Growing up, I think I read L. Frank Baum’s The Wonderful Wizard of Oz and Ozma of Oz about 50 times each. The first and third of Baum’s Oz books, both have formed the basis for a lot of different Oz-related projects over the years. But until now, I’d never actually read the second book, The Marvelous Land of Oz. I knew the basics of what happened in it (thanks to Ozma of Oz, which is incidentally a top-notch book that everyone should read) but I hadn’t gotten around to reading my free copy courtesy Project Gutenberg. Fortunately for me, Marvel was happy enough with Eric Shanower and Scottie Young’s adaptation of The Wonderful Wizard of Oz that they’re now publishing Shanower and Young’s The Marvelous Land of Oz, and it’s definitely the strangest of the three Oz books that I’ve come across so far. And when I say strange, I mean that I love it.

For people who have never experienced more than the film starring Judy Garland, or only read the original book, it might come as a slight surprise that Dorothy isn’t in The Marvelous Land of Oz. (She does return in Ozma of Oz, though, so don’t be afraid that she’s gone for good.) Here our hero is Tip, a young boy raised by the witch Mombi who flees her guardianship and travels to the Emerald City with two magically animated creatures, Jack Pumpkinhead and the Sawhorse. What follows is a strange, rambling story as Tip and company encounter various obstacles, attacking armies, and bizarre creatures. And of course, all the while, Mombi keeps popping up as we try to figure out why she’s so obsessed with Tip. There’s not a huge goal set out at the beginning of The Marvelous Land of Oz like in some of the other books; here, instead, it’s more of a bizarre travelogue and adventures along the way. Baum is really having fun showing us, indeed, the marvels of Oz.

I found myself surprised in a good way at just how much Shanower has managed to keep of Baum’s witty dialogue and humor in his adaptation. Shanower is of course no slouch when it comes to Oz; he’s been known for many years as a scholar on the subject, as well as having created five original Oz graphic novels. After reading the first four issues of The Marvelous Land of Oz, I went and read the first half of the original novel and as a result I can say that Shanower’s managed to preserve the same level of charm and fun that exists in the original. Some of the snappiest moments of the book are perfectly preserved, like when Jack Pumpkinhead assumes that (coming from a different land than the Scarecrow) the two don’t speak the same language and so an interpreter is summoned. The end result is a sequence where Shanower keeps the farce running smoothly, as a servant "translates" what’s being said by Jack as a series of increasingly rude and insulting comments. And of course, Shanower understands the language of comics, so it’s well paced from page to page. My only complaint along this front is that as this is (wisely) being created primarily for a collected edition to be on sale for years to come, some of the ends of the issues aren’t that great on the "to be continued" front, but Shanower does the best he can to avoid messing up the pacing of the book as a whole.

Young’s illustrations are icing on the proverbial cake. I’ve loved Young’s art for quite a while now, and his work on the Oz adaptations is a great match for his skills. His character designs hearken back to the original takes on the characters by John R. Neill, but at the same time he’s got his own twists and sparkles added onto the art. I love the gigantic mustache that sticks out on the Emerald City soldier’s face, for instance, to say nothing of the Tin Woodman’s large bushy metal mustache that droops out from under his nose. It’s fun to look at all of the little character details, like how he draws Jack Pumpkinhead’s mouth to really look like a moving jack o’ lantern, or the careful addition of wood grain on the front of the Sawhorse’s snout. And of course, Young’s good at all of the regular aspects of drawing comics; expressive characters, a good sense of motion, and strong page layouts. Young is the kind of artist that in an ideal world can writes his own ticket to do whatever project he wants, and I’m delighted that he’s working on these adaptations.

