storylines, in his own fictive space, Robinson is capable of great depth and clarity. The Shade seems to be providing him that space for now; whether he stays there (or DC lets him) will likely determine the tenor of the writer’s second act. …
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[At the end of each month, Aaron surveys the comics he read, celebrates the best, considers the rest, and takes stock of what it means to be a contemporary comic fan. Follow "The State of My Pull List" here. Find part one of this month's Pull List here.]

Spotlight

Wonder Woman #3

It’s relatively easy to point curious new readers to quintessential Batman and Superman stories, but far less so with Wonder Woman. I’ve always found this odd, considering the character’s rather high cultural profile—she’s appeared in her own television show, Saturday morning cartoons, the requisite lunch boxes and Halloween costumes. Wonder Woman is everywhere, her popularity easily equal to that of Superman or Batman. So why the dearth of quality Wonder Woman stories?

There are several competing theories. Some argue that the underpinning of light fetishism and sexuality was crucial to the success of Wonder Woman creator William Moulton Marston’s original stories, and even the conception of the character. Some say that attempts to “clean up” Wonder Woman in the 50s and 60s altered the storytelling engine for the worse. Others claim that Wonder Woman is too remote, or too perfect, and trying to tell human stories about a goddess doesn’t work. And we can’t ignore the reality of gender bias—the men who write and draw the majority of mainstream superhero comics are probably more likely to have a must-tell story about Batman or Superman than Wonder Woman, and DC is more likely to let them tell those stories because the predominantly male readership tends to ignore titles with a female lead (I’m not arguing that female characters can only be written by women, and male characters by men, but I’d wager there are other female creators eager for the chance to tell interesting Wonder Woman stories besides Gail Simone, who recently ended a compelling three-year run on the character. More Wonder Woman stories means a greater likelihood that at least one will be to that character what Batman: Year One and All-Star Superman are to Batman and Superman.)

All of those arguments have merit, and the recently relaunched Wonder Woman title, written by Brian Azzarello and drawn by Cliff Chiang, addresses them head-on, with November’s issue three serving as a line in the sand for readers (and, implicitly, other creators.) Revising Wonder Woman’s origin, Azzarello reveals that Diana was not a clay figure molded by her mother, Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, and given life by the gods, but rather the biological child of Hippolyta and Zeus. Azzarello solves the relatability problem right away by introducing notes of confusion, anger, and sadness to Wonder Woman’s story – she’s no longer just a goddess sent from a utopian society to perfect our world, but rather a person who has been lied to, and who acts out as a result.

That Wonder Woman’s familiar drama is Olympian in nature could be distracting, or worse, boring, if the gods and goddesses were depicted in the ossified, visually inert “toga and beard” style. The reliance on those tropes brought always brought Simone’s stories to a screeching halt, and keeps me from enjoying George Perez’s celebrated post-Crisis run—no matter how poorly or outrageously the gods are behaving, scenes of them standing among marbles columns and arguing read like dull boardroom conversation. Instead Chiang, one of the most inventive and exciting artists working in comics, has redesigned the Greek gods through a Pop Art lens. Hermes, for instance, is tall and thin, with the thick black eyes of a bird and chicken-like legs, while Strife is a glamour girl with lavender skin and a Sinead O’Connor buzz, wearing a shredded black party dress. In their new guises the gods feel volatile and relevant, and Wonder Woman’s place among them and is thus more interesting by extension. In fact, in three issues we’ve seen and heard more from the gods than the title character, who stays mostly quiet and absorbs her surroundings, waiting for the right moment to act.

That moment, as it turns out, is the final pages of issue three when Wonder Woman, having learned of her true parentage, storms through the jungle of Paradise Island and interrupts the beginning of an insurrection led by an Amazon who blames Diana for their heavy battle losses. In a nearly silent sequence Diana slugs the leader and asserts her independence from the island and her heritage. Chiang’s storytelling instincts sell the significance of the moment, particularly the scene spread when she address the crowd—it’s a complex layout, with close-up panels set over a double-page shot of the entire beach scene. It’s grand and moving, and lends a note of finality to the story. If this were the end of a mini-series it’d feel fully developed and satisfying; thankfully, there’s more to look forward to next month.

