My Cultural Diet

A woman with no memory of her past awakens on the shores of a bizarre world filled with gods, dragons, ancient ruins, and a variety of peoples and civilizations. But as she wanders through this vast land, encountering others and seeing the sights, she begins to develop a sense of her identity and purpose — a purpose that might be at odds with the gods themselves. At least, I think that’s what occurs in the pages of Linnea Sterte’s A Garden of Spheres. Sterte’s story unfolds over a series of vignettes that seem less interested in telling a coherent narrative, and instead, simply immerse you in her fantastical world. (Indeed, Sterte herself admits that she doesn’t really know what’s going on in her story, but rather, started making A Garden of Spheres in order to “define/refine a world I’d been carrying around half-formed in my head for almost a decade.”) On the one hand, that can make for a frustrating reading experience. But on the other hand, I don’t really mind because A Garden of Spheres is absolutely gorgeous to look at. Sterte’s Art Nouveau-inspired illustrations are incredibly rich and highly detailed, occasionally bringing to mind the work of Moebius. (Her use of silence and sudden action also evokes Tsutomu Nihei’s Blame!, although there’s nothing remotely cyberpunk about Sterte’s book.) As a result, her bizarre world possesses a strangely ethereal quality, such that even when I had no idea what was going on, I couldn’t stop reading. Needless to say, I look forward to learning more about Sterte’s world right alongside her in future volumes.

Who’s the cat that won’t cop out when there’s danger all about? I am, of course, talking about John Blacksad, the hard-nosed PI who isn’t afraid to confront the rich and powerful in Juan Díaz Canales and Juanjo Guarnido’s anthropomorphized world. This time around, Blacksad tangles with an ambitious developer seeking to remake the city in his image, which necessarily requires burying a few skeletons from his past, literally and figuratively. But skeletons have a way of reappearing, and just as Blacksad is getting on the case, a skeleton from his own past reappears, as well. As with all Blacksad stories, They All Fall Down — which was released in two parts in 2022 and 2024 — is filled with twists and turns that find Blacksad struggling to maintain his faith in humanity even as he confronts its worst aspects, and it’s all brought to life by Guarnido’s incredible artwork.

A mutilated corpse appears in the same spot in London’s Whitechapel district in four different eras between 1890 and 2050, drawing detectives from each era into a mystery that transcends time and speaks to the very heart of Great Britain. In other words, Si Spencer’s Bodies — which he produced with artists Dean Ormston, Phil Winslade, Meghan Hetrick, and Tula Lotay — is certainly ambitious, and contains many fascinating tidbits about secret societies and whatnot. It’s no surprise that many people lauded it upon its publication back in 2014. However, it just didn’t click for me. While I was certainly fascinated at times, the story felt too disjointed with an ending that felt cloying and overly sentimental.

Sir Roland King was once England’s greatest spy, an unstoppable agent who did whatever it took to protect Queen and Country. Now in his golden years, he’s trying to figure out how to retire — until he discovers he only has a few months left to live. Fed up with the system he helped to create, King decides to assassinate everyone who profits from the corruption. The only one who can stop him is his estranged son, who’s every bit the monster that his old man is. I was initially interested in King of Spies because of Matteo Scalera; I loved his work on Black Science. And the story of an ex-spy going rogue to bring down the world’s most powerful men also had its own appeal. But frankly, I was pretty underwhelmed by King of Spies. I think much of that has to do with book’s length. At just four issues, King of Spies’ story felt shallow and perfunctory, especially when combined with Mark Millar’s snarky, “edgy” writing. I think I would’ve preferred a longer series that was more grounded in tone and less pulpy.

With Avengers: Doomsday coming out later this year, now felt like a good time to see what Victor von Doom’s been up to in Marvel’s pages. After taking the mantle of Earth’s Sorcerer Supreme from Doctor Strange, Doom sets out to take over the entire world — and succeeds. Delivering on such lofty promises as world peace and universal healthcare, it seems like Doom really is the world’s best bet. The Fantastic Four, the Avengers, and their superhero allies are skeptical, though, even as Doom continually stays one step ahead of their efforts to discover the truth behind his reign. Meanwhile, Doom’s ascension exposes Earth to otherworldly threats that may be beyond even his ability to handle. One World Under Doom isn’t quite as ambitious as 2015’s Secret Wars crossover, which also revolved around Doom’s megalomaniacal tendencies, but it’s still a pretty fun read. Interestingly, Doom’s ultimate weakness this time isn’t his hubris and arrogance, but rather something far more relatable and, dare I say, human. On a sidenote, it was difficult to read One World Under Doom and not think of a certain president who possesses a similar level of arrogance, though nowhere near as much class or competence.

