Over the past decade, Chris Roberson’s come seemingly out of nowhere to carve himself a career in comics, books, and publishing. Originally part of the Clockwork Storybook collective of writers (which included Bill Willingham and Matthew Sturges), he’s gone on to have novels and short stories published, as well as start his own MonkeyBrain Books. He’s also started to crack comics, his first major project the Cinderella: From Fabletown With Love mini-series, and now his first ongoing series iZombie. And while iZombie #1 reminds me a bit of some other creations out there, on the whole I’m pleased to see that Roberson’s rising up through the ranks in no small part because he’s a strong writer.

iZombie isn’t the first story out there to mix groups of supernatural characters into a single narrative, after all. What makes Roberson’s first issue stand out is the little tweaks behind the basic ideas, and the way that the dialogue flows as you read the issue. So while at first you might find yourself nodding at the idea of a zombie gravedigger and a ghost living together in an old crypt to be a pretty basic idea, Roberson quickly starts mixing it up. I love that instead of a werewolf, Roberson has inserted a wereterrier into the group of characters. And as for the whole idea of zombies eating brains, well, Roberson has his own particular take on that old chestnut as well. The differences set it apart and let you start to enjoy the comic’s strengths in their own right.

As the lead of the book, Gwen (our resident zombie) is a slightly sardonic if interesting character. Her transformation to zombie having happened in the past, while she’s clearly still not thrilled with her status in unlife, she’s gotten used to her day to day routines and plans. She might slightly mock her friends Ellie (a ghost) and Spot (the wereterrier) but at the same time, she clearly knows enough about them and their foibles that on some level she enjoys being around them. Roberson’s not afraid to show some of Gwen’s weaknesses as well; trying to avoid people who knew her when she was still alive makes perfect sense, after all, and her love of Dixie Mason, Action Girl dolls is a fun and cute touch. There’s a lot of set-up with Gwen, like her low ego when it comes to her paintings, and Roberson seems to be promising a payoff down the line.

Roberson also has a gimmick to keep iZombie from being just a simple "day in the life of a monster" series, with the hook of how eating a brain affects Gwen. It’s a smart idea, and it pushes Gwen out into the rest of the world, something one gets the distinct impression she’d otherwise avoid entirely. While I think a slice-of-unlife series would work just fine as is, adding this extra plot wrinkle gives Roberson additional plot possibilities. While it’s something that can drive specific storylines, at the same time it isn’t absolutely necessary for it to appear the whole way through the series.

Michael Allred continues to be one of my art superstars. When you buy a comic drawn by Allred, you know exactly what you’re going to get; smooth, clean lines, great understanding of the human form and anatomy, and expressive faces. Something as simple as Gwen and the other gravediggers hanging out before a job is drawn with care. No one’s in the exact same pose, even while they’re all in general states of readiness. As Gwen watches the funeral, you can see a wistfulness in her eyes, the perfect match to Roberson’s caption on how her old life was over and she had to start a new one. Allred never has to go for over the top layouts or attention-grabbing techniques to pull the reader in; he manages it just fine on his own.

iZombie #1 is a good start to the series, and a $1 introductory price tag is an added bonus. I find myself wishing the title of the series hadn’t changed since first being announced (going from I, Zombie to iZombie) but when that’s the biggest complaint I could find, that’s not a big deal at all. iZombie is definitely worth taking a look at for yourself. I think you’ll agree it’s worth coming back for the next installment.

Lately, Vertigo’s launched their new series with a gimmick of a $1 cover price for the first issue, to try and pull in new readers. I’m amused that they didn’t feel the need to do that for American Vampire, although I do agree with their assessment. After all, when half of the issue is written by Stephen King, who needs a lower sales point to grab attention? The funny thing is, though, of the three main creators to work on American Vampire #1, I think I’d probably place King as only the third best in this comic. That’s not so much a slam on King, though, but rather how well Scott Snyder and Rafael Albuquerque do.

