The Big Get-Nothing

Small Time Crooks

Woody Allen has always been prolific and like any artist, he goes through times of mountain top enrichment only to plateau for a period. Or a decade. Like in the early aughts following the jazz-cool  Sweet And Lowdown and before the sexy Match Point, when Allen cranked out a movie a year, and most of them were mediocre. Like Small Time Crooks where he, Tracey Ullman, and Michael Rappaport plan to rob a bank via a cookie shop they were using as a front… only to blindly figure out that the cookies brought in a higher payroll than the initial bank job.

So what does a Woody Allen film have to do with Paul Di Filippo’s latest, The Big Get-Even? Well for one thing, talking about Woody Allen films, even his less-than-enchanting ones, is a helluva lot more interesting than reviewing this unexceptional novel. And for another, the plots are thematically similar, along with a finale so blatant even the blind director from Hollywood Ending (ugh) could see it coming in off the horizon.

The Big Get Even

The Big Get-Even is a heist caper, a grift, that although the high points fit the genre, it meanders around at a leisurely pace. No snappy chatter. No sticking-it-to-the-man. And really, no likable characters either. I don’t feel sorry that the arsonist – an arsonist – is cheated out of his ill-gotten gains. I don’t understand how the whining lawyer is elevated to that of a Clooney-esque stud. I don’t appreciate that the contribution of all three women in the story is solely – and only – for sex.

The first part of the story is actually interesting. Di Filippo lays out his characters of Glen (lawyer) and Stan (arsonist), and builds the premise of the plot. That journey had merit as the story began to build. You could see the lightning preceding the on-set of the storm. But then nothing. Just dark clouds resulting in poor vision and a damp time. No fun. No electricity. And a con as dull as Will Smith’s Focus.

I would like to thank NetGalley and Blackstone Publishing for the ARC… even though I think I was hustled into providing a review. And without even getting a cookie.


As Always,
theJOE

Thankfully, not Endless

The Sandman:
Endless Nights

An extremely uneven collection both in story and art. Seeing as how Neil Gaiman, who created both Sandman and his brethren the Endless, wrote all seven chapters, this can be frustratingly odd, as Gaiman usually brings his a-game. However, one can look at this collection with the understanding that he, along with some of his artistic collaborators, were simply in the mood for exploration.

The Sandman: Endless Nights contains seven chapters, each depicting a tale that spotlights a member of the eternal Endless. At least that’s the concept, even if not fully demonstrated. “Fifteen Portraits of Despair” is exactly that, fifteen vignettes of personal, rather than the entity’s, woe presented, with what we’ll call art, by Barron Storey. “On the Peninsula”, supposedly Destruction’s story, instead focuses on two archaeologists, as well as Delirium, but not as much of the lone brother whose name graces the chapter page. However, the concluding story, on Destiny, does indeed prominently show the character… as he walks through his garden.

The other four tales are all much more in line with both the characters and the prose expected by Gaiman, and all with beautiful art. Particular of note is Delirium’s “Going Inside” as Bill Sienkiewicz’s mixed-media renderings are a fantastic call back to his early Marvel work.

Endless Nights was published in 2003, which is when I originally read, and promptly forgot about, this graphic novel. Mostly targeted towards series completists, this novel is completely accessible for all of Neil’s impressive fanbase as he delves into the realms of fantasy and history, science-fiction and horror, and, of course, dreams. Gaiman’s library, however, certainly contains other top-shelf reads for the promotion of a good night’s sleep. Endless or not.


As Always,
theJOE

Brighton Rocks

Brighton is a gritty whodunit murder mystery wrapped in the backdrop of a working man’s crime story – and I loved every minute of reading it.

"Brighton"
Michael Harvey

Michael Harvey has been compared to Elmore Leonard, and high-praise aside, that’s a fair enough assessment. Harvey generates seedy characters aplenty, writes quick, crisp dialogue with a lightning-fast plot. But man, I see Dennis Lehane’s worthy handy work all over the place like fingerprints in a Southie brothel. The Boston setting aside, Harvey, like Lehane, paints the environ in unflatteringly-realistic hues. The potholed streets, the weed-infested parks, the dirty benches, and slophouse pubs. Homes aren’t just lived-in spaces, but overused and dilapidated. Everyone in the neighborhood is working on con, even if that con is simply staying alive while commiserating over a Sam Adams, while the sky above is eternally gray and cold.

The mystery brought forth in Brighton involves the murders of a number of different women, similar in class, perhaps, save for one. Newly-crowned, Pulitzer-winning, investigative journalist/walking cliché Kevin Pearce takes on the task of putting clues together, even though most of those clues point to his childhood buddy Bobby Scales… as well as himself. Craziness ensues and the mystery runs as deep as the 70s while Harvey snares you as reader, making each chapter-break a mini-cliffhanger prompting you to read on and on throughout the night and to hell with that 8 AM marketing call you have scheduled for the next morning. Yeah, Brighton pounds you like the Bruins D and makes you ask for more.

I’ve been to Boston all of two times in my life. After reading tales such as these, I should have no desire to return. Although, I think I do. I want to walk these mapped-out roads, and throw back a shot of Finnegan’s at some Market Street hole. To be haunted as I roam the cobblestones. But I could definitely live without having to be murdered to enjoy the story.


As Always,
theJOE

Good Stories by the Right Type… Writer

Tom Hanks wrote a book. Yeah… that Tom Hanks. You know, the Academy Award-winner who is the closest to taking on that “everyman” actor mantle since the departure of Jimmy Stewart? And his book, Uncommon Type, is really quite fun.

Uncommon Type is a collection of 17 short stories. Like any anthology, the stories presented within are a mixed bag depending, of course, on the reader’s taste, station of life, and adventures that being on the road will take said reader to the place in time when this book is actually read. Some within are very good. So good, in fact, you don’t want them to end; you crave for the full novel. Some are charming enough to be enjoyable, but also be charmingly forgettable. Four of them, and thank Tom there are only four, are mortally terrible.

Of the very good, Hanks presents the following: Three Exhausting Weeks presents the fun tale of four friends, two of which decide to experiment with the old friends-with-benefits idea. Christmas Eve 1953 tells of a WWII vet who recounts his time overseas ten years back. A Month on Greene Street has a divorced mother encountering her possibly-flirtatious neighbor all set on a mythical suburban street in August. And These Are the Meditations of My Heart is a love letter to the typewriter, which is a theme Hanks carries throughout the entire novel as typewriters of all kinds make an appearance in each of his stories.

The very bad all involve a cranky writer named Hank Fiset who complains about technology and New York and coffee and wishes life could remain stuck in the 1960s American Midwest, which actually sounds like hell to me. And those stories are as close to that infernal realm as I chose to presently get. They are also mercifully short.

