My Cultural Diet

Working with an assortment of artists and illustrators, and blending narrative and journalistic writing, Nicolas Finet and Thierry Lamy attempt to create a visual chronicle of the late ’70s punk rock movement in all of its shapes and forms. Plenty of ink is devoted to punk rock’s most well-known exemplars: The Clash, The Ramones, and The Sex Pistols. But Finet and Lamy also highlight lesser known artists including The Saints, Sham 69, and Stiff Little Fingers and explore punk’s influences (e.g., MC5, The Stooges, British pub rock). The duo also cover female punk artists like Siouxsie Sioux and The Slits, the intersection of punk and rasta culture, punk’s confluence with hard rock, and its legacy in the form of post-punk and new wave. Although I’m not a huge punk rock fan, I have a pretty good understanding of the genre — or so I thought until I read Finet and Lamy’s graphic novel. Obviously a passion project, Punk Rock in Comics was eye-opening and educational, and best of all, gave me a slew of new bands and records to check out.

Tangentially connected to Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips’ Criminal series of noir comics (which, full disclosure, I have yet to read), My Heroes Have Always Been Junkies feels like a minor work by the duo. That said, even a “minor” work by Brubaker and Phillips is still pretty darn good and worth checking out. Teen addict Ellie chafes against the rules of the rehab clinic where she’s currently staying. But as she falls for a fellow addict, we learn more of her difficult past and her bizarre, even self-destructive idolization of addicts like Gram Parsons and Billie Holiday. I was actually a little underwhelmed by the story, which seems to follow a fairly clichéd path. But in classic Brubaker fashion, the graphic novel ends with a real gut punch that forces you to reassess everything you just read.

There’s nothing immediately special about young Moth; he’s as ordinary as the rest of the newly arrived slaves at the mysterious Highest House, the seat of power for Ossaniul’s powerful Aldercrest family. A strange encounter with the House’s most bizarre inhabitant, however, unlocks something inside Moth and before too long, his curiosity and questions begin challenging the estate’s status quo. But those in power dislike being challenged, and worse, the truth about Moth’s enigmatic benefactor grows more alarming the more he learns, leading to some hard choices for the youth. Inspired by 16th century Balkan history and culture, The Highest House is a richly wrought tale of power, political intrigue, and yes, even magic that’s filled with fascinating mysteries and complex characters. Unfortunately, only one volume has been released, and if Mike Carey’s past comments are any indication, it’s unlikely that there will be any more. Which means that much of Moth’s story remains untold. Even so, we should be thankful for what Carey and Peter Gross were able to tell in these six issues.

My wife and I are big fans of Seth T. Hahne’s Monkess the Homunculus, which was published all the way back in 2015. We read it often to our kids, who found it almost as enjoyable as we did. Thus, when Hahne announced a Kickstarter campaign to publish a new Monkess story, funding it was a no-brainer. The resulting book — Monkess and the Springtime Sonata — is as delightful as I was expecting, filled with colorful and vibrant artwork and a whimsical-yet-heartfelt story about a young homunculus, her puffin best friend, and their mutual discovery of “a new and important friend.” Our kids are quite a bit older now, so I’m not sure they’d enjoy Hahne’s latest as much as we do, but that’s OK. We’ll just save it for the grandkids.

Horror manga artist Junji Ito is best known for works like Tomie and Uzumaki that revel in the bizarre and macabre. Originally published between 2004 and 2005, Remina also throws in some cosmic horror as the Earth is threatened by a bizarre planet from another universe. As the titular planet draws ever closer, humanity starts descending into madness, with people demanding the deaths of both the astronomer who discovered it and his teenage daughter, who is the planet’s namesake. Ito’s art is consistently striking; his designs of the rogue planet Remina would give H.P. Lovecraft the heebie-jeebies. His storyline, however, grows increasingly bizarre to the point of ridiculousness, which ultimately undermines the horror.