Imagine Zootopia if its lead was a jaded, world-weary detective suffering from postwar PTSD, and the bustling metropolis was simmering with corruption, sin, and vice. That would describe Juan Díaz Canales and Juanjo Guarnido’s Blacksad in a nutshell, but it would also sell short the pleasure of reading these post-WW2-set noir tales featured anthropomorphized animals. Even if it seems like a losing battle, the titular Blacksad seems intent on using all of his nine lives to take on the corrupt and the powerful, including wealthy tycoons, white supremacists, and Red Hysteria scaremongers — and sometimes, it seems like all he has to rely on are his quick fists, quick wits, and deep-seated sense of justice. I’ll admit, I went into Blacksad with some skepticism; the anthropomorphism seemed like it might be a bit too on the nose. But Canales and Guarnido have taken what seems like a simple premise and spun it into a thoroughly realized world that’s brought to life by Canales’s grounded storytelling and historical references and Guarnido’s richly detailed artwork.

When a man stumbles into a remote Nevada diner claiming to be the sole survivor of a nuclear bomb test gone wrong, he’s immediately treated with suspicion by the patrons. Until, that is, they’re attacked by grotesquely mutated creatures intent on spreading a deadly plague. Thus begins News From the Fallout, a sci-fi/horror graphic novel set smack dab in the middle of the Cold War. As far as its story goes, News From the Fallout is engaging enough with its tale of atomic monsters, alien plagues, demented generals, and desert ghost towns. What sets it apart, though, is Jeffrey Alan Love’s stark and distressed black-and-white artwork, which really helps to sell the nuclear nightmare.

At first, Biomega feels like a bit of a retread of Nihei’s magnum opus, Blame!. Both series feature a taciturn protagonist who travels through an increasingly bizarre post-apocalyptic landscape while battling transhuman horrors with the help of a tiny but super-powerful gun, all in the hopes of discovering the cure to a plague that’s devastating humanity. In the end, Blame! remains the superior work — Biomega’s story really goes off the rails in its final volumes, with an ending that feels rushed and incoherent — but it’s to Nihei’s credit as an artist that Biomega still carves out its own unique identity. Nihei’s architectural background serves him well in Biomega’s early volumes, allowing him to fill his pages with intricate, stunningly envisioned dystopian cities and gothic environments. His crafting of thrilling action sequences with just a bare minimum of panels is also second-to-none, as he draws his series’ taciturn protagonist — a super-powered synthetic human named Zoichi Kanoe who just so happens to have a bad-ass motorcycle — driving up the side of skyscrapers, into the air against fighter jets, and even into outer space.

The Institute for the Study of Complex and Dynamic Systems seems like a researcher’s dream come true, allowing one to pursue their chosen area of study without any interruption. But the isolated institute is not without secrets, and despite its precise arrangement and pristine facilities, seems to thrive on chaos — something that physicist Stéphane Douasy realizes when he and his neighboring researchers begin to explore the disappearance of one of their own, and the awesome implications of his research. Robin Cousin’s graphic novel is certainly more than your ordinary mystery thriller, and in the course of reading it, you’ll probably learn more about theoretical computer science and the P versus NP problem than you thought possible. And the setting — a remote scientific facility surrounded by endless forests — is intriguing. But even though I found The Phantom Scientist interesting, I never found it particularly gripping — which is what you really want in a thriller, even one featuring computer scientists, robots run amok, and chaos theory.

When God suddenly falls dead from heaven and his body hits the ground, it sends shockwaves, both literal and figurative, across the war-torn world of Kerethim. Soon, everyone is laying claim to the divine corpse and any secrets — and wealth — that it might contain. Cast into this newly godless world is Zanzi Vuiline, a bloodthirsty soldier who simply wants to return to her home and family, even if that means traveling inside and through God’s own body. Make no mistake, Godfell has an intriguing premise, though it doesn’t get nearly as philosophical or theological as you might think. Instead, writer Chris Sebela (Captain Marvel, High Crimes, Injustice Ground Zero) focuses mainly on the (extremely) bloody action as Vuiline and her unlikely companion carve a swathe through the various factions vying for control over God’s body. Godfell is never not entertaining, but don’t be surprised if you end the book thinking that it could’ve been more interesting than it was.