Full disclosure here. I listened to the audiobook, because I can listen to Tom Hanks speak for much longer than the ten hours spent enjoying this book. And for an auditory treat, Hanks, he’s an actor remember, adds certain flair to some of the stories. In Go See Costas, for instance, Hanks recounts the story of a Bulgarian-by-way-of-Greece immigrant coming to New York. Hanks plays up a mild accent for the role, which is a nice touch to a nice story that reminds readers that, oh yeah, America is still one great big melting pot, regardless of what “Those-In-Office” may otherwise think. He concludes with a radio-style play, complete with an appearance from bosom buddy Peter Scolari, that is painfully campy, but solid in heart.

Hanks knows how to craft a story; the man can tell a tale. And most of the stories within follow his everyman, and every-woman in a number of instances, ideals. Some of the stories let you get lost in the world he creates, while others are as uncommon as they are short, which is the ideal premise of what a collection of short stories should be all about. After all, didn’t Hanks once play a character that compared life’s choices to a box of… I dunno… something that comes in boxes… anvils? Right?


As Always,
theJOE

Trinity

Trinity

Bringing together DC’s Big Three for a world-saving spectacle is always an event and in 2003, comicbook-superstar Matt Wagner presented an “untold tale”, a “what-if”, a complete retcon actually, of the trio’s earliest adventures in Trinity. The story is big and bombastic as the heroes travel between the environs of gleaming Metropolis, dirty Gotham, and lush Themyscira, while fighting the combined villainy of the near-immortal Ra’s al Ghul, the Superman clone Bizarro, and a fugitive Amazon going by the handle of Artemis. Wagner’s art, always a pleasure to see, is fun as is reading early interactions between the Big Three… if one ignores the plot’s faults.

Wagner produced this three-chapter series at a time when his talents were focused more as a writer; having his stylized art appear in a prestige-format series was a treat for hardcore fans. Wagner’s Batman is a menace of solid muscle and fluid shadows. Superman is portrayed an icon, a sun god attempting to balance his humanity. His Wonder Woman is beauty personified in her pose and grace, set apart from mankind, yet not above. Likewise, Ra’s is dignified, taking pride in his arrogance and venom. Artemis is a punk, both shallow and young. Yet, there is not a complete confluence between the sets of three. Batman is angry for anger’s sake, yet somehow finds himself charmed by the gorgeous Diana. Similarly, at no time does Wonder Woman get a full stake of authority in the presence of her super boy friends. Artemis is never provided a backstory and then never heard from again as clearly this is not the same Artemis who eventually rises to the station of Wonder Woman herself. Even Ra’s one-track plan of global conquest through global genocide is as ever-changing as the sands of his birth; he never gets to one-up on the heroes, rather constantly changes his attack for the convenience of the plot.

Ultimately, Trinity is a showcase for the Big Three to stand in the sun together and rejoice in their triumph, and in their friendship. Wagner is successful at weaving in key characterizations from each of the heroes, yet some of his decisions, again, are merely opportunistic. The mindless Bizarro, used for brute strength alone, does not live up to his potential as the human Batman takes-on the creature, albeit in pre-Dark Knight Returns-esque Bat-armor. The brutal slaughter of Amazonian warriors by 21st Century war machines is both distressing and wholly out-of-place thematically. Artemis’ strength, as well as her prowess, fluctuates inconsistently. Even Diana’s dip into a Lazarus Pit mostly goes ignored as, thankfully, she is not resorted back as clay.

As a standalone, at face value, Trinity is a fun, action-packed tale of the world’s finest as they learn to be comfortable around each other. Wagner’s cartoony-art style amps the element of mirth; this is clearly a story to be enjoyed, not pondered upon. However, one cannot help but wish the plot went deeper and that more risks were taken, elevating what is a fun story to that of something spectacular.

Trinity has a lot to be desired when trying to determine its place within the established continuity of its three protagonists. If anything, Matt Wagner, when given the chance to create a new and untold tale, blatantly ignores post-Crisis, post-Legends continuity in order to fit the surroundings of his tale. Other than trying to answer, where would this story fit, one should ask if it even should.

A warning to all you readers, here below is where geeks reside.


Crisis on Infinite Earths ended with the original Wonder Woman devolving back to clay as the multiverse is reset. Heroes rise anew. Superman is launched in a birthing matrix from a sterile Krypton. A ten-year-old Bruce Wayne witnesses his parents’ murder as a string of broken pearls fall to the ground. Flashes and Hawkmen come and go. And the DCU is set for its age of Legends.

Crisis was followed up with the series Legends that forged a path for the characters who had since been rebooted to go forward anew and end with the reformation of the all-new, all-different Justice League. Legends also reintroduced Wonder Woman to the post-Crisis DCU. Now how much time actually passes for the characters until the events in Legends occur is debatable, as are all comic book timelines, but the Zero Hour timeline places a four year mark starting from the debut of super-hero mainstays such as Superman, Batman, Black Canary (the Post-Crisis Wonder Woman surrogate), Green Arrow, and Aquaman (more on him later), as well as second-tier characters such as the Elongated Man and Zatanna, up until Legends, and the debut of Wonder Woman. Meaning, a lot of time has already passed since the establishment of Superman and Batman and the so-called Heroic Age until these heroes meet Diana of Themyscira.

Wonder Woman #1 (Feb '87)

Wonder Woman Vol 2 launched in February 1987 and aside from Legends, she remained mostly inclusive to her own title. Even the next multi-title crossover, Millennium, only sees sparse action from Diana. Aside from lending an assist to the Green Lantern Corps and a quick cameo from the League, her Millennium crossover issues primarily dealt with an established conflict internal to her own series.

Wonder Woman’s next participation on the grand DCU stage is her big “date” with Superman. Superman, at the time, had been dreaming of the Amazon princess since Legends. Comic creator John Byrne, who was the chief Superman architect since his Man Of Steel reboot, decided to tease the fans with a Superman/Wonder Woman romance. Adventures of Superman #440 (May 1988)

Adv. of Superman #440
(May '88)

ends with the two meeting, and Superman immediately engaging with a lip lock worthy of his kiss with Lois in Superman II. That super-smooch directly leads into Action Comics #600 (May 1988), where fans realize that such a romance is not, nor will it ever, be. That issue also marks the change in the title’s format and becomes a weekly book (for the next 42 issues); prior to #600, Action was the designated Superman team-up book since Byrne’s reboot of the character. However, Adventures #440 also was important for another reason.

Superman #1 (Jan '87)

Starting in the rebooted Superman #1, Superman discovers a scrapbook containing press clippings of his earliest exploits; he then proceed to turn the book over to Batman to look into this mystery. The scrapbook, it was discovered, belonged to the Kents, proud parents of the soon-to-be Superman. And really, the scrapbook is irrelevant. However, it is in this issue that Batman learns Superman’s identity. As a result, Superman uses his x-ray vision and peeks behind Batman’s cowl, discovering the vigilante is Bruce Wayne. Four years of activity and knowledge of each other finally led up to this discovery – a first in the post-Crisis DCU. Superman files away and immediately lands in the arms of Diana.

Let’s now get back to Trinity, a story supposedly set during their early careers.