To me, the biggest star of American Vampire is Albuquerque, who provides the art for both Snyder and King’s stories. At a glance, you might think there’s a different artist, or at least inker for the two. Instead, Albuquerque deliberately varies his style for the different stories, which makes sense; Snyder’s "Big Break" is set in 1925, while King’s "Bad Blood" jumps back to 1890. The lead story, set in the glamour of the early motion picture era, is more crisp and defined. I like to think it’s a commentary on how the movie camera has come into prominence, capturing glimpses of the world to be viewed over and over again. By way of contrast, "Bad Blood" is a story being recounted by one of the other characters to the reader, and far away from a Hollywood sound stage. Its edges are slightly blurry and nebulous, with Dave McCaig obligingly making the coloring for this story also more dreamlike as it almost smears from one panel to the next. What Albuquerque and McCaig bring to both stories, though, is a strong group of character portraits and settings that leap out to the reader. From a wildly intricate movie set, to a train winding through Colorado, Albuquerque makes each place distinctive and as a result memorable. His people are great as well; when the titular vampires finally appear, it’s a particularly menacing scene. From the cluster of vampires smiling hungrily, predatorily, while drenched in a dull red glow, to their visual shift to black and white silhouettes that spring through the air, this is a fantastic looking book. Even cheerier scenes has him use a similar trick; with the studio lights shining on Pearl and Chase to block out their features from us, their outlines as they move closer together become sensual through the lack of details, their profiles standing in for every couple inching towards a kiss.

Regular writer Snyder tackles the main story in American Vampire #1, and he had my attention instantly as Pearl recounts to a friend how A Trip to the Moon made her want to become an actress, overlaid over a particularly chilling scene hinting towards her fate to come. From there, the book jumps back three days as we follow Pearl and her friend Hattie as they try to make it big in Hollywood while struggling to pay the rent. The basic plot itself is an old and familiar one, but Snyder makes it work by creating in Pearl a character that I actively want to see more of. It’s hard to define what it is about Pearl that makes her an instantly likable character; maybe it’s her down-to-earth attitude, perhaps it’s her eagerness to try and become a star. Even when Pearl makes a decision that the reader will know could prove to be deadly, you still want to see her succeed and survive rather than cheer on some sort of "punishment" for making such an elementary mistake. My one complaint with Snyder’s script is some particularly clumsy captions to show the passage of time. When the first caption (and scene) is set in 1925, seeing the second scene’s caption as "3 days ago" made me briefly wonder if Snyder meant three days earlier to the first scene, or if we’d suddenly jumped into modern times. (As it was the former, perhaps "3 days earlier" would have worked.) Other captions are even less successful, with a "Later…" at the start of an extremely obvious scene change, or "That night…" as a new page has shifted from broad daylight to dark night. Hopefully in future issues, Snyder will learn to trust Albuquerque and McCaig a little more (both of whom make almost all of the captions unnecessary) and use less of these captions.

I was surprised but intrigued when American Vampire was announced with King writing a story over the first five issues that would give some additional back story to the series. Up until now, King’s involvement in comics has been primarily limited to offering up a plot outline, or having his books adapted by another creator entirely. Here, we see King jump into the world of a full comic script, showing us the state of vampirism some 45 years earlier. King falls into the trap of cramming a huge amount of dialogue into his early pages, and at first I was worried that we were going to end up with a comic where it was a script with illustrations trying to peak out from behind it. As the story progresses more, though, King gets his exposition out of the way and he lets Albuquerque tell his story instead. As mentioned earlier, the art looks fantastic, and while there aren’t any characters in King’s story that I found myself instantly drawn to like Pearl in "Big Break," it’s the overall setting and story that makes me interested in more. On its own it might not have drawn me in quite as easily, but as part of the greater whole of American Vampire I’m sold.

Vertigo’s been bringing out several new series over the last year, and American Vampire is one of Vertigo’s strongest debuts. American Vampire has got a killer first issue—no pun intended—and a strong style in both script and art to make a great impression. Vampire mania seems to be running rampant these days, but American Vampire is so far managing to steer clear of all of the obvious traps, instead bringing its own special take on the concept. Definitely take a look at American Vampire, you won’t regret it. Highly recommended.

One of the many things that I appreciate about Brian Wood and Riccardo Burchielli’s DMZ is that it never seems to stay complacent, or even in one place for very long. It’s easy to see how it could have been that way; Manhattan turned into the demilitarized zone in the heart of a new American Civil War is full of endless story possibilities, and even last month’s special one-off DMZ #50 reminded readers of that via a series of glimpses of life across the island. But with the events of DMZ #49 still weighing heavily over the series, it’s refreshing to see Wood following through in brutal honesty.

