My Cultural Diet

Although it’s canonicity is questionable, this collaboration between Marvel impresario Stan Lee and legendary French artist Moebius might be the quintessential Silver Surfer tale. When Galactus returns to Earth, the Devourer of Worlds sets off a religious frenzy that’s fueled by a desperate televangelist. It’s up to the Silver Surfer, who has been living incognito on Earth for some time now, to challenge both his former master and humanity’s growing madness — but will the Power Cosmic prove triumphant? As expected from its title, Silver Surfer: Parable is rife with religious imagery as Lee pontificates like he’s never pontificated before. It’s undoubtedly heavy-handed, sometimes to its detriment, but there’s an earnestness in Parable’s plea against blind, slavish devotion that’s appealing — and sadly, maybe even a bit too relevant at times. Not surprisingly, Moebius’s artwork is gorgeous, his clean lines imagining both a slightly futuristic version of Earth and ably capturing the Surfer’s cosmic grace and elegance.

The Silver Surfer has long been my favorite superhero, but there are large swaths of his titles that I’ve never read. Fortunately, Marvel’s “Epic Collections” offer a perfect opportunity to explore the Surfer’s epic (npi) run since the ’60s. Freedom actually collects some of the very first Surfer comics that I ever got, which are set shortly after he escapes his Galactus-imposed exile on Earth and chronicle his return to his home planet of Zenn-La. Along the way, the former Norrin Radd gets caught up in a new war between the Kree and Skrull empires, meets Mantis (who is a far cry from the Mantis in the Guardians of the Galaxy movies), battles Mephisto (i.e., Marvel’s Satan), and uncovers a plot against Galactus by the Elders of the Universe. Most of these stories were written and drawn by Steve Englehart and Marshall Rogers, and alternate between suitably epic and cosmic, and kinda goofy (e.g., when the Surfer infiltrates a gang of space pirates).

I enjoy a good post-apocalyptic tale, and We Called Them Giants starts out as you’d expect. A young woman wakes up to find that nearly everyone has vanished from the face of the Earth, and the few survivors are forced to eke out a hardscrabble existence while avoiding vicious gangs. It’s a brutal, cynical existence… and then the godlike giants arrive, their aims and purposes completely unknown. Have they come to care for the survivors? To enslave them? Or just ignore them altogether? After its intriguing setup, We Called Them Giants didn’t do much for me. Not that I expect every post-apocalyptic story to be contain epic, mind-blowing revelations, but Kieron Gillen and Stephanie Hans’s story left me wanting more. Upon reaching the final panel, my only reaction was “That’s it?”

Centuries ago, gigantic mecha known as the Giga appeared on Earth and began waging a devastating war. These days, however, the Giga now lie dormant and serve as both humanity’s new living quarters and humanity’s new gods. But when a disgraced engineer discovers a recently killed Giga, it’s a discovery that could unravel his society. That is, if a growing religious war doesn’t destroy it first. Giga’s premise is very interesting, and Alex Paknadel has created a wild world for his story in which it’s hard to tell the difference between technology, magic, and religious miracles. It might be bit too ambitious, though, and his story’s resolution — which touches on concerns over real world AI — was underwhelming. I was also put off by John Lê’s artwork; though highly detailed and intricate, it doesn’t suit the grim tone of Paknadel’s story.

Back in the day, my friend Jason — who introduced me to Dungeons & Dragons, Metallica, Public Enemy, and a host of other cultural touchstones — was a New Mutants fan, and I remember seeing issues scattered across his bedroom floor. I never really followed the New Mutants until they became X-Force in the early ’90s, though. So consider this an effort to catch up on my mutant history. Written by Chris Claremont and drawn by Bill Sienkiewicz, the “Demon Bear Saga” is considered one of the great New Mutant storylines, with young Dani Moonstar tormented by a hellish ursine that killed her parents. Story-wise, it’s pretty standard mutant superheroics, and sets the stage for other storylines (e.g., the true nature of Magik’s abilities). In its attempt to be comprehensive, though, this collected edition pulls in material from other issues that kind of muddy the central narrative. The real draw here is Sienkiewicz’s artwork; his use of abstract and stylistic imagery greatly enhances Moonstar and the New Mutants’ otherworldly battle.