This is a beautifully produced series, from top to bottom. Even little touches like the cover to #3 appearing like an old Soviet propaganda poster are noteworthy. Best of all, there something for readers of all ages to enjoy. Younger readers will enjoy the overall story and adventure, while older readers might snicker when the gatekeeper responds to Jinjur’s, "We are revolting!" with a calm, "You don’t look it." These days I’m trying to be a little more prudent about which books I buy (due to a general lack of space), but I’m more than willing to make an exception for adaptations this fantastic. Highly recommended, both this series as well as the previous one.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

I’ll admit that even after reading First Wave #1, I’m still not entirely sure why DC is publishing this comic. I’m not saying that because of quality, but rather the general idea behind it all. I normally applaud publishing initiatives that have generated lines like Vertigo, Minx, Helix, and Vertigo Crime, and a pulp-adventure line of comics from DC sounds like a lot of fun. But to do so by mashing up characters like Doc Savage, the Spirit, and Batman is such a strange hook for a book that I’m so far not convinced that this is a hook that will work beyond its initial curiosity factor.

It’s not the first time that we’ve seen something along these lines from DC and pulp comic characters. I remember back in the early ’90s reading The Shadow Strikes! and having it and Doc Savage have a story crossover between the two titles. But while there it was a momentary fun, "let’s have them meet" sort of moment, this is something that in theory is a little more long-term. The three character concepts don’t seem to entirely match up in my mind right from the beginning; the pulp hero of Doc Savage versus the superhero nature of Batman and the crime-fighting Spirit. I can’t imagine fans of The Spirit or Batman every month wishing that those books would start connecting with one another.

In this first issue, in fact, Batman’s nowhere to be seen. Instead it focuses more on Doc Savage as he returns home following the death of his father, and the Spirit getting lured into the middle of a body theft. It’s odd, because I think that each half of the story works well on its own. Brian Azzarello has a clear understanding of what makes Doc Savage tick; the mystery solving, the strange beings in the jungle, the general sense that this is a jump back to the old adventure stories of old. I’ve never been a big fan of Doc Savage in general, but reading his half of First Wave #1 makes me think that Azzarello might be the sort of writer to make me want to give Savage another chance. Likewise, Azzarello seems to get the Spirit; while I still need to sit down and read Darwyn Cooke’s take on the character, these pages show a certain understanding of the character (with his humor and general nonchalant attitude) that few others have done in the past.

The problem for me, though, is that at the end of First Wave #1 I feel like I’m reading two different comics sandwiched into the same comic. Sure, it’s easy to see where the plot connects the two, but tonally it’s not quite right for me as a reader. I’m not convinced that these characters are somehow living in the same world, and the eventual appearance of the old-school Batman down the line makes me fear that it will confound the problem rather than fix it. It’s a strange mix that just isn’t going down quite right.

On the bright side, Rags Morales was a good artistic choice for First Wave. Recent fans of his are probably more familiar with his work on superhero titles, but he’s tackled all sorts of genres over the years, from the fantasy adventures of Forgotten Realms to the Lost Land dinosaur hunting of Turok. It’s his work from the latter that made me initially think he’d work well here, and sure enough Morales doesn’t disappoint. The opening scenes of a chase through the jungle are well paced, and I love how Morales often draws characters as lanky, gangly people instead of the normal superhero physique. He’s good with the smaller moments too, though; Doc Savage walking silently past reporters through the rain is great, as you see the disdain just drip off his face while they ask for comments about his father’s death. Even Dolan from The Spirit looks on target here, while at the same time still looking like Morales’s own take on the character.

It’s odd, because while I think First Wave #1 has problems, I don’t think it’s something that is even remotely the fault of the creative team. This is at the end of the day a problem that I think exists with the very concept of the series. I hope Azzarello and Morales prove me wrong and that it’s an idea that can come together before too long. Right now, though, it’s a comic by two skilled creators that seems destined for just a touch of failure.

I remember reading One Piece when it was first published by Viz back at the launch of SHONEN JUMP and enjoying it. But in what was a modern golden age of manga translations, there were so many books being published at the same time that I quickly fell behind, and before long it dropped to the wayside. Now that Viz is putting a lot of publishing muscle behind the book (unleashing a wave of One Piece books to catch the series up to where it is in Japan, like they did before with Naruto, and releasing a series of 3-in-1 omnibuses), it seemed like a perfect chance to catch up with the series and see just what I’ve been missing.