Thanks to the “Magical Minority Initiative,” Tom Token is the very first Black student to attend the hallowed halls of St. Ivory Academy of Spellcraft and Sorcery. But upon arriving, Token is immediately confronted by his fellow student’s ignorance and racism as well as the shocking possibility that he is not, in fact, the school’s first minority student. But what happened to his predecessors, and why does this mystery involve the ghosts of Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass? Harry Potter is a clear inspiration, if Voldemort and his Death Eaters were replaced by the KKK, that is. Though a fun read thanks to D.J. Kirkland’s bright, anime-inspired artwork, there are no real surprises or twists in Tom Token’s struggle against the magical academy’s systemic racism. Daniel Barnes’s story unfolds precisely as you’d expect it to, though if it encourages younger readers to learn more about Tubman, Douglass, and the Underground Railroad, then so much the better.

Given everything that’s going on with the U.S. right now — masked thugs disappearing and killing people in broad daylight, brazen foreign attacks, increased economic hardship for all but the most elite among us — I expected to be a bit more shaken up by North Bend’s story of a secret government project to cow the populace into submission. When DEA agent Brendan Kruge is recruited by the CIA to test a new mind control drug, he’s torn between the ethics of his mission and his patriotic duty. But Kruge’s story gets sidetracked by other stories and details that don’t dovetail very well. Furthermore, the comic’s attempts to stay grounded as opposed to embracing Department of Truth-style surrealism results in a surprisingly milquetoast story that never achieves the darkness or urgency that it’s so obviously striving towards.

Hudson Tremaine may possess seemingly supernatural luck at the casino tables in Vegas, but she’s never played a game like the Arcanos Mysterinos. There, sorcerers and demons gamble to literally reshape the world and challenge the whims of Fate itself — until Fate pushes back, that is. Hudson will need every single ounce of guile and pluck she can muster to win, or even just survive at this table. Arcana Royale has a really intriguing premise, but its hundred pages or so just barely scratch the surface of the story’s potential for magickal weirdness, especially as Hudson enters the game’s final round. Thus, the book as a whole feels rather anticlimactic. Bunn and Zamudio’s work isn’t bad, but one can’t help wondering what might’ve been had Arcana Royale been written by the likes of, say, Grant Morrison.

B isn’t just some black ops super-soldier taking out America’s worst enemies. He’s also a virtual demigod who’s been alive for 80,000 years, and his superhuman strength and healing might just hold the key to the next stage in humanity’s evolution. But 80,000 years of death and violence have taken their toll on B’s mind, and all he wants is to finally die — something the U.S. government promises in exchange for his fighting talents. As you might expect, this collaboration between Keanu Reeves and Matt Kindt (MIND MGMT, Dept. H) is violent in the extreme, with plenty of panels depicting B disemboweling, decapitating, and tearing apart his enemies limb from limb. But in the midst of all that violence, Reeves and Kindt manage to capture a certain tragic element in B’s story of a man forced to keep living even as everything and everyone he knows and loves is inevitably ripped away from him. And it doesn’t hurt that BRZRKR also taps into some cosmic weirdness for good measure. Not surprisingly, given Reeves’ involvement, Netflix is working on live-action and anime adaptations with Reeves in the lead role. I plan on watching both of them when they’re released.

I’ve previously enjoyed some of Greg Pak’s indie work (e.g., Mech Cadet Yu, Ronin Island), so I was curious to read his take on the Sentinel of the Spaceways. Only this time, there’s a bit of twist: the Surfer is stripped of his powers and reduced to mere flesh and blood after an encounter with the High Evolutionary, who seeks to use the Power Cosmic in his quest to perfect life. There are some interesting ideas here and there, starting with what the Surfer must deal with when he suddenly becomes a mere mortal man and all that entails. But at just five issues, Silver Surfer: Devolution’s treatment of those ideas is slight and forgettable, even when Galactus — who’s consuming part of the Sun for some reason — and the Fantastic Four arrive on the scene. And the less said about Suzi Endo, who becomes both the Surfer’s new love interest and the High Evolutionary’s herald, the better. Finally, I didn’t really care for Harvey Tolibao’s artwork, which felt inconsistent and dated. This one’s for Silver Surfer completists only; everyone else can skip it.

