Stok saves her own expressionism for Vincent’s volcanic meltdowns as the air becomes brittle in the wake of his wrath and the panels and their contents contort during his feverish hallucinations. The early intimations of these more violent episodes – as financial pressure and artistic frustrations crawl under the perfectionist’s skin – are rendered as dots which follow him round town like flies. You can almost hear the buzzing in his skull.
– Stephen on Vincent (Van Gogh)
Nemo: The Roses Of Berlin h/c (£9-99, Knockabout) by Alan Moore & Kevin O’Neill…
“We must 
have been hurting Germany’s supply lines for them to go to all this trouble ensnaring us. Do you think we’re any nearer the city’s underworld?”
“Depends. What do you suppose “Staatbordell” means?”
Jocular japes and steampunk shenanigans aplenty in this second Nemo Jr. adventure following on from the Lovecraftian-flavoured NEMO: HEART OF ICE. As before, there are numerous literary and cinematic references to be found, from the striking nod to Fritz Lang’s Metropolis to the rather more obscure which I will leave you to find for yourselves for that is part of the joy of any new LEAGUE OF EXTRAORDINARY GENTLEMEN material these days.
Janni Nemo, fearsome fighter and devoted mother has been drawn into a deadly trap, her daughter – presumed captured and spirited off to Berlin by the Nazis – the lure. But what, or more precisely who, she finds waiting for her in Berlin, is a far more deadly enemy than whole legions of leather-clad stormtroopers. For it is someone with revenge on their mind, and for whom time is no obstacle at all…
Not sure how accessible a jumping on point this is for new readers, or indeed whether it hits the heights of the original material, but it is great fun and probably closer in both respects than the CENTURY trilogy. I think it probably is as good as the original material actually; I just personally miss the team dynamic.
What is certain is that you simply couldn’t have any League material without Kevin O’ Neill on art: the two are simply and sumptuously synonymous for me. Even the four pages before the main story are absolutely glorious, featuring respectively: an all-guns-blazing German battleship, Nemo embracing her lover against the backdrop of a porthole letting a blood-red sky bleed through, a Nazi propaganda poster portraying Nemo as a trident wielding Kraken, and a submerged Nautilus launching a salvo of torpedoes. Not often I’m mesmerised by the art before I even start the story but Kevin managed it here!
JR
Buy Nemo: The Roses Of Berlin h/c and read the Page 45 review here
Uncanny vol 1 Season Of Hungry Ghosts (£14-99, Dynamite) by Andy Diggle & Aaron Campbell.
“Festival Of The 
Dead means I’ve been in Singapore for a year now. Figures. Getting too comfortable. Getting stale. But this place has rich pickings for a man in my line of work… And this smug fuck is ready to fall.”
I’m sorry, Weaver, which smug fuck is that? Do you mean Mr. Lee, the man in the suit sitting on the opposite side of the poker table to you?
“I read him before the game. He’s a bluffer with more money than sense. Been luring him into a false sense of security all night. Letting him think he’s winning… before I spring the trap.”
Oh, before you spring your trap! You crafty fellow, Weaver. There’s no fooling you, is there? You smug fuck. That smile’s about to be wiped right off your face.
From the writer of SNAPSHOT and THIEF OF THIEVES VOL 3, oh, how we loved this!
Juicy, shadow-strewn art, maximum action, charismatic voice. You’ll enjoy spending time in this quick-thinking but over-confident idiot’s head; almost as much as Weaver enjoys spending time in his victims’ heads.
Weaver is a man who can, for a span, absorb other people’s memories and physical capabilities. Take Mr Lee’s bodyguard, Xiong, a black-belt in Taekwondo. One bluffed handshake later and Weaver is too – plus he also “remembers” exactly what the bodyguard’s packing. Well, almost. There’s a limit to what you have time to recall in the middle of a duff-up.
I love how Diggle has thought all of this through: both the potential and the pitfalls – the limitations.
“By the time I find Xiong’s car, there’s not much of him left. His repertoire of kicks, punches and disarm manoeuvres fade like a waking dream. Always hate the comedown. That hollowed-out feeling mixed with sour adrenaline. That and the muscle burn. It’s not like I had time to stretch.”