Viz’s omnibuses are in general a good deal (they’re more or less priced at a third off the price for buying each individually), but I think it works especially well in One Piece. With three volumes in a single book, you get much more forward progression of the plot; even in these early chapters, it’s easy to see that this is going to be a series that rambles onwards, moving from one lengthy adventure to the next. So instead of getting just a portion of a single story, the potential is here for multiple stops and trips for the characters as Monkey D. Luffy tries to gather a crew in order to become the greatest pirate ever and find the hidden treasure known as the One Piece.

As these are the earliest chapters, a lot of attention is paid on forming the crew. (A trip to Wikipedia showed me that this is really just the tip of the iceberg in terms of the full cast of characters.) What’s nice is that at least with these first characters, everyone has their own distinct motivation. Luffy wants to impress and live up to the pirate who helped him when he was younger; Zolo wants to become the greatest swordsman alive; Nami is along for the ride in order to gather money for her own personal purposes. Just having the three of them interact with one another is a fun experience; Luffy’s unbridled enthusiasm doesn’t come with a lot of experience, so Zolo and Nami each have their own skills and knowledge to add to the mix, and presumably further characters will also do the same. As for the stories themselves, I found myself getting into them with a lot of gusto. There’s a strong undercurrent running through all of them, that honesty and dedication always win in the long run; it’s a good message regardless of your age. For all of Nami’s sneaky plans and subterfuge (she’s almost a secondary antagonist in her first story), it’s Luffy at the end of the day who makes it all work out by being up front and himself.

Oda’s art is crisp and clean, a perfect example of a tight animation-level style that is expressive and energetic. It’s the perfect match for a book where the main character can stretch his body like rubber; Oda draws Luffy’s impossible shapes and lengths in such a way that they match up wonderfully with the rest of the title. Oda’s good with the crazier character designs, too; from a head and afro peeking out of a treasure chest to a clown-themed pirate, they’re all larger than life but mesh well with the more realistic looking characters like Nami. You’re never going to marvel at fine details and beautiful compositions from Oda, but as an action-adventure romp it’s just the right kind of style.

One Piece: East Blue 1-2-3 was more fun than I’d expected. I can’t say that I’d want to start buying individual volumes because the series on its own feels a little slight, but in these three-for-one editions I’ll probably pick up some more of the East Blue stories before too long. It’s a nice introduction to One Piece, and I can already see why the series has so many ravenous fans.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

An anthology full of creators fitting a certain demographic is hardly a new idea. We’ve had books specializing in indy comic creators, gay comics creators, and racial minority comic creators. So the idea of Girl Comics from Marvel is hardly shocking or surprising to me; while the name may be one of the less inspired (although you know exactly what you’re going to get, something that was also true with Gay Comix) I’ve generally found that anthologies of this nature for whatever reason almost always end up being slightly better than the average compilation. So for that reason alone, Girl Comics #1 was automatically going to get eyeballed by me.

Like most anthologies, there are highs and lows. Colleen Coover’s two-page introduction is certainly one of the highs; using a series of female superheroes to, line-by-line, explain why they do what they do. Of course, it’s a series of statements that equally apply to why the creators in this book work on comics, and it’s a rallying cry that ultimately crosses all genders. Coover’s art continues its cute, stripped down style that has made so many people fall in love with her comics. It doesn’t matter if she’s drawing X-Men First Class, Small Favors, or Banana Sundays, her art is always a heart-stealer.

Trina Robbins and Stephanie Buscema also provide a memorable story in a take on old comic stories where the goddess Venus worked at a fashion magazine. Shifting the action to 1969 so that she goes back to work at the magazine is fun because even in that short time period things had changed enough that poor Venus is finding herself out of date with the world around her; it’s a story that could’ve just as easily been set in modern day and had the same broad strokes, although at that point I suppose you might also have to talk about how magazines are going under left and right. It’s a funny story though, and I love Buscema’s art and how it reminds me almost of colored chalk drawings. Buscema nails the look-and-feel of the era, and she’s got a classic sensibility on how she draws her panels. It’s snazzy from start to finish. Lucy Knisley’s Doctor Octopus two-page story is also a riot, showing what happens when the crazy Doc Ock goes to the grocery store. The panel where he sees the shopper with an octopus tattoo is worth the entire price of the comic; I love the little hearts winking into existence around his head, and his mental image of the two of them together while he throttles Spider-Man is hysterical. I fell in love with Knisley’s comics after reading her travel novel French Milk, and she continues to draw her stripped-down, adorable art here too.