It’s impossible to say whether this will become the Wonder Woman story, the one that’s collected and continuously reprinted, that shows up on “best of” lists and so on. But Azzarello, a writer I never would’ve pegged for this title, clearly isn’t afraid to restructure the characters foundations, which is a good first step towards crafting an iconic book. It’s that approach that makes Wonder Woman one of the most satisfying reads of DC’s New 52.

…
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[At the end of each month, Aaron surveys the comics he read, celebrates the best, considers the rest, and takes stock of what it means to be a contemporary comic fan. Follow "The State of My Pull List" here. Find part one of this month's Pull List here.]

In September, DC cleaned house by launching an entirely new slate of books—52 #1 issues, running the genre gamut from superheroes to westerns to horror stories. Because opportunities to start afresh with the entirety of a company’s output are exceedingly rare, and because of my long history with and affection for DC’s stable of characters, I opted to read and review all 52 titles and begin rebuilding my pull list.

I used a three-part scale to sort through the imposing stack of books: pulled means I enjoyed the book and will continue reading it in the months to come, peek means I foundit intriguing but flawed and might give it a second chance to win me over, and pass means I was either uninterested in the story or characters, unmoved by theartistic choices, and in a few cases infuriated by inexplicable editorial decisions. At the end I’ll tally it all up and get a peek at what next month will look like.

The New 52

The reviews are in alphabetical order. Skip to a section by using the handy-dandy table of contents below.

Part 1: Action Comics through Blackhawks (just scroll down)

Part 2: Blue Beetle to Green Lantern: New Guardians

Part 3: Grifter to Red Hood and the Outlaws

Part 4: Red Lanterns to Wonder Woman

The New 52

Part 1

Action Comics #1: Grant Morrison and Rags Morales deliver a brash young Superman more interested in fighting Goldman Sachs CEO Lloyd Blankfein than Brainiac. Worlds away from All-Star Superman, Morrison gives the original superhero a volatility that hasn’t been part of the character’s fictional world for years. This Superman is brash and cocky, and constantly moving around the page. I particularly enjoy Morales’s use of shadow, frequently concealing all of Superman’s face except for glowing red eyes. One of the flagship titles of the new DC, this is shaping up to be a must-read. Pulled, obviously.

All-Star Western #1: The first arc of this psuedo-anthology title features DC’s premiere Western hero Jonah Hex washing up in 19th-century Gotham City to help Jeremiah Arkham investigate a series of grisly murders. Tightly scripted by Jimmy Palmiotti and Justin Gray and featuring gorgeous art from Moritat, who won me over with his work on the late Spirit book, this was one of the most satisfying books of the relaunch. Pulled.

Animal Man #1: I’m not especially fond of Animal Man’s redesigned costume, but I liked everything else about this issue. Jeff Lemire strikes right at the character’s heart by focusing on Buddy Baker’s family, then twists the knife by pitting them in the middle of a nightmare scenario. And Travel Foreman’s art is just strange enough to sell the paranormal/horror aspects of the title without veering into incoherence. A genuinely unsettling start to this title. Pulled.

Aquaman #1: Geoff Johns has a reputation as a “rebirth” writer – someone who can give new life to moribund characters. He’s brought frequent collaborator Ivan Reis along to draw his revamp of Aquman, perhaps the most moribund of any superhero, raising the stakes for this title’s success even higher. Luckily, it’s quite good. Johns overuses a gag about how the general public considers Aquaman a useless hero, but nails the reserve and pride that mark the best iterations of the character. Reis’ pencils are strong, and he returns to the unsettling atmospherics of Blackest Night in scenes featuring the toothy creatures from an ocean trench. Pulled. …
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[At the end of each month, Aaron surveys the comics he read, celebrates the best, considers the rest, and takes stock of what it means to be a contemporary comic fan. Follow "The State of My Pull List" here.]

[Note: this month's Pull List is split in half---one part featuring the regular column, the other devoted entirely to the full 52-title DC relaunch. Find part two here.]

Spotlight

Mainstream comic books—not graphic novels, but monthly pamphlet comics—usually don’t end in a satisfactory way. There are obviously exceptions (the conclusion of Scott Snyder’s recent Detective Comics run is a good example) but by and large endings, whether of a story arc or an entire title, are rushed, or overly dramatic, or too easily resolved. The publishers own the characters, and are consequently disinclined towards endings that might preclude further adventures; even if Peter Parker decides to put away the web-shooters and retire from superherodom, someone else will come along to take this place.