When a nuclear explosion occurs just up the river from your titular setting, it would be cheating to not have this be a game-changing events. Sure enough, Wood delivers just that. The Delgado regime is being blamed, the senior staff are all wanted criminals, and Matty Roth is hiding out in Washington Heights while dealing with his own particular demons. Roth’s part in the deaths of innocents two months ago was a moment that would be hard to ignore at best, and the specter of that decision still hangs over the comic. It’s a hard mixture of anger and self-pity, and while it’s not a Matty Roth you’d want to read about forever, it’s easy to see that this is a turning point for our protagonist. "M.I.A." looks to be a crucible of sorts, perhaps casting Roth into a new man.

At the same time, it’s hard for Wood to entirely give up the travelogue nature of DMZ, and I’m glad he’s never done so. I think this is the first time we’ve seen Washington Heights, up at the northern tip of Manhattan. The closest location within the DMZ to where the nuclear explosion occurred at Indian Point, it makes sense that this neighborhood would be more deserted than most places we’ve seen so far. It’s a good location for Roth to be, leaving him primarily alone to start working through all of his issues about what went down over the last storyline. Of course, even when other people do show up, death makes another appearance and reminds Roth that no matter how hard he tries to hide within the DMZ, he can’t escape what just happened.

This is actually probably some of my favorite art from Burchielli, because the deserted streets and buildings of Washington Heights give him and colorist Jeromy Cox the chance to bring out their stark beauty and desolation. When we get the early shot of Roth walking along an empty set of stairs, Roth seems to fade into the background even as he’s in the front of the scene. His head and shoulders hang low, the greens of his outfit hidden by the dull colors of the brick wall near him. Meanwhile, the street and stairs stretch open as wide and empty as can be; Roth has the whole area to himself and he’s still skirting towards the edges. Likewise, Roth sitting all alone in an abandoned diner works well because of the composition; the broken window, the cords dangling from the drop ceiling, the abandoned food containers sitting on the countertop while Roth himself is all the way in the back. He’s almost a dot, hunched over, trying to blend into the emptiness as best he can.

This issue also has some of the most disturbing death scenes to date, switching from one extreme to the other. In one case, an IED transforms a person from alive and well to just a splatter of blood and a plume of smoke. The fan of blood on the ground, with its dull red color, just looks disturbing as Roth sees it from up above. And then, shortly thereafter, a panicked resident kills himself, the panel turning to black and white save for the blood from the exit wound. While the other death had the red surrounded by blues and grays, here it’s even harder to avoid, the red pulsing out at the reader from the stark white background. DMZ isn’t for the faint of heart, but Burchielli and Cox aren’t flinching away from a serious and deliberately disturbing subject matter.

DMZ cracking the 50-issue mark last month was a pleasant surprise, but in general I have to say it’s been a pleasure to have the book still running. This is definitely a series that builds towards each of its changes and events along the way, and this position is no exception. With an eighth collection (going as far as #49) out later this year, it’s easy to catch up with if you’ve fallen behind. With armed forces overseas as well as civil protests at home, DMZ continues to be a relevant and slightly disturbing series. Definitely take a look if you haven’t done so already.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

Vertigo’s new Vertigo Crime imprint launched with two books, Dark Entries and Filthy Rich. Dark Entries seemed to miss the point a bit, publishing a straight horror Hellblazer graphic novel with a Vertigo Crime label slapped on the side. I had higher hopes for Filthy Rich, though. I suspect that author Brian Azzarello was at least partially responsible for the Vertigo Crime label, with his series 100 Bullets being an out-and-out crime series that flourished at Vertigo. If anyone could push the line forward, I’d decided, it would be Azzarello. What I found between the covers of Filthy Rich, though, was a curious throwback to earlier crime comics.

The strongest thing about Filthy Rich is, easily, the script. Azzarello’s telling an old-fashioned crime story, the sort that brought Darwyn Cooke’s adaptation of Parker: The Hunter immediately to mind. It’s set in a time that might be considered slightly "simpler" if you’re referring to technology and society, but is certainly no less complicated when it comes to base human nature. It’s a stereotypical piece of noir, a loser ex-jock struggling to survive and having a knack for trusting the wrong people. Azzarello’s script is slightly predictable in that manner; the surprise isn’t that the main character of Junk gets betrayed, or even who betrays him. In the case of Filthy Rich, the only twists are how many times a betrayal can come around and slap Junk in the face. It’s that inevitability that Azzarello uses as a virtue, though; almost like a morality play, you find yourself watching for the fall from grace and the punishment that will ensue. Junk isn’t the kind of character you want to succeed; he’s slimy and smarmy, and he oozes all the charm of a shredded four-leaf clover. He still thinks that he does, though, and it’s that arrogance and bravado that pushes him through the story even as you wait for his comeuppance. Even if you’re not generally one to cheer a character’s mistakes, watching Junk make all the wrong moves is curiously entertaining.