I think the biggest surprise for me was Robin Furth and Agnes Garbowska’s story about Franklin and Valeria Richards. Furth and Garbowska play with the actual form of comics here; shifting from comic book sequential art and word balloons to a typical children’s book format of elaborate page borders, narration text laid on top of the images, and no actual panel borders as one image bleeds into the next. As the children plunge out of the comics world into fairy tales and then later escape, it’s clever to see Garbowska add in and then throw out all of these touches. It helps of course that Garbowska’s art is great, reminding me a bit of comic creators like Ted Naifeh. If nothing else, Girl Comics #1 makes me want to see a lot more of Garbowska’s comics.

Some stories come close but don’t quite manage, though. Valerie D’Orazio and Nikki Cook provide a fantastic page of comics about an online predator who makes the mistake of instant messaging with an undercover Punisher. That one page tells everything you need to know; what the guy looks like as he lounges around the house, where the meeting place will be, and in that final panel, the sudden shift to the Punisher typing on the other laptop as you realize just how utterly dead this creep is about to become. And then, unfortunately, there are three more pages that bring absolutely nothing extra to the story. I wish this story had stopped after the first page, because it stands on its own beautifully without three more pages that tell you everything that you’ve already figured out will happen next. And while I like Ming Doyle’s art in Girl Comics #1 as it brings an old-fashioned club and its performers to life, G. Willow Wilson’s story feels almost like an afterthought, dialogue thrown onto a series of demo pages rather than it actually building up to something. Likewise, Devin Grayson and Emma Rios provide still another take on the old Cyclops/Jean Grey/Wolverine triangle, but while it’s pretty and competently put together, I just felt like it didn’t bring anything new to the table.

All in all, though, I think Girl Comics #1 was a strong book. There are absolutely no duds in the comic; even the weakest pieces are just average, certainly not bad. Adding in biographical spotlights of prominent female creators and employees like Marie Severin and Flo Steinberg is a nice touch, giving a bit of history to the project. Hopefully people will get past any prejudices when it comics to this comic; at the end of the day it’s a solid series of comic stories where all the creators just happen to be women. I’m certainly looking forward to the remaining issues.

I have to admit that I’ve been sitting on a copy of Years of the Elephant for almost five months now, having read it but not diving into writing a review. As strange as it sounds, it had to do with a sense of respect that I had for the book. Based on Willy Linthout’s own experiences after the sudden death of his son, Years of the Elephant felt like a book that couldn’t be rushed into, couldn’t be taken lightly. After a while, I began to also recognize that some of my delay in writing a review of Years of the Elephant was a small bit of avoidance. And that, more than anything else, felt extremely apt when talking about this book.

Linthout creates Charles Germonprez as his alter ego in Years of the Elephant, a businessman in his 50s living with his wife Simone, whose son Jack has just leapt off the roof of their apartment building to his death. There’s no warning, no sign that this is coming, and Linthout appropriately starts the book with a one-page strip as a typical day is suddenly shattered by the arrival of police at the door bearing the bad news. As Charles is reeling from the shock, we get the title pages and introduction, almost like the opening credits after a teaser on television. In some ways, Years of the Elephant starts with a punch to the gut and never relents from that moment on.

It’s difficult at times to read Years of the Elephant, to see the grief, despair, and even delusions that Charles goes through in the days, months, and years that follow. Jack was Charles’s only son, and the loss quickly turns into a lingering specter that refuses to let go. Some scenes look at first to be played for laughs, as Charles tries to save the the pavement that Jack’s chalk outline was upon, or when the clicking noises of a breathing apparatus are believed to be a message from beyond the grave for Charles. The laughter, though, is almost a hysterical giggle more than anything else. As Charles goes through what appears to be a series of mental breakdowns, his precarious grip on reality slips bit by bit. What might initially look to be coping mechanisms rapidly turn into dangerous delusions, ones that help Charles avoid the sadness that threatens to overtake him, and as a reader you begin to wonder at what point things will turn back to normal for Charles. Except, of course, in some ways that’s the big message of Years of the Elephant; it will never be "normal" again for Charles. The suicide of his only child is most likely going to haunt him for the rest of his life, even if the degree to which it does so might change over time.