The on-going titles published under DC’s Vertigo imprint are other notable exceptions. Executive Editor Karen Berger runs the imprint with an indie publisher’s ethic, albeit with the resources of a massive entertainment corporation behind it: take risks, give creators room to tell the stories they want to tell, and respect the readership. When Vertigo books end they do so in a gradual way that respects the integrity of the fictional universes they contain—dangling storylines are attended to, characters are bid farewell, and readers are given the closure they’ve been seeking, whether they knew it or not, since the first issue.

House of Mystery #41

House of Mystery #41 is not technically the last issue of the series—that distinction belongs to October’s issue 42, ajam-issue featuring regular creative team Matthew Sturgess and Lua Rossi plus guests Bill Willingham, Tony Akins, Steven T. Seagle, and Teddy Kristiansen. But issue 41 does bring the story Sturgess has built over the past three years to a close. And true to form for a series that was always very funny except when it was busy breaking your heart, the finale is only happy on the surface.

Having uncovered the nature of the Conception, Fig Keele reenters the titular House (and by proxy the story that she is writing), to give all the major characters the ultimate end of their stories, in the guise of scripts that she’s written. Reading these scenes I’m reminded of Grant Morrison’s “fiction suit,” a narrative device that operates like a diving rig, allowing the writer to visit the fictional world of his creation. Fig is Sturgess in fiction suit drag, adopting the guise of his character (as he seems to have done for the past five or so issues) to meet the others face to face, and possibly exorcise a little authorial guilt.

Guilt and blame have been recurring themes throughout House of Mystery so it’s no surprise to find that none of the endings (with the exception of the Goblin King’s) is entirely happy or sad—none of the characters (again, except for the Goblin King) are entirely good or bad. It’s somewhat galling to find that Lotus Blossom marries Fig’s true love Harry, but it’s worth remembering that mean-spirited and aggressive isn’t the same as evil; and I was sad to read that Anne ends up alone, until I remembered her single-mindedness in seeking to pluck the deceased Poet from a point earlier in his timeline, despite all warnings that it wouldn’t end well. Even the ending Fig writes for herself, ostensibly the happiest of the bunch, is just slightly pathetic and indulgent.

Series artist Luca Rossi contributes some of his finest art of the entire run in this issue. His gift for expressions and mood suits Sturgess’s ending structure, underlining the pathos in every scene. Take Anne’s distant gazing at the sea in the final panel of page seven, or Fig’s pained shying away from Harry in the fourth panel of page seventeen—each moving, but in subtly different ways. There are only a few artists I’ll follow from book to book, regardless of writer or character, but Luca Rossi has quickly joined those ranks.

I almost don’t want to read issue 42. No matter how Sturgess approaches that final issue, I can’t imagine it’ll be as elegant and apropos as this one. I will read it, obviously, and I bet it’ll be a fun issue considering the talent involved. But this charming, wrenching, quiet, most of all humane ending is the only ending I need. …
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[At the end of each month, Aaron surveys the comics he read, celebrates the best, considers the rest, and takes stock of what it means to be a contemporary comic fan. Follow "The State of My Pull List" here.]

[Note: this month's Pull List is mondo-big, so it'll be broken up into three pieces. This is the third part. Part one is here, part two is here.]

Farewells

On the eve of the DC relaunch I thought it appropriate to say goodbye to the titles I read regularly from the publisher. Some of them will return in a month as new #1s, while others are slated for relaunch towards the end of the year. Still others seem to be gone for good – two of which are among my favorite books of the year (one of which is Xombi, this month’s Spotlight book).

Batman and Robin #26

Batman and Robin concludes a solid run with issue twenty-six, written by David Hine and drawn by Greg Tocchini and Andrei Bressan. I wasn’t too fond of Tocchini’s work in previous issues of this title, but it seems more appropriate to Hine’s reverie for Dada and Surrealism. Bressan’s style doesn’t match Tocchini’s at all, and the dual artist approach suggests that this was rushed in at the last minute while other creators worked on the relaunch books. Hine deserves better – I hope there’s room for his absurdist take on superheroes at DC in the months to come. And I’m excited for Peter J. Tomasi and Patrick Gleason’s return to the title next month. …
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