Throughout Trinity, Batman is shown in his gray outfit with the simple black bat insignia. This in itself is not the most glaring of continuity errors. Even though this story should be set in the time where Batman’s costume sported the yellow oval, there are plenty of creators that ignored such detail for what could be looked at as out-of-continuity stories, such as those presented within the Legends of theDark Knight anthology series.

Why should Batman have the yellow oval? Because as of Adventures #440, that was his established costume and that was when the heroes learned each others’ identities. Within Trinity, such secrets are already open as Clark Kent receives a ride from Bruce Wayne.

Another inconsistency is the appearance of Wonder Woman’s invisible plane. When the Wonder Woman title was rebooted, she was granted the ability of flight, so the need for such transport was irrelevant. Wonder Woman’s invisible plane does not make its official post-Crisis appearance until much, much later in the continuity of her title. Again, this can be possibly dismissed with a No-Prize worthy thought along the lines of… maybe the Amazons had it lying around the Diana wanted to take it for a test drive. Right?

An argument could be made that Trinity happens following the team-up in Action #600, after all, this would still be an early adventure as far as Wonder Woman is concerned. The only other allusion to how early an adventure this might be occurs during the heroes’ visit to the Batcave, where a young, dark-haired lad is shown. The boy is never mentioned by name but this could easily be Jason Todd, who was the active Robin at the time.

However, and in spite of all that has been referenced, there is one underlying factor that destroys any sense of continuity: Aquaman.

In issue 3, Batman is racing underwater in a Bat-sub only to encounter – for his first time – Aquaman.

Secret Origins #32
(Nov '88)

Obviously, if Clark and Bruce are already hip to each other’s aliases, Aquaman would have been well established not to mention being a founding member of the Justice League ofAmerica. Aquaman’s appearance eradicates any semblance of post-Legends continuity. Boom. Good-bye. Welcome to the end of the map.

Maybe not all is lost. Let’s look back further then. Perhaps this could be a hidden story from a pre-Crisis Earth-1 detailing one of the first times Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman, all met. Unfortunately there are continuity errors with that as well. Most noticeably, Bizarro, who is referred to as a clone multiple times. The Bizarro clone was introduced post-Crisis as an attempt for Lex Luthor to gain possession of a completely subservient Superman. In fact, Luthor, who is a corrupt businessman in the post-Crisis DCU, has his LexCorp Tower shown in the pages of Trinity. Yes, the pre-Crisis Bizarro was a Superman “duplicate”, also created by Luthor, but set more in vein as a Frankenstein’s Monster, albeit one who worked everything in reverse.

End result? Trinity is a fun read that is completely ignorant of any sense of continuity and really should have carried the Elseworlds banner, which was a DC imprint allowing top-tier creators, such as Matt Wagner, the opportunity to play with known characters in different, alternate settings. Trinity would have been perfect for this imprint and would have allowed Wagner the freedom push those relational boundaries a lot more than he did.

Trinity is fun, but also probably best forgotten.


As Always,
theJOE

God 101

Biblical, and using that term generically, texts aside, author-scholar Reza Aslan charts the history – and the concept – of God, providing a fascinating follow-up to Zealot, where he de-constructed and then re-constructed a historical look at Jesus the Messiah. Here, Aslan does not solely present the Jewish/Christian/Muslim God, but theorizes how the idea of “god” is so prevalent with human history; a concept that either most people, devout or not, might have either taken for granted, or simply not have given an origin story much thought. After all, the God of the Big-Three never really required an origin as, in the case with those religions, In The Beginning… God… Right?

Within God: A Human History, Aslan presents a palatable historical journey that traces the idea of God starting from prehistoric times, where an all-encompassing spirit of nature was dominant, to the pantheon of Greek, Roman, and Egyptian gods, to how monotheism became dominant after the Babylonian conquest of Israel, through the birth of Christianity, and finally to the rise of Islam. The pacing skips ahead through history at an outstanding rate. Aslan devotes significant time to the prehistoric concept of God, pointing out the examples of the Trois-Frères caves of southwest France and the stone temple of Göbekli Tepe in Turkey, but then rockets ahead to introduce the God of the Big-Three, yet spends startling little time in referencing why other cultures have been able to follow religious systems, such as Buddhism, without a deity at their center. Rather, he focuses much of his thesis at the idea of a humanized God.

Aslan approaches the topic as subjectively as possible and, as was bluntly noticed in Zealot, does so without the allusion of faith - for the most part. Aslan does present a beautiful illustration in showing that God is akin to a prism of light, where yellow and blue and violet can all be viewed as perspectives change, yet it is all light from the same source. As an open-minded Christian, this is a outlook I have long adhered to and appreciate the back-up in these conservative times. Aslan, however, goes several steps further with his personal enlightenment of pantheism – that “God” is present in all creation at all times and with everyone. This is his explanation on how one god could be capable of both good and evil, as the concept of “god” has been thoroughly humanized and personified. Aslan is committed in his argument, but such beliefs might be seen as heretical with his Christian and Muslim readership, while the less devout might placate such as hippy-dippy baloney.

God: A Human History is successful in showing the importance of God, which is the true underlying factor in tying humanity together.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Random House for the opportunity to read Aslan’s latest and consider this review my recommendation for others. Read it for the history, for the viewpoints, for the opinions, just keep your faith on hand as a bookmark.


As Always,
theJOE

A Little Too Much

Thomas Mullen certainly gives his readers the service they want with Lightning Men. Building off the previous novel, Darktown, Mullen goes deeper into the plight of Boggs and Smith and their careers as Atlanta’s first African-American police officers. He builds on the story of Officer Denny Rakestraw, a white officer who is not totally opposed to the idea of black officers, but finds himself living in a transition town – white suburbia now threatened to become another Darktown. Mullen’s plot twists and turns with real estate deals, moonshine and marijuana, and tensions between the always-incompetent KKK and their threatening successors, the Colombians. All and this more is breached cover-to-cover in one of the very few times that the old adage once made famous by Sir Mick about too much never being enough is unfortunately not true as Lightning Men suffers from that dreaded curse of sequelitis.

You know, that stigmata is not entirely fair. Lightning Men is a compelling, well-written, and highly entertaining read. Mullen fleshes out 1950s Atlanta and presents the attitude of the city and the blatant bigotry throughout. Mullen digs deeper with his plot, tying various, complicated threads to key characters and letting the reader watch it all unfold. Yet, some of this plot is too obtuse. The map presented sprawls and rambles as long and as wide as Peachtree Street. Maybe Mullen binge watches Game of Thrones and as such, gives too much importance to the B-, C-, and D-story arcs, thus taking away the importance – and the very relevance – of the A-story. Crime novel readers don’t want a ramble down a shady lane in the sun. They want a punch to the gut. Hard punches. With a blow to the nose and a killer uppercut to knock you out. Lightning Men doesn’t have enough punches, but plenty of weaving and feints.

Lightning Men is a worthy follow-up and is successful in structuring, then embellishing, the characters’ arcs. However, too many new characters are introduced and with that comes a level of convenience in working the plot around these new characters and as a result, the story suffers.

Just a little. But just too much.

Yet not enough to keep me away from my next visit to Darktown.