I’ve been a fan of Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips ever since I discovered Reckless back in 2023. The duo excel at spinning noir-ish, hard-boiled tales exploring the seamier sides of life, be it Hollywood’s golden age, ’80s suburbia, or 1930s New York. Kill or Be Killed is a modern-set story that introduces a supernatural aspect to the duo’s work. When a depressed college student survives a suicide attempt, he brings back an infernal presence that compels him to start killing the scum of the earth. Though billed as a vigilante tale, Kill or Be Killed also weaves in themes of addiction, mental illness, and family secrets and trauma. As such, it feels markedly unfocused compared to the rest of Brubaker’s writing, as if he couldn’t quite decide which angle to take, and so he tried to take them all. (An impression that’s further enhanced by the non-linear storytelling.) After awhile, the countless twists and turns start to feel increasingly rote and ridiculous. In fact, I’m pretty sure I literally rolled my eyes at the twist in the final panel, which came after a completely unnecessary denouement. As you can probably tell, Kill or Be Killed is my least favorite Brubaker/Phillips title to date.

As Nova, Richard Rider was one of the most powerful superheroes in the Marvel pantheon, but he sacrificed himself to stop Thanos and was lost in the Cancerverse, an alternate universe ruled by Lovecraftian entities. So when he mysteriously returns to the primary universe, Rider sees it as a second chance. However, the world has moved on and there’s a new Nova who just so happens to be a precocious 15-year-old. Even worse, Rider is plagued by disturbing visions and begins manifesting strange new phenomena. That description might make Nova: Resurrection sound like a rather grim affair, but it’s actually quite a bit of fun thanks to the presence of Sam Alexander, the aforementioned precocious 15-year-old. Perhaps the best thing I can say about Nova: Resurrection is that it occasionally reminded me of the Spider-Verse movies thanks to Alexander’s adolescent hijinks and the mentee relationship he develops with Rider. It does feel a bit abbreviated at just seven issues, but it also made me chuckle out loud on several occasions, and that’s not nothing.

As a longtime fan of Arthurian lore thanks to Howard Pyle’s stories and illustrations, I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for Dane Whitman, aka The Black Knight, who has often battled alongside the Avengers with his cursed Ebony Blade. (See also Michael Moorcock’s Elric saga.) 2021’s Curse of the Ebony Blade explores the Black Knight’s dark legacy as well as that of Camelot’s. It’s not bad, but the revelations of the Knight’s legacy, as well as the truth of Camelot — surprise, Arthur’s kingdom wasn’t quite the chivalric utopia that the legends would have us believe — end up feeling rather rote and clichéd.

I couldn’t explain DC’s new “Absolute” universe to you if my life depended on it. All I know is that it has something to do with Darkseid, and it’s obviously a way for DC to present new versions of their most famous superheroes without worrying about pesky things like canon and continuity. Case in point: Absolute Batman features a version of Bruce Wayne who isn’t a billionaire playboy with a cool cave or unlimited resources. “Absolute” Bruce Wayne is a blue-collar worker who uses his construction and engineering knowhow to battle a vicious gang threatening Gotham City. Written by Scott Snyder, who’s written some of the best Batman stories of the last 15 years, Absolute Batman does offer some interesting twists on the Bat-mythos; Wayne’s construction background gives him some novel (and brutal) ways of fighting crime, for example, while Alfred is now an agent investigating Gotham for a covert organization. It’s also fun at times, with one panel in particular making me laugh out loud at its sheer ridiculousness. That said, it’s still a Batman comic, meaning it’s never quite as novel, earth-shattering, or original as DC’s marketing copy would have you believe.

It’s 1956 in Montana, and the Garrett family are traveling to Kootenai National Forest to bid farewell to their husband and father, Nathan, who died battling a wildfire. But shortly after arriving in the forest, Jolene Garrett and her two kids begin experiencing bizarre phenomena that seem to suggest that Nathan might not be dead, after all. That, or some malevolent force is just toying with them. I know this will sound harsh, but I kind of forgot that I’d read Morning Star within a day. It’s not a bad storyline, and I do like Marco Finnegan’s artwork quite a lot, which feels of a piece with the era in which the comic takes place. But Tim Daniel and David Andry’s story, though clearly inspired by classic Spielberg movies, falls flat. The comic’s final moments strive for a sense of a wonder to resolve the storyline, but it feels perfunctory and tacked on considering everything that happens beforehand. It’s frustrating, because this is normally the sort of story I really like, and the bones are certainly there. However, it just didn’t materialize for me.