With skills like those you could do a lot of good for the world. You could also do one hell of a lot of damage. Weaver has no such ambitions either way. He’s no more than a gambler and a thief, enjoying the kiddie thrill of conning people, getting one over them and taking their money. It’s his pitifully small-time revenge for a youth spent languishing in state custody being diagnosed with every neurosis and full-blown mental illness known to man. What else were they to make of the voices in his head he absorbed through physical contact?
Weaver doesn’t care how he came to be like this but other people do, for there is strategic power to be gained and significantly more money than Weaver has ever lost or won. As slick as you like with barely a second for breath, this thriller goes global in no time.
There’s Maggie, sent to save him and deliver Weaver to one Deacon Styles in New York City. There’s the wolf in Maggie’s head when Weaver tries to read her, then the wolf on the wall in Styles’ opulent apartment. Styles is… acquisitive. He has acquired money. He has acquired knowledge. He has acquired Maggie and, although he doesn’t know it yet, he has acquired Dominic Weaver. All these assets will be used and abused to get him to the one place and the one person he wants most of all. They’re very well hidden. For now.
Together Campbell and colourist Crabtree will feed your greedy eyes with sunsets, cityscapes, tropical terrain; 100-mile-an-hour motorcycle mayhem, helicopters deafening you with their rotor-blades and a great big garbage truck with front-loading prongs which I wouldn’t mind taking for a motorway spin myself. Take that, BMW drivers! I’ll show you the true meaning of tailgating.
First six issues plus the script to #1, always handy for those wanting to peek behind the curtain and see how it’s done.
SLH
Buy Uncanny vol 1 Season Of Hungry Ghosts and read the Page 45 review here
Thief Of Thieves vol 3: “Venice“ (£10-99, Image) by Robert Kirkman, Andy Diggle, James Asmus & Shawn Martinbrough.
THIEF OF THIEVES is 
comicbook crime that will have you laughing out loud right to its multiple punchlines, not least because your adrenaline will have shot through the roof.
It’s a battle of wits.
On the one side is Conrad Paulson AKA Redmond, master manipulator and the world’s most accomplished grifter and thief. On the other side is everyone else: tenacious (read: perilously obsessed) F.B.I. Special Agent Cohen, the Mafia, the Cartel and one very nasty man with a customised key ring called Lola. Oh, there are a few other parties with interests heavily vested, for Redmond isn’t the only one who can play the long game to perfection.
Redmond’s weakness is his estranged wife Audrey whom he still loves, along with his hopelessly flailing son Augustus. Augustus didn’t fall far enough from the tree and he fell resentful and rotten to the core. Determined to follow in his father’s footsteps, yet with little of his swagger or skill, it is Augustus who creates most of the god-awful mess which Redmond is forced to clean up.
Right at the beginning of THIEF OF THIEVES VOL 1, on the verge of a Venice job into which old Arno had sunk millions of dollars, Redmond quit crime forever. Now his son is being held hostage, naked, in chains and driven around America in the back of furnace-hot truck until Redmond returns with ten million dollars. He has one month to do it. Venice it is, then.
The sparkle of this series lies in the lies and element of surprise which I am not about to spoil for you. Let’s just say that this Thief of Thieves is about to thieve from thieves the very articles he once stole himself. He will have Don Parrino to contend with, the very Godfather of the Italian Mafia. He will have Colonel Bianchi and Captain Valenti of the Italian police to contend with. He will naturally have Agent Cohen to contend with because she cannot, she will not let go, even though Redmond has successfully sued to F.B.I. for harassment.
The key seems to lie in the mysterious Sabatini, broker of a specific sort of stolen goods, whom the Italians are onto. Watch out for that flashback!
Created by THE WALKING DEAD’s Robert Kirkman, each THIEF OF THIEVES book comes with a self-contained coup, a heist so ridiculously well planned that it will have you grinning from ear to ear once the writer finally delivers the key components craftily kept from you (and even the co-conspirators) until exactly the right moment. The authorial baton has been passed from Nick Spencer to James Asmus and now to Andy Diggle to orchestrate the players and mess with your mind as he did so successfully in SNAPSHOT and UNCANNY.
It is extraordinarily consistent, the mood maintained by permanent artist Shawn Martinbrough whose covers with colourist Felix Serrano form a striking, spot-varnish series of variations on a theme. Within Shawn and Felix are slick, sleek and sexy, whether it’s the intense eye-to-eye contacts with so much in minds, or the oh-hell-it’s-gone-tits-up action sequences. The suits are sharp and the shadows are just-so plus, as a bonus level-up here, they are given Venice to play with. My favourite city in the world! The piazzas under moonlight echo at night and if you have to run for your life across rooftops anywhere they might as well be those of Venice.