That said, Filthy Rich falls apart under the hand of Victor Santos. It’s strange because it looks like Santos is simultaneously trying to mimic the art of Eduardo Risso on 100 Bullets and Frank Miller on Sin City. What we end up with, though, is a mash-up between the two that has no rhythm or hook. Like Risso’s art, Santos gives his characters that telltale flip of hair, the strong jaw, the tilt to the head. Unlike Risso, though, Santos’s characters come across as blocky and slightly malformed. Several characters have heads slightly too big for their bodies, and men who are supposed to look attractive seem slightly mangled. There’s no slickness here, no sly glances at the audience to draw them in.

At the same time, Santos uses a lot of Miller’s artistic tricks, but they’re scattered across the page like they’re going out of style. Horizontal shadows from the blinds are so scattered across scenes you’d think a window store had gone out of business, and just serve as distraction instead of accenting the mood. Likewise, when Santos tries to draw a character by just using whites on an all-black panel, it feels almost lazy to see the character on a field of nothing. This is a scene in a bar, not a dark alley where there should be nothing but shadow and night. Looking at the art in Filthy Rich, I felt like it was someone who saw others using tools and techniques but wasn’t quite ready to apply them on his own.

I hope future Vertigo Crime books pack a larger punch, because right now I’m feeling distinctly underwhelmed. Both books have missed a key element of the line, and in ways that felt so obvious that it’s worrisome that these were the books chosen to be the debut titles. I want to see Vertigo Crime succeed, I think there’s an immense amount of potential. If nothing else, I do like the trade dress, and the Lee Bermejo cover. For now, though, I think I’d find it more entertaining to re-read my 100 Bullets and Jonny Double collections. Maybe for Vertigo Crime, the third time will be the charm? Two strikes this early in the game is not a good opening.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

So often, a new title starts with so much promise and then slowly drains it away. With The Unwritten, it’s refreshing to have a series where the first issue made me eager for more, and has continued to build on that momentum in great leaps and bounds. I’ve enjoyed how Mike Carey’s scripts not only are about the mysterious world of books and what lies beyond them, but about the effect these characters have on the real world as public opinion goes into an uproar over the real-life Tom Taylor’s actions. Here, though, The Unwritten takes a side trip into two children and how their obsession over the Tommy Taylor novels affects them. It’s a smart way to show off not only the moment of obsession, but just how powerful these books are to their readership. In another writer’s hands an interlude showing why Tom Taylor’s current nemesis (Governor Chadron, the head of the prison) hates Tom so much might have felt like it was cheating, giving such an aside to a minor character. With Carey, though, it actually feels like an integral part of the story, seeing just how Chadron’s two children are affected by the imprisonment of Taylor.

It’s also nice to see that even when given nothing fantastical to drawn, Peter Gross is able to deliver in spades. Sure, some scenes set in the prison play to what you’d expect from Gross’s art; lots of stonework and sharply constructed buildings, even amidst doom and gloom. I like the quieter moments that Gross draws here, though; Cosi at the therapist gives her a strange mix of resignation and faith about her, and watching Chadron interact with his children makes him feel that much more human as you see the conflict play out on his face. If you aren’t reading The Unwritten, the first collection is due out in early January 2010 and it’s well worth your while. Easily one of the best new series of 2009. Check it out.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

Often, when reading a book I find myself starting to compose a review in my head. How I’m feeling about the book, what I think of its progression, and so on. Every now and then, though, a book comes along that confounds those expectations. That is certainly the case with Kevin Baker and Danijel Zezelj’s Luna Park from Vertigo. I thought I’d sussed out the book by the halfway point, knew how I felt about it overall. And then, not once but twice, the book pulled the rug out from under me. And with each instance, my opinion of Luna Park rather radically changed.