One of the most interesting aspects of Years of the Elephant for me was the position that Charles’s wife Simone has within the book. We see her in the first panel of the book, vacuuming the floor with an old canister machine, her face in profile and mostly hidden by hair. On the second panel she’s halfway out of view, stepping beyond the border even as there is an ominous "thud" sound outside. And then, from that point on, she’s gone, forever out of view to the reader. All we experience at that point is Simone’s words from off-panel, or once in a blue moon a hand extending into view for a split second. It becomes emblematic of Charles’s losing sight of the one life line he still has left as the idea of any sort of family becomes too painful to contemplate. Even when Charles realizes, finally, that Simone is the one thing he still has left in his life it looks to possibly be too late. The metaphorical chasm that has grown between them bursts into life within their apartment, perhaps impossible to ever cross and repair. It’s a revelation that is left up to the reader to decide the outcome of, even as Linthout lets the book fade from "Charles" to a brief depiction of his own life. It’s an uncertain ending that none the less is extremely fitting for Years of the Elephant.

Linthout draws Years of the Elephant in a slightly-rough, unfinished and uninked state. It’s a deliberate choice on the part of Linthout, mentioned in the introduction as a way to symbolize the life of Linthout’s own son that had stopped before it ever matured. It’s a sad but smart tribute, but perhaps more importantly it works well as a visual style for Years of the Elephant’s story. With the art consisting of thicker pencil lines over loose pencil roughs, Charles and company look like at any moment their squiggled interiors are going to burst out of their shells and fly away. And for all of Linthout’s cartoonish style, there are moments of real panic hidden within them, from being enveloped by cords to the look of grief on Charles’s face as he tries to communicate with his dead son.

Years of the Elephant is a deceptively dark book. A book about the death of one’s son is never going to be light fare, but Linthout drapes a light surface level of frivolity over top his story. The further you go, though, the deeper you sink into the depths along with Linthout’s alter-ego, and the more chilling the book becomes. It’s an honest, unflinching look at the journey of grief over a suicide, and while it’s not an easy book to read, I do highly recommend it. It’s a book that you’ll find hard to forget.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

New reviews return March 5th!

If you ask someone for a story about going to the dentist, chances are they’re going to have a nightmare experience to tell you all about. I think having no bad dental stories either means you have an incredible amount of luck, you aren’t that old just yet, or you don’t go to the dentist. So on that note alone, there’s an instant hook for people to read Smile, Raina Telgemeier’s autobiographical story centered around a particularly nasty dental drama when she was a teenager. But in the case of Smile, it’s actually more of a window dressing for what I think is the real story at the center of the book, and that’s what makes it so compelling.

Smile follows Telgemeier from sixth through ninth grade, a time that just about everyone knows can be tumultuous under the best of circumstances. So as Telgemeier gets her two front teeth knocked out and begins a several-year ordeal to get her teeth back to normal without having to resort to dentures, it’s turning what would have been a stressful time into something that feels far worse. Watching her deal with her group of friends, and trying to find a balance between what she views as "childish" and "adult" is something that will ring true for far too many readers, I suspect. Junior and Senior High School seems to be that time when we shed some friends in favor of new ones that are a better fit, and it’s actually painful to watch Telgemeier go through this while having to worry about her teeth. Telgemeier avoids any temptation to whitewash her own behavior during this time period; she makes mistakes at times on who to hang out with, she blows it with a boy who’s interested in her, she acts selfish during difficult times. In other words, she acts like a teenager. It’s a well-rounded portrait of someone growing up during a stressful time.

Of course, the dental aspects of Smile are always front and center. I actually found this part of the story fascinating, to see the decisions that her dentist, orthodontist, and endodontist made to try and give her front teeth without having to resort to an eleven year old having dentures. Telgemeier takes us through every decision and procedure, explaining the reasoning behind the new ideas and how well they work. Some of them are pretty unorthodox, and I think it’s safe to say that unless you’ve got a doozy of a dental nightmare of your own to tell everyone about, you’ll be surprised by just what goes on here.