As Always,
theJOE

Revenge Served Cold

Following the Empire Strikes Back-sized cliffhanger that ended Poisonfeather, Matthew FitzSimmons’ messed-up ex-Marine hacker Gibson Vaughn returns after an eighteen-month absence and is looking for revenge. And although Gibson wants a heaping served ice cold, his thought processes are similarly frozen. His interactions with PTSD-originated ghosts clearly show is not on the top of his game as he was in the debut The Short Drop. FitzSimmons does a fantastic job at getting into Vaughn’s complicated head and makes him sympathetic voice as the reader commiserates with his on-going stress. For all the internal conflict, however, the first act narrative suffers.

If Cold Harbor was season 3 of the Gibson Vaughn drama on FX (and not a bad idea actually, you paying attention Mr. Landgraf?), the network would be hard pressed to ramp up new viewers without the benefit of binge-watching. The novel has a similar circumstance where the familiar reader must fight to play catch up, yet rewards loyal readers to the very end. For someone new coming in who just happens to pick up a copy at the neighborhood Barnes & Noble? Fuhgeddaboudit. FitzSimmons works in backstory and allows a catch-up with the on-going mythos, but initially the reader can be just as confused as the story’s protagonist.

FitzSimmons weaves together action with a hearty bit of internal self-loathing and angst. Gibson’s conversations with his ghosts are not merely metaphorical, but a plot device that, thankfully, does not overstay its welcome, and, contrary to the standard cliché, borders on the detrimental.

Plot-wise, FitzSimmons picks up on the pseudo-cliffhanger from The Short Drop and has Gibson go after the missing George Abe, who was completely MIA during Poisonfeather, while reuniting with cast members from both previous books, strengthening this creator universe. Another strength that gets focus is Vaughn’s humanity and his tendency to doubt, his own fallibility. A hacker by trade, Gibson is by no means the super-genius Cisco Ramon from The Flash, nor do his skills present the ultimate deus ex machina in planned contrivances. He’s good with code, not so much with relationships, and striving to better at both.

Cold Harbor, named for the Blackwater-ish PMC ne’er-do-well, brings a fitting conclusion to the Gibson Vaughn trilogy. FitzSimmons has created a likable character with an enjoyable series. Vaughn is cocky, but knows his limits, more introverted than a one-line joker, and deserves a return engagement. Get working, Matt.


Thanks to NetGalley and Thomas & Mercer for the advance proof, for not only Cold Harbor, but introducing me previously to The Short Drop and Poisonfeather. I have certainly enjoyed the ride.


As Always,
theJOE

The Greatest American Hero

I finished reading Nancy Schoenberger’s introduction – a well-crafted, passionate account on masculinity from a woman’s perspective, mostly derived through cinematic heroes, such as watching John Wayne westerns, although with the obligatory nods to her father – and immediately turned to my wife stating she had to read this primer. In this world of Wonder Woman and where the glass ceiling is arguably (at least?) scratched, this is the perfect time to hear from a woman on Wayne, who was truly one of those man’s man, like Bogey and Mitchum whose fast-talkin’ wit and sharp muscles fed the ideals of Boomers to Gen X boys nationwide, and John Ford, the man who helped forge Duke’s image.

Like Schoenberger, I grew up on Duke’s film’s and own The Searchers on Blu-Ray for the sole purpose of showing the film to my own boys (full confession: I also have Yojimbo and Hidden Fortress reserved for future viewings as well) but after reading her book I learned that my knowledge only ran as deep as the big hits. Schoenberger goes deeper. Wayne and Ford: The Films, the Friendship and the Forging of an American Hero, Schoenberger avoids presenting a full biography on each man, acknowledging their tales have been told before. Yes, it is impossible to avoid such, but similar to what Bill Shatner recently accomplished in his 2016 recounting of his friendship with Leonard Nimoy in Leonard: My Fifty-Year Friendship with a Remarkable Man, Schoenberger focuses on the often-contentious working relationship between Duke Wayne and Jack Ford and the nearly twenty films they made together.

More than that, Schoenberger provides critical examinations on many of those films, including the aforementioned Searchers, the Cavalry trilogy (Fort Apache, She Wore A Yellow Ribbon, Rio Grande), Stagecoach, as well as Duke’s directorial debut, The Alamo. Schoenberger ponders the essential morality lesson of these films specifically, as well as Westerns generally, and theorizes on the macho image of Hollywood heroes from the more recent past: Gibson, Schwarzenegger, Willis. What do Westerns teach us, she asks and follows up with why are we missing those lessons today?

Their personal lives are accounted for within. Duke’s failed marriages and eventual cancer diagnosis. The possibility of John Ford’s suppressed homosexuality. She asides into separate projects, most noticeably the final three Westerns Wayne filmed without Ford, yet deliberately avoids other independent projects, most noticeably Rio Bravo, one of Duke’s most referenced films. She shows their relationship is more than mentor-student and truly becomes one of father-and-son.

Wayne and Ford is an excellent round-up and review of the work produced by two of the genre’s best. Ford had his Monument Valley. Wayne his stance, his drawl. Both are missed. Wayne and Ford lets you remember and learn.

Thanks to NetGalley and Nan A. Talese for the chance to read and review this enjoyable ARC.


As Always,
theJOE

Another Countdown to a Different Doomsday

The Batman/Flash crossover is a tease and, like most teases, the end result could have been presented in half of the time, and honestly, with more of a kicker to the ending that, anyone familiar with the origins of Comedian’s button, would have surmised from the beginning.

Looking at that beginning, Batman/Flash: The Button collection excludes the issue/s where the blood-splattered button from the Watchmen series first arrives in the DCU proper. Having the button residing in the Batcave is gospel and has as much needed backstory as that huge T-Rex statue Alfred is constantly dusting. Instead, this crossover provides a fun fight between the Batman and the Reverse Flash that any fan of the Flash’s CW TV show will enjoy, includes an unnecessary visit to the Flashpoint universe that no one really asked for, and is packed with tons of foreshadowing and set up for DC’s upcoming Geoff Johns’ project that is supposed to unite the Watchmen characters with the mainstays from the DCU. Most assuredly, Alan Moore is already spinning in his self-dug grave.

This edition collects two issues apiece from the current runs of both Batman and The Flash. Tom King writes Batman and is paired with artist Jason Fabok, whose art is really what elevates the book. Like the DCEU movie Batman, Fabok’s character is all scruffy and gray, silent and righteous. Fabok  borrows the nine-grid panel layout that the Watchmen made famous, and does justice to the homage. The Flash issues are written by Joshua Williamson, who is both contemporary and safe. Veteran artist Howard Porter provides visuals that are punchy at times, sketchy most others. The work of John Dell, his finisher from their long-time-ago JLA series, is sorely missed.

Throughout the issues, Batman and Flash fight Reverse Flash, run through time, and question the existence of the button without coming to a meaningful conclusion. A Watchmen character makes a kinda-sorta cameo. A tease of the incorporation of a long-standing DC icon fills the epilogue, concluding a tale that is over almost as fast as, well, you-know-who.