For the first two-thirds of the book, Luna Park serves as a typical crime thriller. Its protagonist, Alik, works as an enforcer for just one of the crime families that have staked out portions of Coney Island. For that part alone, I was satisfied with Baker’s script. It doesn’t feel terribly original in terms of idea, but that ultimately isn’t an issue. Baker makes Alik a compelling character to read about, haunted by his time in the Second Chechen War, and staggering through the run down dregs of Coney Island in a state that could charitably only be called half-alive. As Alik’s past and present relationships begin to surface, you start to see how he’s managed to fall so far over the years, and feel a little empathy for him. Alik may not be a nice person, per se, but he’s someone who is damaged enough from the choices in life that led him here that it’s painful to see him hurting. It’s probably his love of Coney Island and understanding of what a magical place it once was that makes him the most human; in most things in life he no longer has hope or dreams, but there you can catch a glimpse of what’s left of Alik’s soul.

Around the two-thirds mark, though, the book takes a sudden swerve; what was once a recurring dream becomes reality, and what was reality quickly fades away. It’s a bold choice on Baker’s part, and while I was a little startled by it I actually found myself more enthralled by Luna Park as a result. Part of what I found interesting about the earlier segments of Luna Park was Baker using Russian and Ukranian history as a backdrop for his story, and seeing that no longer just infuse the background but take over the book is a successful decision. I’d cheerfully read an entire book from Baker centered just around the concepts in that last third of the graphic novel. He makes the different setting surprisingly accessible, and what could have felt overly melodramatic instead comes across as tense and serious. Up until this point in the book, I was enjoying Luna Park but had already filed it away in my head as a book whose script I’d forget about before too long. Once that shift occurred, I had to start re-writing my mental review, explaining how much of a punch the change gave to Luna Park and how it made me want to seek out Baker’s novels.

Unfortunately, though, Baker still has one more surprise up his sleeve. The last seven pages of Luna Park throw one last surprise out at the reader, but it was one that actually made me completely re-evaluate the book in a bad way. It’s an idea that comes so utterly out of left field that it felt like a cheat; an attempt for an extra bit of surprise and a "gotcha!" moment that is so out there it actually can result in anger on the reader’s part. Baker’s linking of Luna Park to one final real-world event feels crass and unneeded, here. There’s such a disassociation in terms of not only plot but actual tone and ideas that I was surprised that editorially it passed muster. It’s frustrating because Luna Park in my head managed to drop from a book I’d recommend to just about anyone to a book where I would only push on fans of Danijel Zezelj. Baker’s script sabotages Luna Park in the final moments, and that’s a game-losing fumble.

With all that in mind, though, if you’ve enjoyed Zezelj’s art in the past, this is easily the most beautiful book he’s drawn to date. Zezelj uses his trademark style of thick, heavy inks to create an amazing-looking graphic novel. What always immediately strikes me about Zezelj’s art is how he uses negative space so effortlessly; so often he’s not drawing objects and people on the page, but rather carving away pieces of the background and leaving the completed forms in its wake. Zezelj goes all-out in bringing the settings of Luna Park to life here; there are so many haunting images just waiting for you to see. From the hulk of an abandoned ride against a stark and empty landscape, to the cracked floor tiles that Alik lies upon, everything is carefully considered and then designed. The flashbacks to an earlier era are gorgeous too, with crowds of people on an open air market on Hester Street make you feel like you’ve actually gone back in time to an earlier Brooklyn. Colorist Dave Stewart gets some of the credit here as well; his colors look so perfectly integrated into Zezelj’s art that you’d otherwise assume that Zezelj had painted the entire page from start to finish. Stewart wisely uses a palette of muted colors over Zezelj’s inks, bringing that run down world to life. When brighter bursts of color do appear, they’re so rare and far-between that they leap out at the reader, demanding attention. I can’t imagine anyone doing a better job with Zezelj’s art than Stewart; having him always color his art should become part of Zezelj’s contract from now on.