Smile’s art looks deceptively simple, but hides a surprising amount of detail. From bashful looks as she sneaks a glance at boys, to blistering anger when a so-called friend wrongs her, Telgemeier shows a wide range of emotions on her alter-ego’s face. I love how everyone looks different and distinct from one another, to say nothing of the setting of Smile. The San Francisco Bay Area bursts to life in her drawings; I’ve only been there a few times but I found myself feeling like I was back on the west coast and seeing the sights all over again. She’s good with motion, too; the scene where the earthquake shakes everything in the Telgemeier family home is energetic, but even scenes with a character stomping across the page gives a strong sense of movement. After seeing The Little Mermaid Telgemeier tells a friend she wants to become an animator, and it definitely feels like she’s managed to do just that.

I’ve been reading Telgemeier’s comics for a long time, now. Not just books like her X-Men manga project or the Baby-Sitter’s Club adaptations, but her mini-comics and web comics as well. It’s been fun watching her hone her craft and become an accomplished creator (and New York Times Bestselling Author, it seems!), but I’ll admit that lately I’ve been waiting for Smile to show up more than anything else. I’d read about half of the book when it was being serialized online, and it was a real treat to see it come to a conclusion. From Nintendo to the Loma Prieta earthquake of 1989, it’s a vivid flashback to an earlier time in both Telgemeier’s life as well as my own. This is a sharp, strong book that I hope does gangbusters in terms of sales. Interestingly enough, based on the book’s cover and dimensions, it looks like Scholastic is going to try and get it shelved with prose books for young adults, and if that means a larger audience than I applaud them for it. This is a book I would have adored as a teenager, but even though I’m over twice the age of that target audience it’s still a joy to read.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

I know I’m not the only person who misses Fell, Warren Ellis and Ben Templesmith’s series for Image that quietly stopped publishing (for now) after nine issues. So while it probably isn’t fair to instantly start throwing out comparisons between Fell and Choker, I will admit that it was my missing of Fell that made me decide to check out Choker. While the two share an artist and a certain sensibility, though, it’s in the writing that the two series definitely part ways.

Choker, perhaps by virtue of it being just a six-issue limited-series, is a book that has a stronger focus on plot right from the beginning. We quickly meet Johnny Jackson, a former cop turned into private investigator. As we follow him throughout Shotgun City, we learn about his situation and what he’s going to have to do for the rest of the mini-series. Ben McCool makes sure that is obvious that Jackson’s life is anything but good—so being given the opportunity to go back on the force in exchange for a favor makes sense, even if red flags are going off for the reader when it comes to the legitimacy of the deal. So while Fell was more about single bursts of story that all stand more or less alone, with Choker we’re being promised a longer, sustained story with subplots and a build towards a climax.

That said, one thing I did find similar between the two series was that both pay close attention to setting-as-character. Shotgun City instantly feels like an entity in its own right, that sort of crime noir scene that’s been boiled down and then mixed with a bit of science-fiction. So we get the streets, the neighbors, the clubs, and the mad science all making an appearance in Choker. Part of it is certainly due to Templesmith’s art, but Shotgun City feels alive almost instantly. You get the distinct impression that McCool and Templesmith have mentally mapped out the city in terms of what it’s like to live there, what people do for fun, and which kind of person is not going to bolt from the city limits the second they hear a whisper of jobs elsewhere.

Templesmith’s art is as breathtaking as always. His pencils and inks are impressive in their own right, giving Jackson an unattractive potato-shaped head that makes him stand out in a crowd, but one with surprisingly expressive eyes whenever they open wide in fear or shock or terror. From wrinkles around eyes to a double-chin, Templesmith draws no one as a fashion plate; they all look startlingly real and average and slightly run down. It’s a great way to populate Shotgun City, and it brings everything into stark focus. The one exception are the new cops with their Man Plus genetic enhancement program, all looking super-hero perfect with tight bodies and muscles. It’s this contrast that makes them stand out, where in other books they might have blended in. After all, it’s hard to recognize out of the ordinary when even the average person is being drawn well above average. Templesmith’s colors are the icing on the cake, though, with neon tubes glowing, street lights shining through exhaust and smoke, and a sickly yellow radiance coming from the office lighting. Templesmith shows as a back-up feature just how he puts all of his art together, and if anything I have even greater respect for his art now than I did before.