This collection is successful from the standpoint that the creators brought forth a product they were commissioned to make: an interesting lead-up for November’s Doomsday Clock. Another Countdown in the DCU, albeit tighter and contained. Another Doomsday, albeit less Kryptonian in origin. Consider me teased.

At least Blue Beetle didn’t die in this one.

A big Bat-thank you to my Flash-friends at NetGalley and DC Comics for the preview ARC.


As Always,
theJOE

The Weight of the Deal

Adapting a 19th Century Russian fable into a contemporary setting, albeit one 30 some years back in the hey-days of the early eighties, and from a first-time author no less, can be considered a gamble. With Queen Of Spades, Michael Shou-Yung Shum doubles down and beats the house. And as much as I would like for that to be the last gambling metaphor of the review, the speed and tone of the book simply will not allow me to throw down markers on Odd when the roulette wheel will definitely come up Even. Shum, you see, has a way of stacking the deck in his favor.

Set in a unique casino in the Pacific Northwest, Queen Of Spades focuses on a new dealer and his quest to understand the system of Countess, a legend in those parts who only plays the high-stake tables. Shum deals in other players, a dying pit boss, a sad-sack gambler, the ex-wife attending 12-step recovery meetings, a palm-reading teen among others, whose tales are just as unique to that of the dealt hand. More Robert Altman than Woody Allen, although Shum plays tight with themes of both humor and friendship, Shum focuses on his cast of characters, ensuring the prime players are available for the climatic big deal. By the end of that hand, and the read, when all players have called, a few of those folded tales become lost amongst the victory of others, and is a slight problem that is easily forgotten and forgiven.

Shum has a light, easy tone making Queen Of Spades a fun read not only through his narrative, but also as he picks and tempts with the theory of the gamble, the strategy behind the play, and how luck envelops it all.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Forest Avenue Press for dealing me into this well-played round. I feel like a winner.


As Always,
theJOE

What this Ranger needs is the A-Team

The Ranger is over 300 pages of shady politicians, a suspicious land deal, Neo-Nazi meth dealers, and a gutsy pregnant girl. Ennui settles in around page 40. In fact, it is only the location – rural Mississippi during the cold winter months – that provides any sense of difference as even the title character, Ranger Quinn Colson, doesn’t do much other than brood silently, brag soundly, and eat a fair share of eggs and ham. And if anything, that is exactly what The Ranger needed more of: ham with a healthy side of cheese. Instead, all we get is dry toast.  

Ace Atkins provides his natural take on the surroundings, the environment, the establishment of characters,  yet he doesn’t get any deeper than that. Colson is the typical silent type who is wound so tightly he is incapable of any action that doesn’t come by way of orders from some CO while out on patrol in Nowheresistan. His lone friend is a Stand By Me good ole boy who doesn’t get any characterization outside of his initial introduction. The villains are predictable. The backstabbing inevitable. Even the high noon showdown is wrapped up in a scant two or three pages with the cavalry’s arrival feeling more Appaloosa-slow than some needed over-the-top-ness ala The A-Team.

The hillbilly/redneck justice genre can be a real hootnanny. Shoot, even good old-fashioned western-style revenge tales get the blood a’flowin’ and the pages a’turnin’. The Ranger is a series of stop-and-starts, of teases and foundation laying. The good boy grimaces and bad guy postulating within has all the uniformity of Barry Manilow when what you really want is the spontaneity of James Brown. Or the A-Team. 


As Always,
theJOE

Dope

Icarus, much like its mythological namesake, starts out openly enough. Writer/director Bryan Fogel, obviously undergoing a mid-life crisis, seeks to rise above his competition and win an long-eluded amateur bike race by subscribing to a doping program ala Lance Armstrong and Tyler Hamilton. His gonzo-ish film about cheating the system then takes a serious turn as he flies extremely close to the sun by becoming involved with Russian doping superstar, Grigory Rodchenkov, just prior to the 2016 summer Olympics and Russian scandal – the doping scandal that is, taking into consideration another very serious scandal that occurred in the United States later that year in November, an event this film alludes to.

Fogel’s film presents a complete analysis of Russia’s athletic doping program and its pervasive influence on all of its athletes while providing a revealing look at how the conspiracy came to light leading to the eventual banning of 68 Russian athletes from Rio. The documentary is so compelling you cannot look away.

Rodchenkov, who comes across as a favorite crazy uncle, blasts away on camera with truths and proofs that lead to WADA and the IOC’s landmark decision. Rodchenkov equally has no problems with broadcasting his opinions concerning President Vladimir Putin’s fear-laden regime. If Putin and the KGB can easily evade the IOC, imagine what other high-level larceny exists that can be used to, ahem, trump other standards.

Icarus presents art dictating life, where one rather flaky story uncovers a very-real conspiracy that affects so many. This is not merely a sports documentary, rather a politically human one with real consequences, and needs to be viewed. Here’s hoping the Academy’s nomination committee is taking note, as Icarus has the potential to win gold of its own.


As Always,
theJOE

Not the Freshest Affair

There is no denying that Nelson DeMille is a master of action, thrillers, and debatably-good one-liners. He also makes for a rather good globetrotter reporting on locales that the normal traveler probably doesn’t have at the top of their bucket list: Russia, Yemen, and now, Cuba. However, the one problem with niche writers is that their beloved style can sometimes be encapsulating. New stories might be enjoyable, neo-noir reads, but are not necessary the freshest.

The Cuban Affair, DeMille’s latest, drops Daniel "Mac" MacCormick, ex-Ranger now sea captain, directly into the Obama-era “Cuban Thaw” where he is hired to help Cuban dissidents in recovering pre-Castro property deeds, and maybe a whole ton of cash, all while trying to escape from Havana. Mac is a fun, archetypal DeMille alpha male. He prefers beer to wine, one-liners to pillow-talk, and has the libido of a seventeen-year-old. Mac is a good guy, and someone you would want on your side in a fight. Or a good game of cornhole. Yet, he is hardly original. In fact, the name “Daniel MacCormick” could easily be replaced with DeMille regulars “John Corey” or “John Sutter” and aside from environment settings, no one would be the wiser.

DeMille, of course, knows his audience and easily provides that which has made him popular. The Cuban Affair is a fun, thankfully-fast read that allows DeMille to postulate Cuba’s place in the current global community while making sure good ole Communism is still the go-to baddie as the CIA remains the slightly lesser of two evils. As original as the Caribbean setting is, the infiltrate-and-escape plot is certainly not. DeMille peppers the chase with fun characters and clever dialogue, but even that only has the appeal of a Corona Light, when the long-time fan is thirsty for a cuba libre. Right?


Many thanks to Simon & Schuster and NetGalley for the ARC, as well as to Nelson DeMille, who remains one of my favorite authors and whom I would share a Corona with anytime.


As Always,
theJOE

Simply Floats Rather than Swims

Full props to Paula Hawkins; she knows how to craft a good mystery. Look at her debut novel, The Girl On The Train. The tale was full of dead-on despicable characters, but the compelling narrative unfolded itself into a highly enjoyable whodunit mystery of grief, lies, and murder.