If you cut off the ending from Luna Park, it’s a huge success. At the end of the day, though, you need to be warned going into it that there’s a massive misstep just seconds before midnight. I still want to see more of Baker’s works down the line (and would welcome another collaboration with Zezelj), but I’m hoping that he’s not normally fond of the last-second twist. Hopefully others will find it more palatable, or at least easier to ignore. No matter what, though, Zezelj’s art is outstanding, and at the end of the day well worth the price of buying Luna Park in hardcover. He’s an amazing talent and I’m always happy to see something new by him.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

It’s nice to see that Peter Milligan, Giuseppe Camuncoli, and Stefano Landini’s run on Hellblazer is still going strong. When the run first began, it was certainly moving over some familiar territory. What I hadn’t expected to see, though, is an extended riff on the idea of what happens when John Constantine loses and then frantically tries to make things right. It’s the sort of story that normally would have truncated itself by now; Constantine screws up, mopes for an issue or two, and then it’s soon forgotten. Here, Milligan lets Constantine’s mistakes continually hover over his head. Maybe it’s that Milligan is letting the character feel his age, understand that he’s at the point where he can’t stop walking away from his errors? Or perhaps Milligan just thought it would be interesting to explore the idea a little further than most writers on Hellblazer have gone. Either way, I’m not complaining.

Milligan and company are also taking Constantine out of his normal confines of Great Britain, although admittedly in the case of his destination of India, it’s a former British colony. Still, they’re using it well; there’s a sharp comment or two about the stereotypical ideas that people carry around towards the country and its spirituality. On the down side, Milligan’s also going for the stereotype of the seedy human trafficking underbelly of India, which just goes to show that it’s impossible to break away entirely from some perceptions. Still, with Camuncoli and Landini drawing the book so beautifully, it’s hard to get too worked up over the idea. How they aren’t super stars in comics is a mystery to me. At the end of the day, Milligan, Camuncoli, and Landini are an excellent reminder of why Hellblazer can have over 260 issues and still tell new and fresh stories.

When is a crime novel not a crime novel? Reading Dark Entries, one of the first two books in Vertigo’s new "Vertigo Crime" line, it’s easy find yourself asking that question. So far as I can tell, Dark Entries ended up in the Vertigo Crime line (instead of being branded as a Hellblazer graphic novel) by virtue of writer Ian Rankin, best known for his Inspector Rebus crime novels. Considering his name on the cover is three times the size of artist Werther Dell’Edera’s, it hard to not figure out what’s going on. Hopefully this bait-and-switch tactic won’t backfire for Vertigo Crime; while Dark Entries is firmly a horror story in terms of genre, it’s also an entertaining read.

I’ve heard people claim that the United States is the king of reality television, but when it comes to obsession I always thought that the United Kingdom had us beat when it came to the cult of Big Brother. Airing every day of the week, with multiple talk/analysis shows also running plus 24-hour feeds on the internet, Big Brother seems to grip an entire nation the way that even shows like American Idol and So You Think You Can Dance can only dream of in the US. It’s with that in mind that the opening premise of Dark Entries, with a group of contestants in a haunted Big Brother house set-up, seems fairly believable. I can see producers in the UK pushing the series forward, and John Constantine’s bemusement at the idea is fitting. For the first half of the book, Rankin is performing a lot of set-up; having Constantine meet all the housemates, and try and figure out why they’re all seeing things even before the producers had planned it. Most of the characters are two dimensional, but it’s not really their story. Rankin uses them as part of the scenery, almost like objects scattered across the room that Constantine has to analyze and see how they fit together.

Once the halfway point hits, though, Rankin flips the story around a bit and lets the reader do a double-take. It’s not a bad fake-out—in some ways it’s actually rather clever—but at the same time I think it actually robs Dark Entries of what had up until then been the most clever part of its story. There’s a place for "not everything is what it seems" moments in stories, and when used right they can be quite effective. But in the case of Dark Entries, I feel that it actually is a detriment to the story. If you’ve ever read a Hellblazer story before, it’s hard to not have a been-there, done-that attitude to the second half of Dark Entries. The end result is a story that limps along towards its finish; aside from one or two moments that made me stop and wonder (is this the first Hellblazer story to include the existence of Limbo?), it ends up being slightly forgettable.

Dell’Edera’s art is a rough-hewn, block-like style that puts him in the same school of artists such as Guy Davis and Matt Smith. Dell’Edera’s art varies in the amount of refinement that he uses from one page to the next, though; on some pages, characters seem barely sketched onto the page, while on others there’s an extra level of care and detail to the people drawn. It’s a fairly standard, straight-forward sense of storytelling and layouts, although I did appreciate that once Rankin pulls out his great reveal Dell’Edera promptly shifts the background of the pages to match. I do think that Dell’Edera’s art would have been better suited in full color, though; there are a lot of pages where even a dark hue might have added a bit more depth and heft to the sparse backgrounds, and a gifted colorist could have accentuated the high points of Dell’Edera’s art while slightly compensating for any weaknesses.