Ah, Tombraider 2! Ah, Assassin’s Creed too!
It has quite the skyline.
SLH
Buy Thief Of Thieves vol 3: “Venice” and read the Page 45 review here
Vincent (£12-99, SelfMadeHero) by Barbara Stok.
“I DID NOT 
PAINT IT TO PLEASE PEOPLE!”
Oh, Vincent, it’s just as well because, other than your brother, few people will see anything in your paintings until the end of your days.
It didn’t stop Van Gogh, obviously. Nothing short of a complete mental breakdown halted his prolific, obsessive output. Even then he picked his easel back up and the subsequent seizures were but pauses as he sought to transform aspects and objects others took for granted into orgasmic, orgiastic confluences of colour to evoke their explosive passion rather than their plain, photographic likenesses. He was inspired!
As was I by this graphic novel which I entered into warily if not sceptically before Stok won me over page by early page. I almost considered writing this review as a timeline of my own reading reactions (hey, the reviews I have written exceed five figures after which novelty is hard to come by), but it’s not about me but both the artists, the book, and the subtle but very real skill with which Stok has chosen to write it. I mention this merely in case you’re wary too.
Vincent’s move from Paris to Provence was dealt with swiftly and, I thought at first, perfunctorily as he negotiates his initial bed and board at L’Hôtel Correl:
“A room, please. For an indefinite period.”
“Welcome to Arles.”
Da-dum. Simplicity itself, just like its visual staging. I thought I was watching finger-puppet theatre!
I am, of course, an arse. The second Vincent Van Gogh hits the bucolic beauty and whipped out his materials, dashing it all down in a frenzied hurry lest light be lost, I became as transfixed as the random passer-by who stops to admire both the vista before him and the one captured on canvas or board. I was also as dismissive of the local painters’ contempt as Vincent was. But why?
How could Barbara Stok begin to convey the thick, churning, delicious and delirious swirls of colour you could potentially read like Braille when her own chosen art style was wobbly outlines, dots for eyes, flat coloured tones and… Oh, no, no, no: there is plenty of perspective and depth in her own landscape panels over which she lingers as long as the two gentlemen in silence, drinking in the majesty and tranquillity of it all.
Stok saves her own expressionism for Vincent’s volcanic meltdowns as the air becomes brittle in the wake of his wrath and the panels and their contents contort during his feverish hallucinations. The early intimations of these more violent episodes – as financial pressure and artistic frustrations crawl under the perfectionist’s skin – are rendered as dots which follow him round town like flies. You can almost hear the buzzing in his skull.
This is assuaged but temporarily as Gauguin arrives. Oh, he has been so desperate for Gauguin to share his sanctuary and take up his role (as Vincent sees it) as grandmaster of this new starving artists’ retreat! But Vincent lives in a world of his own and is oblivious to even the earliest warning signs that they are not on the same wavelength at all.
But where were we? Oh yes: money.
The narrative is peppered by letters exchanged between Vincent and his loving brother Theo. Quite why Theo had all the money is never made clear and it’s only now that I type this sentence that I notice this. As I read the book, I simply didn’t care. All Stok made me care about – and all that counts – was Theo’s genuine respect for his brother and his bottomless generosity reciprocated on Vincent’s side by an acknowledged indebtedness. For Van Gogh is, from the very beginning, painfully aware of how much his sojourn in Arles is likely to cost Theo, and how unlikely it is that he can ever repay him. He will, however, die trying.
As represented by Stok, Theo is a saint but by no means a martyr. He genuinely admires his brother’s artistic ambitions, discerns his immediate genius and is content to let posterity declare his artistic success. In short, he acts as an old-school patron in its finest, most laudable sense.
I don’t know to what extent this is a hagiography, but Vincent is not wise with money. All that matters to him is to catalogue the beauty he spies around him in sweeping campaigns: multiple studies of spring blossom, fruit trees, wheat fields, vineyards, the sea, the stars and sunflowers!