Choker heads out of the great with a strong first issue; I’d forgotten how much I enjoy Templesmith’s art, and while this is the first comic I’ve read from McCool he’s definitely someone I’ll check out more from in the future. If they can keep this story rolling all the way to the conclusion, I’ll be impressed and pleased. Choker is the sort of comic that makes you tried something new.

I’ve come to the grim conclusion over the past year that if your website doesn’t have an RSS feed, I am more than likely going to forget it exists. It’s nothing personal, I just have so many things going on in my life that sooner or later I’ll start forgetting to check for updates. That’s been the case as of late with MySpace Dark Horse Presents, the return of Dark Horse’s original anthology title now running monthly issues on MySpace. When a pair of cartoonists mentioned on their website that their new story had just gone live on MySpace DHP (something I heard through their RSS feed, of course), though, I decided it was time to sit down and catch up.

As it turns out, it’s a good thing I did. I had no idea, for starters, that Mark Crilley was creating a new series (Brody’s Ghost) for Dark Horse. I loved Crilley’s Miki Falls and Akiko, so a new Crilley comic is reason to celebrate. It’s also a change of pace for what I’m used to seeing from Crilley, featuring a male protagonist in a run down city being drawn to bad situations and accompanied by ghosts. While the credits list this as being "part 2" it’s merely the second Brody’s Ghost short story to run online; "The Scene of the Crime" can be read on its own without any past knowledge. In many ways "The Scene of the Crime" is just a story fragment, but this character piece gives the reader an understanding of what Brody’s about and how he operates, and it’s interesting enough that even without knowing it was a new series from Crilley I’d want to read more. It also helps that Crilley’s art looks great; his softer lines that he uses for characters are ever-present, but he also draws the city in such a way that feels grimmer and dirtier than what I’m sometimes used to seeing. Crilley’s an excellent artist and Brody’s Ghost looks to be no exception to that.

Starting this issue is a new serial, a Tales of the Vampires story. It ties directly into Buffy the Vampire Slayer Season Eight #21, where Harmony took vampirism public with a reality show and huge media attention. It’s actually a subplot that’s been forgotten in the main Buffy comic these days, and something that has been worthy of more exploration. I’m not familiar with Jackie Kessler, but for an introduction Kessler’s writing comes off well. Kessler shows the downside to vampires being outed, unable to get more than quick drinks off of (admittedly willing) people and forever surrounded by a fascinated public. Kessler’s annoyed protagonist Cyn treads the line between being amusing and dangerous, and I like the idea that Kessler appears to be going for about what happens when you try and defang a predator. Things look ready to explode, and it’s a good lead-in to next month’s chapter. Paul Lee’s an artist who’s familiar with vampires and the Buffy universe in general, and I’m always pleased to see his art. The outfits Cyn and Ash wear to the club are excellent, and the perpetually annoyed expression on Cyn’s face made me laugh on several occasions.

The only story in MySpace Dark Horse Presents #31 that didn’t ring true for me was Graham Annable’s two-page "Love Note." Normally I’m amused by his short pieces in anthologies like Papercutter and The Grickle, but his off-beat and warped sense of humor feels a little too compressed here. His take on an attempt to write a love note going horribly wrong hits its conclusion a little too quickly for my taste; even one more page, I think, would have made a huge difference.

The issue ends on an extremely strong note, though, with Ananth Panagariya and Yuko Ota’s "Callie Eats Feathers." It’s a disturbing story in which the titular character begins to eat feathers while her friend watches in confusion and fear. It’s a moody piece, one that’s hard to describe. Panagariya’s script is moody and clever, one that comes to a conclusion, then lingers just long enough for a final, extra jolt. I’m familiar with these creators through their webcomic Johnny Wander, but this is a new experience that I’m getting through this story. Ota’s art is in the same school of style with slightly blocky, iconic looking character. It’s always been a good look on their webcomic, but here I feel like my eyes are being opened to just how strong an artist Ota is when working on a full story. I absolutely want to see more comics from Panagariya and Ota down the line.