Hawkins does the same with her follow-up, Into The Water. She slowly, yet methodically, unveils the mystery of why a number of women seemingly commit suicide by drowning in a lake in northwestern England, all told through the accounts and perspectives of entirely unreliable spectators. Two of these deaths, Nel and Katie, are the focus of the investigation by the local constabulary as well as by Lena, Nel’s daughter and Katie’s friend. Hawkins continues her theme of using highly-flawed, emotionally-unstable characters, but these archetypes work well in the environs of a small town where gossip is king and not all neighbors can properly balance each other’s blemishes.

Hawkins’ writing style plods more than needed this time around. Excerpts of a book written by Nel prior to her death appear within this novel with the premise of providing local back story, instead they simply draw out the tale into a unnecessarily longer read. And as with any good mystery, there are multiple reveals and feints, yet one of the larger ones comes to soon, dampening the impact of future disclosures, and slowing down the cat-and-mouse chase as Lena and her aunt, Jules, become involved deeper than intended while the police prove to be more of a groundless threat than actual help.

Into the Water makes a significant attempt at swimming above the standard genre flotsam, yet its weightiness pulls it under time and again, much like Nel and Katie, until it finally bobs ashore. By no means a disappointing read, picking up a faster current, however, would have avoiding unnecessary bailing.


As Always,
theJOE

IQ and the Hounds of Bakersfield

Sherlock Holmes updates are a plenty in the early 21st century. Guy Ritchie’s take has RDJ as a bare-fisted fighter. Steven Moffat’s Sherlock, like any Millennial, is glued to his Smartphone while Watson is married to a superspy. Then comes author Joe Ide whose eponymous character is a young, black man in LA solving crimes for the poor folk of the ‘hood for payments of blueberry muffins. IQ drives a maxed out Audi while Watson, this time going with the rhyming handle Dodson, is a Tupac-loving, ex-drug dealer. And brother it works.

Hardly your typical noir LA PI, Isaiah Quintabe is a quiet man who has the gift of observation. As a means of absolution, he simply wishes to help, while his former roommate, Dodson, who sets himself up as IQ’s business manager, gets him involved in a case involving a rapper targeted by a hitman who specializes in breeding pit bulls. Ide provides a hip-hop soundtrack as the unlikely duo works the case while the b-plot reveals the friends’ former criminal ways that breaks IQ away from the genre and into an untapped realm.

Ide’s dialogue is fresh and, typical of the Sherlock genre, revealing as IQ proves himself, distances himself, from mundane, particularly those in his community who see happiness by way of Benjamins and bling. The plot is fast and fun if even the solution runs on the convenient side. Best yet, Ide has a follow-up planned. Having more IQ is always a good thing.


As always,
theJOE

Magic.

Magic. Pure magic.

A few themes were gleaned within the pages of Spoonbenders. Magic tricks come with a cost. True magic is often times pure luck. Case in point. Daryl Gregory shows that plot can outweigh craft as there is no special legerdemain present with his phrasing, his descriptions. But the story? The characters? Magic.

Spoonbenders follows the Amazing Telemachus Family, a one-time TV sensation of psychics and con artists who are now all older, sadder, and defeated. Irene, the eldest, is a single mother in a dead-end job. Frankie, who is always looking for the Next Big Thing, owes money everywhere, including the mob. Buddy is a clairvoyant basket case. Mattie, a teen barely coming into his own. And Teddy, the patriarch, who might be pulling one last confidence game in hopes to save everyone.

Gregory wisely turns away from setting up yet another X-Men style situation of freaks banding together outside of society in order to save it. Instead, he focuses on the normalcy, the relevancy, of the family dynamic and all its wonders: puberty, unemployment, sickness, marriage, failed dreams. He asks how can fame, something that was once briefly tasted, be regained? He sets up a ticking clock and a countdown to one glorious dénouement of card sharking, astral projection and, perhaps, with some luck, a little spoonbending as the reader is treated to a story full of amazement and wonder. And why not? Magic.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Knoff for this entertaining, magical read.


As Always,
theJOE

Compelling Mystery; Cliché Drama

Initially reading through Everything I Never Told You, those other players in the American family drama genre game come to mind. And not those pseudo-comedic slices of live stories that Parenthood and Grand Canyon were so fantastic at portraying, rather, something much more Americana – the family tragedy. Like Ordinary People, or American Beauty to be slightly more contemporary, where the family bond is decapitated by one destroying event.

The event within Celeste Ng’s book is the death of teenager Lydia Lee. Ng unfolds the mystery surrounding such – was her death a murder, a suicide, or simply a terrible accident – while revealing  the secrets, both personal and, more often than not, trite, of the entire Lee family. The Lees, a typical Chinese-American family living in Ohio in the late 1970s you see, are not so typical, as Ng presses to expand upon. And she mostly succeeds.

Those initial genre reactions degrade as the Lees, it is realized, are typical. They run through the same fears and desires and stresses of every other family, albeit without ready access to SSRIs. That normality that has been promoted to the super-normal becomes super-annoying as the novel digresses into a downward spiral of complaining, whining, and ungratefulness. James, the patriarch and provider, is stuck in a standard job. Marilyn, the Anglo-wife, who dreams of being more than a mom. The siblings, all three of them, are normal, and boring, and ignored, and invisible. Everything I Never Told You, builds on the compelling mystery of Lydia’s death on top of all the clichés of a standard drama yet is providential enough not to collapse.

Perhaps the most surprising theme uncovered is that Ng almost wants this mixed-marriage to fail. As if this novel were a thesis on how inter-racial marriages cannot, and maybe should not, succeed – a theme that when using a 21st Century vantage is most absurd. To her credit, however, she does emphasis the difficulties such a family dynamic would present, especially in 1970s Ohio.

Ng has a pleasant, accepting writing style and plots the story with a progressive pace aptly exploring each personality. Unfortunately, the deeper those characters become, the more vexing they are revealed to be and the easier to ultimately forget. The emphasis of a family tragedy is to grieve when these characters befall a certain fate. Otherwise, all you get is Hamlet. Everything I Never Told You is more akin to a sigh of relief.


As Always,
theJOE

May Da Force Be With You!

Aside from being a Don Winslow fan and looking forward to reading his latest, having a cover blurb from Stephen King, the grandmaster of all, likening the book to The Godfather, well, that was one helluva an endorsement. And folks, Uncle Stevie’s assessment ain’t wrong.

Winslow’s The Force, set in a present day, post 9/11 NYC, is an in-your-face lesson of the realities of life and politics in the Big Apple so vivid you can smell the garbage. And if anything, The Force has a lot of it, including, at times, the book’s protagonists. Winslow, by way of Manhattan North Special Task Force lead Det. Sgt. Denny Malone, plays host and opens a tour of Harlem - the eateries, the theaters, and also the projects, crack houses, safe houses, hospitals, and precincts - all through a clipped, narrative slang that would make Raymond Chandler proud were he alive and reading in the 21st Century.