But thanks to Stok’s delicious cartooning this loud and argumentative optimist / proselytizer comes a cropper twice to hilarious effect when confounded first by the killer combo of exorbitant hotel bills and a local lack of chromium yellow, then when singing the sweet amorous praises of a prostitute. He’s so naïve!
“All is for the best in the best of worlds,” declares our man with the plan when laid up in bed. Oh dear, that’s Voltaire’s ‘Candide’! Hahahahaha!
Seriously, this is masterful. Give me another couple of weeks and I will pinpoint exactly how Barbara Stok has turned a tragic life including mental illness and violent self-harm plus an unwavering devotion to the pursuit of intimate art into a consummate comedy and edifying eulogy for one of the greatest painters this world will ever know.
SLH
Buy Vincent and read the Page 45 review here
Nine Lives (£2-00, self-published) by Kristyna Baczynski.
Nine card 
panels and a cover measuring 10x10cm each which fold out, concertina-style, to confirm what happens to curiosity-stricken cats.
Quite how our misfortunate moggie ended up floating downstream in a cauldron you may debate amongst yourselves.
The black, rust-red and egg-shell blue inks gleam on the matt surface and the whole production screams “Nobrow Press”.
This should be the easiest comic in the world to review yet I am, this afternoon, registering no cranial activity whatsoever. Please send jump leads.
SLH
Buy Nine Lives and read the Page 45 review here
Vantage (£2-99, self-published) by Kristyna Baczynski.
An early bird 
wings its way to a window sill. A tired, shaggy-haired woman with hooded eyes discovers she has no coffee.
What follows happens every day.
Right under our noses.
Over our heads.
Behind our eyes.
In our veins.
Across the universe.
Behind the metaphorical curtain.
Blue landscape comic in which it’s all a question of scale and perspective, be it microscopic, aerial or cosmic.
SLH
Buy Vantage and read the Page 45 review here
In A Flat Land (£5-00, Moon Underground) by Richard Swan…
The first thing that will probably strike you upon commencing this sixty-four-page, wordless children’s story is the exquisite amount of detail in each finely inked panel. I can’t imagine how long it much have taken Richard to illustrate this, I really can’t. You get a sense of the time and effort required before you’ve even opened it up because the front cover, featuring a huge rain cloud, must have about a thousand drops of rain beneath it, beating down at a near forty-five degrees to the windswept ground. I would imagine a fair degree of stoicism is required to persist with such an intricate style of illustration for fields of grass and wheat are composed of near-infinite numbers of individual blades, buildings hand-hewn, well drawn, brick by individual brick, and you can practically see the pattern in the knitted jumper our main protagonist, a bored young boy in need of an adventure, is wearing. And that’s before we’ve got to the grain dust…
So, back to that boy…
He goes awandering in the manner of bored boys in need of a good adventure to liven up their day… first along the coastline near his home, past the pier and a long-abandoned pillbox, then delving into the fields and trees, gradually getting further and further off the beaten track, until he comes across a disused and somewhat dilapidated windmill, overgrown with ivy and missing its crowning glory of domed top and sails. After squeezing past the boarded-up door, he comes across a dusty model of the windmill, but again missing its top. Idly constructing something from an empty drinks can and four feathers lying on the floor, he then drops what appears to be a strangely shaped pin into the can, before popping his creation onto the top of the model. And that’s where, possibly quite literally, the magic begins… I’m loathe to say more regarding the plot, not wanting to spoil the magic, but suffice to say, the black and white illustrations take a delightfully golden twist as the windmill begins to crank into life.
Whilst this was apparently written with children in mind, it’s a wonderful all-ages read and the odd moment or two where you have to actually stop and think about what’s happened – not entirely unexpectedly given it’s a wordless comic – are signposted beautifully, producing a wry smile as you realise the boy has just experienced the same momentary puzzled bemusement as yourself. Cleverly composed, both narratively and artistically, I think this will have widespread appeal.
JR
Buy In A Flat Land and read the Page 45 review here
The Superior Foes Of Spider-Man vol 1: Getting The Band Back Together s/c (£12-99, Marvel) by Nick Spencer & Steve Lieber…
“Okay, 
then, by a 4-1 vote, the bathroom stays unisex.”
“Sorry, Shocker.”
“Now, any other business, or can we start drinking?”
“Never stopped.”
“Uh, yeah, I have something… can we talk about the empty chair? I miss the Living Brain.”
“You’re the only one.”