In a previous life, Meabh was hard-fighting mercenary. These days, however, she runs a quaint little inn in a quiet little town. But when her previous life — and comrades — catch up to her, will she have to resort to her bloody ways to preserve the life that she’s made for herself? Billed as a cross between a spaghetti western and high fantasy, When the Blood Has Dried is the latest riff on that classic trope of a stranger trying to escape their violent past. Unfortunately, Gary Moloney and Daniel Romero’s When the Blood Has Dried doesn’t really do anything all that interesting with that premise. It’s not bad by any means, and at 160 pages, it’s a pretty quick read, but neither is it all that memorable.

When Ellen returns to her home town of Victory Point, she’s beset by ambivalence concerning both her past and her future. As she meanders the coastal town’s sun-drenched streets and beaches, and visits old friends and family members, will she find some wisdom to help her determine where her life should go? Victory Point’s story is rather slight, focusing on the mundane and quotidian. As such, those expecting some big life-changing twist or revelation in Ellen’s story will be disappointed. Even so, Victory Point is worth reading if only to experience Owen Pomery’s artwork. His crisp, clean lines and beautiful colors bring Victory Point’s modernist architecture and coastal setting to life. (In this regard, I’m reminded of Seiji Yoshida’s delightful Houses with a Story.) I wish Pomery would write a sequel or two, if only so I might get to know the town of Victory Point a little bit better.

“Perfect for readers of Reckless and The Department of Truth,” claimed the promo copy. Since those are two of my favorite comic titles in recent years, how could I not be curious? But you know what they say about things sounding too good to be true… Linnea Kent is a former homicide detective who couldn’t hack it in the big city, so she’s returned to her hometown with her ex-UFC husband Parker to open a detective agency. Nothing serious ever happens in Linnea’s quiet little burg, and that’s the way she likes it. But when a missing persons case reawakens old memories, Linnea and Parker are forced to confront her hometown’s darkest secrets. Pine and Merrimac certainly possesses the elements of a good story (e.g., a haunted protagonist, a sleepy little town, secrets and conspiracies). Unfortunately, the writing and dialog are clunky, the story is just a series of tropes and clichés strung together, and the “shocking” twist ending feels cheap and unearned. In other words, just stick with Reckless and The Department of Truth.

After her father dies, wild child Helen Cole is sent to live with her grandfather on the vast Wyndhorn estate. Only she has no idea just how vast Wyndhorn really is. But when Helen discovers the secrets of her family home, it propels her to fantastical worlds beyond belief, worlds that are strangely reminiscent of her father’s pulp novels. It’s worth reading Helen of Wyndhorn simply to luxuriate in Bilquis Evely’s (Supergirl: Woman of Tomorrow, Wonder Woman) artwork. Lush, colorful, and intricately detailed, it has a vintage look as befitting the series’ 1930s setting and pulp influences. As for the story, that’s a bit more frustrating. Tom King (Mister Miracle, The Vision) has no lack of imagination, that’s for sure, as evidenced by Helen’s various otherworldly adventures. But as he tries to juggle several storylines — e.g., Helen’s efforts to connect with her estranged grandfather while still grieving her father, modern day fans reflecting on the influence of her father’s novels — Helen of Wyndhorn gets rather muddled, as if King is trying to combine several very different series. The result is a highly imaginative story with an underwhelming and less-than-satisfying conclusion.

Originally publised as a six-part series in 1999, Galactus the Devourer finds the Silver Surfer (aka, my favorite superhero) returning to Earth and uniting with Alicia Masters, the Fantastic Four, Avengers, et al., to stop his former master who has grown increasingly insane. To my nerdy chagrin, I didn’t initially realize that this was written in 1999 — I thought it was a much newer series — but Louise Simonson’s writing is perfectly in-line with ’90s Marvel over-the-top-ness. That said, I didn’t necessarily care for her take on the Surfer, which makes his angst feel increasingly repetitive. (That’s a delicate balance with a character as inherently overwrought and melodramatic as the Surfer.)