When it’s all said and done, I was entertained by Dark Entries, but it’s not a memorable book. Between the halfway point reveal and the miscategorization of the book, it actually feels like Dark Entries is fighting against itself in places. As one of the two debut books for the Vertigo Crime line, though, it feels like a misstep. People looking for a crime story will be disappointed, and if anything there’s a good chance that Hellblazer fans might accidentally miss the book entirely. Hopefully future releases in the line will be handled slightly better than this.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

Years ago, Vertigo published an annual collection of short stories connected to comics in their line, titled Winter’s Edge. With the House of Mystery Halloween Annual, it looks like that tradition might be coming back to life. It’s a strange mixed bag this time; a framing story set in House of Mystery, but otherwise a mixture of stories about existing series, previewing a new series, and a flashback to a series that’s long gone. In some ways, it’s the quintessential Vertigo experience.

House of Mystery itself works well as the framing device; since the comic itself regularly uses a story-within-a-story structure, regular readers to the series won’t bat an eye. Regular creative team Matthew Sturges, Luca Rossi, and Jose Marzan Jr. tackle their job with aplomb, focusing on Fig as she explains why she hates Halloween and then gets attacked by a strange mask that ends up showing her the remaining stories in the annual. Regular readers of House of Mystery might be slightly confused as to what the House itself is, as it’s never really explained in the frame. Still, its main function is really to bring the other stories on stage, and at that it does succeed. Sturges’s script veers between an entertaining look into Fig’s mind, and lines meant to be humorous but come across as a bit of a non-sequitur. It’s not the best House of Mystery pitch out there, but hopefully it will be enough to get people to check out the underrated but entertaining series.

The only story here that doesn’t have its "regular" creative team is the one that isn’t actually about a current title. Mark Buckingham plots (with a writing assist from Bill Willingham) a Merv Pumpkinhead story about Halloween here. It’s an entertaining if slight story, but fortunately Buckingham knows when to end a joke and brings it to its conclusion without lingering too long. The real entertainment here, though, is in Buckingham pencils and Kevin Nowlan’s inks; the nightmares of the Dreaming look suitably strange enough that it’s fun to see Buckingham shift away slightly from his regular work on Fables.

Peter Milligan, Giuseppi Camuncoli, and Stefano Landini carve up another grim Hellblazer story here about lost love, attempted suicide, and a vengeful demon. In terms of a Halloween, trying-to-scare-you theme for the Annual, this is the story that certainly comes the closest. Milligan’s story is bleak, and manages to balance John Constantine failing someone while keeping him from being an idiot. As the story kicks into high gear, it’s hard to not squirm in your seat; things swiftly go from bad to worse, and Camuncoli and Landini’s art manages to look sinister even in the nicest of scenes. This is probably the best story in the book, and it works both as a stand-alone unit as well as an enticement to read Hellblazer each month.

Chris Roberson and Michael Allred are up next, although in this case it’s actually the first six-and-a-half pages of their upcoming series I, Zombie. As a result, it’s the only story that isn’t actually complete. It’s hard to judge much of the story as a result, because by showing part of what will eventually be a full first issue, Roberson’s script is just getting moving. It’s not really fair to him, and I actually feel a little bad that readers might miss that this wasn’t initially supposed to be read in this way. On the other hand, Allred’s art looks as crisp and fantastic as always, coupled with Laura Allred’s soft colors. Honestly, I ended up getting sold on I, Zombie just based on the "Trick or Treat!" splash page because the art is that beautiful.

Last up is a Madame Xanadu story by Matt Wagner, Amy Reeder Hadley, and Richard Friend. This is another story that sells itself based on the art rather than the story. After enjoying Wagner’s recent story on Madame Xanadu featuring Wesley Dodds, this feels like a slight step backwards. Maybe it was the seven-page space constraint, but it’s less a story and more of a mood piece. Unfortunately, it’s just not a terribly interesting one; I feel bad saying that I actually got bored in such a short time frame, but this is the only story where the writing just didn’t work for me at all. Hadley and Friend help somewhat with the art, though, from the baubles surrounding the edges of panels that are the mask’s visions, to the glimpses of everything available in the store the women shop in. There’s a rich quality to what they draw, and it helps keep the final product interesting.