“No, Overdrive’s right… we’re supposed to be the Sinister Six.”
“Yeah, so?”
“So… there’s five of us.”
“Oh, come on, Beetle… Seriously?”
“What?”
“Look, what’s a better deal than being the Sinister Six, but only splitting the money five ways? Huh? Huh?”
“Plus, Obamacare, you go to six employees, it’s tricky.”
“People are going to be confused.”
“No they’re not! Did we not talk about the whole ‘air of mystery’ thing? People see us, they’ll just think, “Who’s the secret sixth guy,” right? I mean it could be anybody! It could be Dormammu!”
“It’s always Dormammu with you…”
“I’m telling you, that’s way cooler.”
“Boomerang… that is genuinely the stupidest thing I have ever heard a real person say.”
“You’re stupid! …Sorry.”
Heh heh, you’ve probably realised by now this is not a book to be taken seriously. What it is not, however, is stupid like, say, pretty much any Deadpool title… <cue much gasping and sounds of fanboys hitting their collective heads on the floor in mass fainting hysteria>. What this is, is basically a hilarious sitcom starring very low-grade villains bickering, backstabbing and generally non-stop bitching about each other.
It falls to Boomerang, who has elected himself the nominal leader of our gang to try and steer them on their not so straight and narrow course en route to fabulous wealth and riches. So, if getting blackmailed on pain of death by the Owl into stealing the head of Silvermane is the sum total of your masterplan, what you most assuredly don’t need is one Frank Castle taking a personal interest in what you’re up to… This is great, fun little book by one of Marvel’s best writers (check out his non Marvel work BEDLAM, INFINITE VACACTION, MORNING GLORIES, THIEF OF THIEVES if you haven’t already), which I’m personally reading in single issue format, to help get my essential monthly quota of chortles and chuckles.
JR
Ultimates 3: Who Killed The Scarlet Witch s/c new printing (£14-99, Marvel) by Jeph Loeb & Joe Madureira.
In the first 
four ULTIMATES books Mark Millar and Bryan Hitch spent over two dozen issues constructing a comprehensive geo-political thriller played out by a credibly complex cast of individuals in a media-savvy, military and palpably real environment.
By contrast, Loeb lobs five slim issues of pile-it-on puerility, expending no more than a single page building “tension” before servicing the fanboys with a double-page spread of Venom. Why Venom…? He’s popular and he brings Spider-Man with him in issue two for no very good reason other than sales. Seriously, neither of them have any role to play in this other than for hero to turn on hero old-stylee as Hawkeye shoots Spider-Man as a “Hey, man, how you doing?” pat on the back. And, oh God, here comes that mindless, mid-battle exposition again:
“Maybe I have gone a little crazy. Maybe every time I hear a gunshot it takes me right back to when my family… my kids…”
Did you lose your family, mate? Are you feeling a little down? I couldn’t tell from the first issue.
“You’re going to get yourself killed.”
“Yeah, so…?”
Not only have Millar and Hitch’s strategic soldiers and functional kevlar reverted to self-pity and spandex, but Jeph insists on holding your hand every step of the way on what amounts to little more than a series of battle cries and fist fights. Cliché after cliché. It’s tired, it’s transparent, it’s an unnecessary waste as every innovation Millar carefully crafted is jettisoned for the sake of a short-term buck. Am I too guilty of whining that someone broke my childhood toys? No, I loved it when Millar broke them because I’m a grown-up now and enjoy reading something a little more politically astute. I’m complaining that Loeb turned them back into plastic toys with no points to their articulation.
Of course, it’s Lichtner who’s to blame for the disastrously stodgy colouring, but then he had little more to play with than Madureira’s old-Image-style “storytelling” in which the environment is irrelevant so long as the muscles are bulging, the pages are splashing and everyone wears spikes and claws. It’s particularly unfortunate when Quicksilver starts pursuing that oh-so-important bullet because you can’t tell a) that it’s the same bullet or b) that it just did a u-turn.
As to the story, see title. Leads into ULTIMATUM in which there is no ultimatum.
SLH
Buy Ultimates 3: Who Killed The Scarlet Witch s/c and read the Page 45 review here
Arrived, Online & Ready To Buy
Reviews already online if they’re new formats of previous books. Otherwise the most interesting will come under the microscope next week, while the rest will remain with their Diamond previews acting in lieu of reviews.