If you have something important that you need to ship across the country, something you want to hide from everyone else, then your best option is to hire the Ghost Fleet: a covert group of truckers who haul all manner of secrets and contraband in their heavily armored rigs. But when one of their drivers breaks the Fleet’s cardinal rule and takes a peek at what they’re actually transporting, the Apocalypse might not be that far behind. The Ghost Fleet has a pretty cool premise, replete with Mad Max-style anti-heroes, secret cults and conspiracies, and over-the-top gore and action. But the story doesn’t quite go the distance. Rather, it begins to peter out right around the time when Donny Cates finally starts to reveal the series’ big secrets (which, in hindsight, aren’t all that big). Plus, it ends on a cheesy coda that trivializes the preceding story’s grimness.

It’s 1946 and the Lee family have just moved from Chinatown to the bustling city of Metropolis. Her dad’s excited about his new job and her charismatic brother is quickly making new friends, but young Roberta can’t stop feeling like an outcast — a feeling that only increases when the racist Klan of the Fiery Kross targets her family. Meanwhile, Metropolis’ defender Superman is experiencing bizarre visions after battling a Nazi super-soldier and learning things that call into question his very identity. Will he still be able to save the Lees, and all of Metropolis, from the Klan’s threat? Taking his inspiration from “Clan of the Fiery Cross,” a Superman radio drama from 1946 that actually helped curtail the Klan’s activity in America, Gene Luen Yang (American Born Chinese) spins a wonderful — though sadly all-too-relevant — Superman story that tackles bigotry and racism with wit, charm, and nuance while also serving as a great Superman origin story in its own right. Meanwhile, Gurihiru’s crisp, anime-inspired artwork keeps the story light and fun without ever trivializing the subject matter. Utterly delightful.

Originally released at part of DC’s “New 52″ relaunch of all of their comic titles, this saga finds the Caped Crusader matching fists and wits with the Court of Owls, a secretive organization made up of Gotham’s wealthiest families that has supposedly ruled the city from within the shadows for over a century. But Batman’s battle against a foe that seems more like a superstition than reality could reveal tragic secrets about his own family and past. Although it gets a bit convoluted as it tries to pack in one surprising revelation after another about Bruce Wayne and the rest of the Bat-Family, Scott Snyder’s tale is consistently engrossing. Meanwhile, Greg Capullo’s art is gorgeous and one of my favorite renditions of the Dark Knight.

During the war, Simon was forced to use his artistic skills to paint swastikas on train cars. But now, in post-WW2 Berlin, he’s using his skills to track down the Nazis who murdered his wife and countless other Jews. But as the war recedes into history, many just want to move on and put the past behind them. Which is something that Simon just can’t do, especially when he hears disturbing rumors of a movement to revive the Third Reich. Simon Says has everything necessary for a great story: a driven, even obsessed protagonist, some truly evil villains, a nefarious conspiracy, and a unique spin on a familiar historical setting. Unfortunately, it never quite comes together with the intensity or impact that Frattino and Lee are clearly aiming for. Also, the big reveal at the end is more frustrating than anything, and given that its creators have moved on to other work, leaves Simon Says ending on a very unresolved note.

In preparation for James Gunn’s Superman, I checked out some random Superman comics from the public library, including this one. I’ve always thought Brainiac — a super-intelligent cyborg intent on collecting all of the universe’s knowledge for himself — was one of Superman’s cooler villains. Superman: Brainiac has its moments, and I enjoyed Gary Frank’s art (though he’s a bit preoccupied with cleavage and bare midriffs), but the plot — which actually rewrites a foundational moment in Superman’s life — is nothing all that exciting as a standalone story.