After he’s given a mobile phone for his birthday, Yuta’s dying mom asks him to record her final days, which he then uses to create a movie that shocks all of his classmates. All of them, that is, except for the enigmatic Eri, who insists that Yuta become a filmmaker and create something new. As Goodbye, Eri unfolds, Tatsuki Fujimoto — best known for creating Chainsaw Man — piles on the layers of meta-ness, with Yuta’s new film shifting from semi-autobiographical to something else entirely. Goodbye, Eri does say some interesting things about nostalgia and the unreliable-ness of memory, and it does have some genuinely touching moments. Ultimately, however, Fujimoto is more interested in twists and turns than emotional resonance as Goodbye, Eri increasingly calls into question everything that happens within its pages.

I think I might’ve liked this more had I not recently read The Department of Truth. Both series focus on a group of agents from a shadowy government agency that’s tasked with keeping various conspiracy theories (e.g., the moon landing, the JFK assassination) under wraps from the general populace. But whereas The Department of Truth goes full broke for gonzo into the world of conspiracies and the effect they might have on reality, Deep State plays things a bit more straight. That’s not to say there are no twists and turns in these eight issues, only that they’re the sort of twists and turns you kind of expect from a series about secret government agents and conspiracy theories.

There are moments when Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou’s story is so slight, I had trouble remembering why I was still reading it. And then I’d turn the page and see one of Hitoshi Ashinano’s simply-yet-gorgeously rendered landscapes, or a cute little character moment, or a hint at a bigger, stranger world, and I’d get sucked right back in. Make no mistake, Yokohama Kaidashi Kikou is very slight, its chapters essentially a collection of slice-of-life vignettes centered around an android named Alpha who’s trying to maintain a small rural coffee shop in her owner’s absence. Oh, and the world is slowly dying due to environmental collapse. Which means that technically, you could file Ashinano’s manga under “post-apocalyptic sci-fi,” but it’s far too gentle and unassuming for that, suffused with the soft, rueful melancholy that’s typified by the Japanese concept of mono no aware. I’m not necessarily in a rush to read the series’ other volumes, but I am glad I got to hang out with Alpha and her friends for as long as I did.

Every single conspiracy theory you’ve ever heard is true, or at least has the potential to become true if enough people believe in it. But altering reality and rewriting history like that is dangerous. Thus, it’s up to the Department of Truth, led by Lee Harvey Oswald — yes, that Lee Harvey Oswald — to prevent the worst ones from taking root in the public consciousness while promoting those that ensure America’s greatness. The Department’s methods, however — which range from mundane to mystical — are questionable at best, and there are other forces who seek to use the world’s conspiracy theories to further their own agendas. The question is, who are the good guys? The Department of Truth is as engrossing as it is troubling, as James Tynion IV weaves together the JFK assassination, flat Earthers, school shootings, Aleister Crowley, Jack Parsons, the moon landing, Bigfoot, the Illuminati, Charlemagne, and of course, the Satanic Panic into a nightmarish tangle of alternate histories. Meanwhile, Martin Simmonds’ painterly artwork is the perfect accompaniment to Tynion’s writing, richly capturing each bizarre conspiracy theory as it comes to life. Tynion has written a lot of great comics, including Something Is Killing the Children and The Nice House on the Lake, but The Department of Truth — which perfectly captures the zeitgeist that gives rise to such dangerous nonsense as QAnon and election denialism — might be his crowning achievement.

When a contestant on the beloved UK Bakery Tent competition show is poisoned, Shauna Wickle — grindcore vocalist and self-proclaimed experienced mystery solver — takes it upon herself to find the culprit. But will she be able to do so and complete all of her bakes at the same time? Or will she be sent home after the technical challenge, allowing the poisoner to strike again? Billed as “Agatha Christie meets the Great British Bake-Off,” I loved everything about the series’ premise. Unfortunately, the end result is a bit, shall we say, half-baked. Or is it underproofed? The Great British Bump-Off is certainly quirky as all get out, with a colorful cast of characters, but in the end, quirkiness is about all it has going for it, and that wears pretty thin after the first issue.