The Force, consisting of NYPD blue bloods Malone, Russo, and Montague, play kings of their kingdom. Tolerated by those they seek to protect, hated by the skells they are up against. They rule by fear, by strength, and sometimes are even in alignment with the law. They seek power by taking power, as well as few token items as spoils of war, being victors and all that. Yet they are brothers. Family men. Lovers, and jesters. They want to do right for their kids and succeed enough to shower off the filth of the day. But things go wrong and kings often become conquered. Think The Shield but East Coast style.

Winslow does more than simply present another tale of cops gone bad. He tells how. He tells why. And he even attempts to provide justification, albeit through the Hollywood convenience of showing others as more reprehensible than those of the hero cops. The Force does question the blatant lack of values, demanding a return to uphold a higher honor in truth and justice. A theme that Winslow sidesteps, proclaiming instead that the end justifies the means. Except it often doesn’t. In life anyway. In Winslow’s New York? Being a bad ass with a shield of gold and fists of tempered steel? Might just be the coolest cat this side of Vic Mackey.


As Always,
theJOE

Genre Fare, Neither Dark nor Forbidden

A gothic horror romance starring Deadman? Think about it. A match made in Nanda Parbat, right? Shockingly, no. Deadman: Dark Mansion of Forbidden Love mostly focuses around Berenice, a woman who is sensitive to, and can observe, ghosts, with Deadman underwhelmingly being used as a plot contrivance. Writer Sarah Vaughn provides a standard offering to the genre: murder, lost love,
unrecounted love (inexplicably gay love at that; a plot element tacked on seemingly to satisfy a quota and never explored or explained), and the unsurprising return of a dastardly villain steeped in the dark arts.

As for the art? Lan Medina showcases slick, detailed visuals that, when paired with digital painter Jose Villarrubia, transcends the typical graphic novel medium, look more akin to storybook art than superhero. Berenice is rendered as a normal, standard woman that definitely, and refreshingly, stands in contrast to the super-human existence of Boston Brand.

The art also contrasts against the staggering commonness of the story itself. Vaughn and Medina work together to produce a few genuinely creepy moments, but those are quickly forgotten and generally dulled down by a slow-moving plot complete with meaningless internal dialogue that would certainly have Frank Miller screaming at the walls of his studio in frustration. If anything, Dark Mansion of Forbidden Love shows that nothing is scarier than longing looks at an antique store.
Right.

Thanks to DC Comics and NetGalley for the ghost of a chance to read the advanced collector’s edition. This is a genre ripe for the taking in the magical DCU; it just needs to be properly grabbed.

As Always,
theJOE

A Procedural of Firearms from the 1930s

Somewhere within this concrete block of a novel, under the preposterously-macho dialogue, away from the run-on sentences filled with description upon description upon description, not to mention chapters worth of the intricacies involved with breaking down firearms, there lays a cool, fast story of historical fiction playing out a hard-as-balls Agent and his hunt of a wilily, rascal of a bank-robber. To find that story, brother, break out the chisels and jackhammers, as it’s a deep dig.

G-Man places the fictional character of Charles Swagger right into the state of play between the burgeoning FBI and a series of public enemies on the prowl in the early 1930s, such as the likes of John Dillinger and Baby-Face Nelson. Author Stephen Hunter adds to this narrative a present-day tale of Swagger’s grandson, Bob, and his quest to uncover the mystery of his grandfather. Both tales, alone and inter-twined, make for great pulp, crime fiction. Hunter unfortunately burdens that plot, something that should be hip, and light, and full of that post-1920s swing, with the procedurals of an old man telling a young whippersnapper the right way a task should be done.

Maybe this is simply Hunter’s style
that I, as the reader and reviewer, have not previously been privy to. However, as a reader and reviewer, I found his unyielding verbiage to be unnecessarily weighty, making for a dull read. And a release from an author named Hunter, featuring a character named Swagger, and with the cover boasting a fedora-clad agent bearing down with a Tommy gun, should be anything but dull.

A hail of bullets in thanks to NetGalley for the ARC.

As Always,
theJOE

A Short Story Slowly Expanded Upon

In a strange set of circumstances, Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere is a novelized adaptation of a BBC miniseries he co-created. Working backwards, as opposed to having a written work adapted for film (Stardust) or TV (American Gods), Neil fleshes out the everyman hero of Richard Mayhew and delves deeper into the fantastical and eye-winkingly comical land of London Below, complete with black friars and elephants within castles, and where Richard, looking for an exit back to his terribly-mundane and beautifully-predictable life, is essentially trapped after helping the injured Lady Door. The question being if such elaboration was entirely required.

Certainly, Neverwhere is completely Neil Gaiman. The worlds are imaginary, the characters are rich of back-story and tales, and his intricate writing style flourishes with grand, beautiful descriptions of settings, feelings, and thoughts. Through all that, Neverwhere is also too long, too slow, many of its scenes are missing the pop of a fast-paced television series.

Neverwhere could have been a fantastic, longer entry in Trigger Warning, Gaiman’s 2015 collection of short-ish stories, or even a novella akin to Ocean At The End Of The Lane. The complete novelization of Neverwhere makes a tiring marathon out of what could have a pleasant afternoon jog. Absolutely, an enjoyable, magical read by a master, but shorter can sometimes be sweeter.


As Always,
theJOE

The Exodus to the Promised Land Requires a lot of Hot Air

Robert Hobkirk writes dialogue. A lot of it. That is his craft. He truly gets into a story and how a character tells that story through well-written and believable, albeit sometimes terminally-long, dialogue. Yet in the midst of this talking and storytelling and crafting a character’s thoughts rather than action, the narrative is forcibly reduced. The characters become compelling, and not necessarily likable, which is a perfect echo of the relations of everyday human life, their stories believable, but their situation, their surroundings, falter as that external impetus does not become a driving force. Tommy’s Exodus, then, comes to close to basically being a collection of well-told experiences within an anthology-style framing sequence.

With Tommy’s Exodus, Hobkirk presents the titular character as a veteran back from Afghanistan and on a loser’s path in LA – nearly homeless, alcoholic, and penniless – who decides to hightail it back to the familial home in Sacramento. Hence the exodus. And in a Joseph Campbell by way of Homer fashion, our hero encounters a number of challenges that he must overcome, or, in typical 21st century slacker American standards, ignore until they go away. Chief among these challenges is the antagonist Pharaoh, after all, you can’t have an exodus without a Pharaoh to run from. Tommy’s next totally-relatable nemesis is even worse: the US healthcare system.

Through it all are Tommy’s many interactions; talk, the constant telling of stories be they relevant to the plot or not. And those that are not, which are plenty, as Hobkirk gladly, although kindly, plays out his ruminations and philosophy, including a prolonged spot of right-wing talk radio, lengthen that end game. Tommy’s Exodus often times reads like a script to a compelling play as the narrative is the character. Scripts, however, don’t always make for the most complete of reading experiences. 