Hopefully sales and critical response will be enough to make the House of Mystery Halloween Annual a real annual event. It’s a nice way to check out series you might not have otherwise given a try, and as a reader you definitely get your money’s worth here. If you’ve been curious about some of the titles mentioned here but not given it a try, this is a good way to take a dip and see just what you like.

How well do you know your Greek plays? Sure, everyone’s familiar with the basic Greek myths of Zeus, Apollo, Herakles, and Perseus. I’m talking about the the dramas, though; ones starring Oedipus, Agamemnon, Medea, Cassandra, or Ion.

No? Well don’t worry, Greek Street is still going to be extremely accessible to you, coming across as a rival family drama with a crime undercurrent moving through it. But for those who are familiar with some Greek works, though, there’s a nice extra punch to Peter Milligan’s new series.

Eddie’s just come back to town after his mother sent him away, and he’s not pleased about his past. When his confrontation goes badly, though, he ends up adrift and taking a job at a Greek restaurant. But two families are clearly at work, with an eye for an eye mentality moving through the levels of retribution. Meanwhile, there’s a killer preying on women, and Sandy’s having visions of the dead bodies afloat in the river. Only the strippers may know what’s going on, but they’re only revealing their knowledge to the audience—which fortunately, dear reader, is you.

Greek Street is in some ways trying to do to Greek myths and stories what Fables did to fairy tales. To be fair, that’s a gross simplification, but it’s as easy a way as any to try and describe the comic. Greek Street isn’t literally about these ancient characters of myth living in our world, but rather the idea that stories, situations, and characters keep repeating themselves throughout history. One of the strippers—serving as a member of a Greek chorus that talks to the audience—notes as much in the first pages. "You see, those old stories aren’t through with us. No matter how many different names or masks we might wear, they’re just not finished with us yet," she notes. So Eddie and Jo are caught up in the story of Oedipus and Jocasta, for example, although the exact situation and moments aren’t being perfectly replicated. It’s rather the ideas, the mood, and the general flow that we’re seeing here playing themselves out, for good or for ill.

What I like, though, is that you can enjoy Greek Street #1 without knowing most or even any of this extra information. Sandy being Cassandra isn’t knowledge needed to read her hysterical breakdown as she dreams of the dead bodies, for instance. The Furey family may or may not be connected in the broadest of strokes to the Furies, but I find myself not worrying about it. It’s more important in the short term to watch the investigation of the bodies in the river begin to unfold, or the nasty ways that rival families try to even the score and come to some sort of peace. All of the pieces are still being brought onto the board by Milligan, but he wisely focuses on just a few of them to help us get a feel for these characters. I’m not 100% sucked into the story just yet, but there are so many little moments and scenes that ended up sticking with me that I’m already interested to see what will happen next.

Davide Gianfelice’s art in Greek Street #1 is, quite frankly, gorgeous. I love how he draws the characters of this title, and how he’s able to hit all the notes needed from the script; sexy, dangerous, terrifying, sad, they’re all there. I was sold in just the first few pages, as one of our stripper/Greek chorus members lectures an audience member at the club. She’s got such an aura of power around her that it’s almost breathtaking. Gianfelice sells the idea that only she really knows what’s going on, even as the idiot grabbing her butt misses the point of every word she says. With that glazed-over expression on his face as he stares at her, she comes across as powerful even while he ogles, and that’s when I knew he was the right choice for Greek Street. There’s so much going on here, with a soft, well rounded style that can still handle the heavier moments of the book. From Eddie’s nightmares to the twisted bodies found in the river, each moment just bursts onto the page with energy.

Milligan and Gianfelice have brought a sense of style to this book that, I think, is its ultimate selling point. With 100 Bullets over, this book seems the closest to try and inherit its crown as Vertigo’s crime drama, admittedly one with a twist. It’s slick and sexy, and it has enough of its own unique voice that it’s hard to not want to be drawn back for a second installment. I really like Vertigo’s new $1, 40-page debuts for series because like The Unwritten before it, this is a good enough introduction that it should hopefully bring in people eager for another taste. Definitely take a look. I’m already a fan.