In an alternate version of feudal Japan, the whole of Asia has been decimated by a mysterious plague. Survivors from Japan, Korea, and China now eke out a hard yet proud existence on a remote island that keeps them hidden and safe. But when the new Japanese Shōgun arrives, demanding their fealty in exchange for protection from horrific monsters ravaging the mainland, two young warriors — a samurai’s son and an orphaned peasant girl — must set aside their differences and work together to save their home. Clearly a labor of love for Greg Pak, Ronin Island has a lot going for it: winsome protagonists, alternate histories, and of course, samurai action. It doesn’t always strike the best tonal balance; sometimes it wants to be really dark and grim, and at other times, seems to aim at something more lighthearted à la Pak’s earlier series Mech Cadet Yu. I was also left wanting to see more of the series’ post-apocalyptic pan-Asian culture. But Ronin Island’s heart is in the right place even as it challenges its two protagonists’ youthful idealism, and I’d gladly read more stories set in its world.

I read the first Radiant Black volume back in 2022, and have been intending to circle back and complete the series ever since. Having finally read the first book, which contains the first twelve issues, I’m left a little underwhelmed. Nathan Burnett is thirty, in debt up to his ears, living with his parents, and trying (and failing) to get his writing career off the ground. His life seems to take a big turn for the best when he acquires mysterious cosmic powers, but of course, things are never that simple. There’s nothing bad about Radiant Black, per se, and it has some fun touches — e.g., Nathan using his ridesharing gig to track down foes, a heroine’s side gig as a Twitch streamer — and I’m always a sucker for cosmic power stuff. That said, its story about down-on-their-luck heroes trying to manage their powers alongside their everyday lives while facing a bigger threat, felt all-too familiar.

Nobody in the small town of Pensmouth would ever accuse Vivian Vance of lacking ambition. Not content with just being the top student at her prestigious school, Vance also dreams of becoming a private detective and making her father proud. But Pensmouth isn’t all it seems, and before too long, Vance discovers that its mythical monsters are all too real, and her ambition might not be enough to save her and her newfound friends. Containing hints of Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Stranger Things, The Terrifying Tales of Vivian Vance would be a good read for those middle schoolers who want something a little more on the horror side that still has a sense of fun about it. Older readers, however, might find Josh Ulrich’s graphic novel a bit on the slight side.

Charles Burns’ artwork was the main draw for me; his dark inking and woodcut-esque style seems staid and static at first, but it becomes increasingly intriguing and even haunting and surreal at times. Unfortunately, Final Cut’s story left me somewhat underwhelmed with its tale of cinema, unrequited love, family dysfunction, and (maybe) male entitlement. A burgeoning cinephile, Brian makes low-budget sci-fi films with his friend Jimmy, and their planned remake of Invasion of the Body Snatchers promises to be their best work yet. But when Brian falls head over heels for their lead actress Laurie, who is going through some relationship drama of her own, his ability to separate fiction from reality grows increasingly fraught. Final Cut is ultimately ambivalent whether Brian’s fixations are tragic or toxic — you could make a convincing case for either one, or both — but it’s stuck with me since finishing the book, and seems particularly relevant in this age of toxic fandoms and “Your body, my choice.”

I had one prevailing thought while reading The Expanse: Dragon Tooth: it sure feels good to be back aboard the Roci. Set after The Expanse’s sixth season — the comic follows the TV series’ chronology, not the novels’ — Dragon Tooth opens with James Holden et al. hunting down pirates that are threatening trade and travel within the system. Soon enough, however, they uncover a much bigger and more diabolical conspiracy involving Mars and Laconia. Given that this is The Expanse we’re talking about, the series’ scope is not small; Dragon Tooth’s story spans two decades, and features all of the faces you’d expect to see, including Avasarala, Drummer, Bull, and even Elvi Okoye. The inclusion of practically everyone in The Expanse’s universe — though a delight for fans — does make Dragon Tooth’s story feel a bit cluttered. (In other words, if you’re new to The Expanse, this is not the place to start.) To his credit, though, writer Andy Diggle (2000 AD, Hellblazer, Daredevil) absolutely nails all of James S. A. Corey’s colorful characters and their personalities; I could absolutely hear their voices in my mind as I read, and it was a very welcome reunion.