MySpace Dark Horse Presents #31 offers up a nice mix of stories, and it’s a good reminder that I need to try and stop by each month to see just what they’re serving up next. My only really big complaint is that I’m not a fan of their interface; at least on my monitor, having to click on the "next page" button and then scroll back up to the top of the screen gets slightly frustrating. I got more enjoyment out of MySpace Dark Horse Presents #31 than I have many comics I’ve paid for; it is definitely worth your time to check it out for yourself.

There are some series where the publication schedule can try its fans’ patience. One of them is, easily, Yotsuba&! if you’re reading it in English. Its original publisher released the first three collections in fast succession, then there was a 20-month gap before volumes 4 and 5 showed up. Then, the company decided to get out of the book publishing game, and it was another two years before Yotsuba&! wriggled its way free to Yen Press. With volumes 6 and 7 now out, and an eighth one scheduled for later this spring, it looks like for now the drought is over. The reason why I mention all of this is that there are few series that I think would hold my attention so much over the course of this many delays, but Yotsuba&! manages quite nicely.

If you’ve never read Yotsuba&!, it’s a fairly simple set-up. Four-year old Yotsuba and her father Koiwai move into a new neighborhood, where Yotsuba’s insatiable curiosity brings her into constant contact with her amused neighbors, to say nothing of all of the wonders that the world possesses. With each new chapter, it’s a new experience for Yotsuba. (The ampersand in the title comes from the format of almost all of the chapters, "Yotsuba & …" The end of the chapter title can be anything from telephones, to errands, to a ranch.) What makes Yotsuba&! stand out is a combination of two things that Kiyohiko Azuma nails perfectly: comedy, and the wide-eyed wonder of a child.

Watching Yotsuba interact with things around her, both new and old, is always a joy. Something as simple as a cup-and-string telephone might seem like old hat to adults, but to her the idea is fascinating. And when is the last time that the idea of going by yourself to the grocery store would seem daunting? And meeting new people, well… all right, for some adults I know that’s pretty scary too. But Azuma tackles all of these through Yotsuba’s eyes, and her wonder and excitement over every little new thing is rather infectious. This is a character who revels in each new moment and makes them all exciting.

I love watching Yotsuba interact with the supporting cast of Yotsuba&!, because it’s so unlike any other comic character and how they act. Her rivalry with her father’s associate Yanda works because both sides act childish, but watching Yanda still get flummoxed by a five-year old in this volume made me laugh out loud several times. She’s a character with no subtlety whatsoever, so meeting a new person will result in her blurting out, "Who are you!?" at the top of her lungs, her eyes growing wide with apprehension and excitement. It’s also fun to watch the neighbors start to learn how to use Yotsuba’s visits for their own amusement; letting Yotsuba decorate a cake that was already going badly, for instance, is the perfect deflection of the rest of the family’s judgment because suddenly all of the faults can be excused as Yotsuba’s. It’s a funny realization, and it rings true to anyone who has a younger sibling or cousin around for an extended period of time.

Azuma’s art helps bring the adorable in Yotsuba&!, with its perpetually cute style. You can see the wonder dawn on Yotsuba’s face every time she encounters something new, and actually live through her own excitement as a result. From her slow peering into the grocery store, to the amazement when she gets to visit a farm and play with the animals, there’s always something new and fantastic just lurking around the corner for her. And of course, watching Yotsuba surprised is always worth a laugh, as her hands ball up into little fists while she shouts her confusion.

Yotsuba&! is one of those titles that has been a critical darling since its release, but I suspect in terms of the general reading public might have fallen off the face of the earth with all of its publishing delays. Now that Yen Press has brought the first five volumes back into print and established a regular publication schedule for volumes 6-8, hopefully everyone will start learning about Yotsuba&! and how much fun it is. I don’t think I’ve ever found someone who wasn’t charmed by Yotsuba&!; go on, check it out.

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