Hobkirk beautifully builds within Tommy a unique, moral character who makes mistakes – plenty of them – and is also keen on changing his mind. Similar to a talkative co-worker or the guy behind the counter at Five Guys, Tommy is also annoying but wants to be heard. Hobkirk succeeds in giving Tommy that voice while demonstrating that the journey of the exodus might be more compelling than the reaching of the promised land.

As Always,
theJOE

Inconsequential Change

DC Comics’ Rebirth event, other than a marketing tag, really should be about the exploration of themes. A look at what makes the character appealing and an examination of those personal, internal forces while dealing with the colorfully-ludicrous external. Unfortunately, with the Rebirth collections DC Comics and NetGalley have graciously sent my way, there has not been a sense of regrouping, of growth, or internalization. The stories are an onslaught of constant motion opening with panel one and nary a chance for an asterisked footnote to a Wikipedia article let alone time for introductions, and no more so than Blue Beetle Vol. 1: The More Things Change.

Blue Beetle tries, sincerely, and sometimes achieves partial success, to be clever with the pairing of Jaime Reyes, the Blue Beetle, and his mentor/Alfred Pennyworth surrogate Ted Kord, the former, and formerly deceased, Blue Beetle. Their relationship is ripe with all the elements of great buddy-cop entertainment, but man, that fruit just ain’t ready to pick. Blue Beetle Vol. 1, again like other Rebirth titles, are full of these sudden starts, fits of action, with explosions of rat-a-tat dialogue, that don’t go anywhere and have no signs of resolution, which is extremely detrimental to, what should be, a contained graphic novel and an invitation to go further.

Keith Giffen, who created the Jaime Reyes character following the massive Infinite Crisis storyline, which began with the surprising murder of Ted Kord, presents dialogue-heavy issues and truly does wish to make Jaime as likeable and as important as his blue alter ego. After all, one of main reasons Spider-Man is immensely popular is due to the relational aspect of Peter Parker, as opposed, for instance, to the Hulk, where the very-human Banner can indeed come off as, well, puny. Alas, Giffen never gives that reader, and presumably a first-time reader at that, the chance to truly enjoy the character because the opportunity is never provided. The shark-like, always-moving-forward motion does not allow that pause for reflection.

Giffen and co-plotter/artist Scott Kolins present the Blue Beetle scarab as a threat to Jaime’s well-being, a plot element that will no doubt continue to grow as the series continues. Giffen allows Doctor Fate a co-starring gig in the title, and I, for one, always enjoy Giffen’s Fate. Kolins gives the character an updated makeover, but even the character’s inclusion is sparse and seemingly inconsequential as the mystery for his inclusion, and what should be a build up to this threat, is nearly trivialized away in an is-it-or-is-it-not dream sequence.

Comic books have a grand tradition of excelling at the slow burn. How many decades did Superman and Lois Lane flirt? Even Ted Kord’s own Blue Beetle title from the post-Crisis eighties had an over twelve-issue long b-plot that simmered, at varying levels, every issue. The problem with Blue Beetle Vol. 1: The More Things Change is there are too many simmering pots and not enough pasta. The old adage about waiting for that water to boil could very well result in no one bothering to pay attention when supper is ready.

As Always,

theJOE

Heroes of the Frontier

Magnificent.

Dave Eggers presents a grand, heroic look at the threatening frontier of Alaska that is ironically both frozen and constantly fraught with forest fires. Simultaneously, he presents within Josie, a single-mother perpetually on edge of either a nervous breakdown or looking to succumb to rampant alcoholism, the heroic, and all-too human, qualities of running away while running towards. All throughout Heroes Of The Frontier, Josie, along with her two young children, Paul and Ana, completely, and even triumphantly, does both.

Eggers manifests within the novel a philosophy of life, marriage, the tediousness of parenting, and, most importantly, the need to grab hold of that golden ring. Through Josie, we get quirky, and often times hysterical, looks at the insanity of a grade school event schedule, the requisite stupidity of musicals, the glaring monotony of dentistry - perhaps the daily professional grind we all must endure - and the absolute joy of singing, dancing, and communing with live music. Josie embarks on her hero’s quest, destination unknown, hoping to find herself while going off the grid, discovering unabashed kindness and typical American anger. She loves her children, but maybe isn’t the best of parents. She wishes to remove herself from society, but seeks out companionship. She drinks, too much and too easily, but she also laughs, and smiles, and, eventually, does her best to forgive.

Like all great stories, the finale comes sooner than expected. However, the ultimate ending escapes complete fulfillment as earlier steps in the journey might have been more resolute in the closing of the circle. Then again, maybe I did not want this tale to finish. I wanted the fierce mystery of Alaska to unwrap and unveil as Josie continues her eternal quest for resolution and her well-deserved happy ending, as do we all; all of us heroes in this unending frontier.

As Always,

theJOE

Hellblazer-lite

As a long, longtime fan of John Constantine, the Hellblazer, whose last contact I had with the character, outside of Arrow, was Hellblazer #300, I was both anxious and guarded when the advance preview of his Vertigo-less Rebirth series from DC Comics and NetGalley arrived. Overall, this first collection of Rebirth issues is fairly entertaining, albeit straightforward, gluten-free with no additives, essentially, Hellblazer-lite.

For this first volume of The Hellblazer, entitled “The Poison Truth”, writer Simon Oliver, who once visited John in the surface-level-enjoyable Chas: The Knowledge, brings John back to London (Living NYC, presumably, due to the New 52? Ah, DC) where he immediately gets mixed up in conning his way out of a demon’s curse that, similar to the story in Chas, ends abruptly and simply. Again, Hellblazer-lite.

Oliver’s script then splits off into two paths. John and a telepathic girl named Mercury go looking for an ancient Djinn that has been lurking in the shadows of history laid out in a tale that seems to have been gleaned from Helene Wecker’s fun novel, The Golem and the Jinni, while the always-welcome guest-star Swamp Thing, who is actually presented more like a co-star bringing about a fun if accidental update to The Brave And The Bold, goes on a quest for his wife, Abbey, who is now also an elemental (see again: New 52? Then again, perhaps not). Unfortunately, this first collection comes to it culmination just as both streams head deeper into their trajectories. Let’s hear it for the modern-day cliffhanger. Although, having John and Mercury arrive in Paris doesn’t quite have the same punch as, say, Rey presenting Luke with his lightsaber, but admittedly, I am curious to see what happens next.

The artwork is also split in twain between Moritat, who provides a cartoony, almost European design, and Pia Guerra, formerly of Y The Last Man, whose crisp, clean work is always a delight to see.  John Cassady provides covers that, although not as strong as Hellblazer classic artists Glenn Fabry and Tim Bradstreet, are right in line for this Hellblazer-lite.

Six issues and Oliver’s work is fun but a better pacing needs to be developed for upcoming issues as too much time is spent within on characters not named John Constantine. A lot world building, or revisiting, going on that, hopefully, will lead to a big payoff that might even have the potential of Paul Jenkins’ finale run.

Hey, at least John hasn’t been neutered from his Silk Cut habit.

As Always,

theJOE