A graphic novel about the “Satanic Panic” by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips (Where the Body Was, The Fade Out, Reckless)?! Was someone reading my mind? Because this basically sounds like my dream comic. As you’d expect from Brubaker and Phillips, Houses of the Unholy is grimmer than grim as it tells the story of Natalie Burns, a woman forever haunted by her childhood involvement in the Satanic Panic of the ’80s. Trying — and failing — to put it all behind her, Burns is forced to face her childhood head-on when she teams up with an FBI agent to track down a killer targeting others who, like her, claimed to be abused by Satanic cults as kids. I’ve written elsewhere about my own brush with the Satanic Panic as a church kid in the ’80s and ’90s, so in that sense, this was right up my alley. Ironically, though, I think my personal experience actually kind of ruined Brubaker’s story for me; everything was familiar in a way that blunted its impact. Also, Houses of the Unholy felt rushed with a rather abrupt ending, as if Brubaker and Phillips had originally planned to make a longer series, only to cut things short mid-production.

Forty years ago, Air Force pilot Duke McQueen liberated an oppressed alien world from a brutal tyrant. Unfortunately, nobody back on Earth believed he was an intergalactic hero except for his beloved wife. After she dies, though, McQueen is left all alone in the universe — until an unlikely alien visitor arrives with an opportunity for him to find a new purpose in life and relive his past glories. Given Mark Millar’s work on Wanted, Kick-Ass, and Wolverine’s “Old Man Logan” storyline, you might expect Starlight to be a rather gloomy affair. Although there is a melancholy thread running throughout the series, with its ruminations on aging and nostalgia, it’s ultimately a delightful swashbuckling tale that pulls inspiration from pulp heroes like Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon, complete with crazy rayguns and fantastical spaceships. A film adaptation by Joe Cornish (Lockwood & Co., Attack the Block) is currently in production, and I really hope it captures both the comic’s emotional subtext and pulp-y vibe.

Ten years after Batman, Robin, and Commissioner Gordon were killed in the “Fools’ Night” massacre, Selina Kyle — aka Catwoman — is released from prison into a very different Gotham City. Although costumed heroes are now banned, the city is crime-free thanks to Mayor Harvey “Two-Face” Dent’s authoritarian rule. So what’s a former cat burglar to do? Assemble a crew and pull off one last heist in order to solve Batman’s final mystery, of course. To its credit, Catwoman: Lonely City doesn’t feel like a gritty reboot, though it’s certainly gritty in places, and Cliff Chiang’s (Wonder Woman, Paper Girls) artwork is uniformly lovely. However, the story — which pulls in a bunch of DC characters from Killer Croc to The Riddler to Etrigan the Demon — gets a bit sprawling as it nears the end, with a finale that feels a bit underwhelming. Still, it’s nice to see Catwoman get treated with some gravitas, and not just as a gal in a slinky catsuit.

Earth is a toxic and inhospitable wasteland. Fortunately, humanity is able to live in comfort amongst the stars aboard luxurious hospitality craft like Hotelitor — which also just happens to be a giant robot. But when a mysterious alien attacks, Hotelitor is forced to flee into deep space with just a skeleton crew of low-ranking employees to pilot it and care for its colorful residents. I really wanted to like Hotelitor more than I did. I’m a sucker for giant robots, of course, and I like stories about plucky heroes sticking it to the Man — or in this case, ultra-wealthy corporations. But the more I read Hotelitor, the more on-the-nose its anti-corporate message got. I feel bad even writing that because Lord knows greedy corporations and their sycophants don’t need any defending. But Hotelitor’s message ultimately undermines and obscures whatever fun and whimsy might be found in its pages.

Ronald Wimberly and Brahm Revel’s Now Let Me Fly chronicles the true story of Eugene Bullard, who sought to escape the violence and racism of Jim Crow-era Georgia when he was just eleven years old. Bullard’s journey saw him becoming a gypsy, a jockey, a stowaway across the Atlantic, a boxer, a jazz musician, and ultimately, one of the first Black military pilots in history, flying for France during World War I. It’s a fascinating story that more people ought to know about, especially given the bittersweet direction that his post-war life took.