Alan Moore (Watchmen, V for Vendetta) turned his considerable talents to the Man of Steel, envisioning a possible ending for the Kryptonian’s career and life. As is Moore’s wont, there’s some deconstruction going on here, but it’s clear that he has a real fondness for Superman and all that he stands for. This “deluxe” edition also contains a short crossover with Swamp Thing that envisions another mortal threat to Superman, this time in the form of an unlikely survivor from his home planet. However, the real draw is “For the Man Who Has Everything,” one of the all-time great Superman stories that was originally published in 1985 around the same time that Moore and artist Dave Gibbons were beginning work on Watchmen. I originally encountered the story via the excellent Justice League Unlimited animated series, which itself is a pretty faithful adaptation. The story begins with Batman, Robin, and Wonder Woman traveling to the Fortress of Solitude for Superman’s birthday, only to find him under the spell of an alien organism that allows Superman to live out his greatest fantasies — which soon prove to be quite heartbreaking.

In a slightly retrofuturistic version of Gotham City, Bruce Wayne has decided to tear down one of the city’s most recognizable landmarks: a massive tower originally commissioned by his father. Although he hopes to reinvigorate the city, he also risks exposing corruption and secrets — and endangering a possible new love interest. Although the Joker makes an appearance, Batman: Death by Design is a nice change of pace from your typical Batman comic, with a greater emphasis on more mundane things like architecture, city planning, and union disputes. Dave Taylor’s artwork is the real draw here (npi). Done almost entirely in pencil, his work’s incredibly rich and detailed and adds to the book’s retro feel, and his cityscapes are simply breathtaking. (Indeed, it could be argued that Gotham City itself is the book’s true main character.) That said, his artwork can feel very static, which makes sense for a book that’s largely about architecture, but also means the action scenes lack a certain dynamism. Also, some of the frames are so small as to be almost unintelligible. Overall, Batman: Death by Design is proof that there’s room in Gotham City for all kinds of interesting stories, even niche ones like this.

Alex spends his nights flipping burgers at The All-Nighter diner, but he yearns to do something more with his life. So when he has the opportunity to become a superhero, he jumps at it — and not surprisingly, his life suddenly gets a whole lot more difficult. Which, considering the fact that he’s a vampire, is really saying something. Chip Zdarsky juggles a lot of story ideas in what initially seems like a straightforward superhero title, from the hero’s true nature to some meta ideas about the role of stories and the power of fiction. But if I’m honest, it doesn’t feel as smart or clever as it thinks it is. The first All-Nighter volume isn’t bad, but I don’t really have a desire to read the rest of the series.

In this nigh-wordless graphic novel, a young mage travels through a bizarre land filled with ancient monuments and strange creatures, a journey that proves surprisingly perilous. The occasional ally offers them comfort and companionship, but even so, their journey will exact a terrible toll. SJ Miller’s story begins on an almost whimsical note, but grows ever more dark and mysterious with each new page. Likewise, Miller’s artwork seems almost simplistic at first, only to throw out a shockingly gruesome or ominous detail that highlights the bizarre-ness of the mage’s world and the deadly stakes of their quest. I liked Mage and the Endless Unknown well enough when I finished reading it, but it’s stuck with me and only grown more intriguing.

Luke Indiana may have millions of followers on social media, but he’s still a washed up actor whose career and marriage are both on the rocks. While going through the motions at a fan convention, he encounters Lily, his number one fan (i.e., stalker). Before he knows what’s happening, Luke finds himself imprisoned in Lily’s home and forced to use his good looks and acting skills to survive — but will that be enough to outsmart his biggest fan? I enjoyed Alex de Campi and Erica Henderson’s Dracula, Motherf**ker last year, so checking out Parasocial when I saw it on the library shelf was a no-brainer. Unfortunately, Parasocial wasn’t nearly as enjoyable. To de Campi and Henderson’s credit, they inject some nuance into their characters; Luke’s not a complete tool and Lily’s desperate fantasy makes some sense in light of her living situation. Still, Parasocial plays out pretty much how you’d expect from a story about a star and their stalker. The book’s critiques of celebrity, extreme fandom, social media, and the illusive and inherently deceptive nature of entertainment are certainly valid, but also obvious and on-the-nose.