Bad Machinery vol 2: The Case Of The Good Boy s/c (£14-99, Oni Press) by John Allison
Fatale: The Deluxe Edition vol 1 (vols 1-2) h/c (£29-99, Image) by Ed Brubaker & Sean Phillips
The Homesick Truant’s Cumbrian Yarn (£3-00, Rolling Stock Press) by Oliver East
Jellaby vol 1: The Lost Monster (£9-99, Capstone) by Kean Soo
Nijigahara Holograph (£22-50, Fantagraphics) by Inio Asano
Bedlam vol 2 (£10-99, Image) by Nick Spencer & Ryan Browne
Satellite Sam vol 1 (£10-99, Image) by Matt Fraction & Howard Chaykin
Walking Dead vol 20: All Out War Part 1 (£10-99, Image) by Robert Kirkman & Charlie Adlard
Where Bold Stars Go To Die (£5-99, Other A-Z) by Gerry Alanguilan & Arlanzando Esmena
The Complete Accident Man h/c (£22-50, Titan) by Pat Mills, Tony Skinner & Martin Emond, Howard Chaykin, various
Hellblazer: Shoot (£10-99, DC) by Warren Ellis, Darko Macan, Jason Aaron, Dave Gibbons, Jamie Delano, Brian Azzarello, Peter Milligan, China Mieville & Phil Jimenez, Andy Lanning, Gary Erskine, Sean Murphy, David Lloyd, Rafael Grampa, Eddie Campbell, Giuseppe Camuncoli, Stefano Landini
Eve: Source h/c (£29-99, Dark Horse) by CCP Games
Avatar, The Last Airbender vol 7: The Rift Part 1 (£8-50, Dark Horse) by Gene Luen Yang & Gurihiru
Buffy The Vampire Slayer Season 9 vol 5: The Core (£13-50, Dark Horse) by Andrew Chambliss & Georges Jeanty
Oz: The Emerald City Of Oz h/c (£18-99, Marvel) by Eric Shanower & Skottie Young
Sonic – Mega Man: Worlds Collide vol 2 (£8-99, Archie) by various
Animal Man vol 4: Splinter Species s/c (£10-99, DC) by Jeff Lemire & Steve Pugh, various
Harley Quinn: Welcome To Metropolis s/c (£14-99, DC) by Karl Kesel & Terry Dodson, Craig Rousseau, Brandon Badeaux, Phil Noto
Marvel Masterworks: Fantastic Four vol 10 (£18-99, Marvel) by Stan Lee & Jack Kirby, John Romita Sr.
Nova vol 2: Rookie Season s/c (£12-99, Marvel) by Zeb Wells & Paco Medina, Carlo Barberi, Ed McGuinness
ITEM! This building is alive and tells so many stories! Think Will Eisner, Chris Ware, Ilya and Jamie McKelvie! Click here for the whole Think Of A City tumblr!
ITEM! Search Party by Ian McQue, animated by Mondo Ghulam. Ooooooh!
ITEM! Excised from my review of VINCENT above, the following postscript, lest the irony be lost (I am a fan, yes):
“I don’t even like this crazy guy’s stuff. He was utterly rubbish at perspective: just look at that chair! I’m buying him a Painting By Numbers set next. Come on Vincent, stick between the lines!”
ITEM! New interview with Lizz Lunney! Yippee!
ITEM! Jaw-droppingly beautiful! Starry, Starry Night: What big cities like New York would look like if you could see the stars above them.
ITEM! Eric Stephenson, head of Image Comics, makes a laudably direct speech about circumnavigating the lies of corporate comics to ensure the future prosperity of the comicbook industry. Sound familiar? I have been saying exactly the same thing for twenty years, yes, but still, bravo!
ITEM! We have these beautiful Becky Cloonan bookmarks to give away with copies of her limited edition BY CHANCE OR PROVIDENCE hardcover which we will be selling at £17-99.
Containing WOLVES, THE MIRE and DEMETER with a new sketchbook section, it arrives in a couple of months, but we urge you to pre-order right now by phoning 0115 9508045 or emailing page45@page45.com and we will reserve you a bookmark.
Please note: not distributed by Diamond and printed to order only. If you don’t pre-order this week we cannot guarantee you a copy.
ITEM! Lastly, this is a bit massive!
Page 45 makes The Bookseller’s shortlist for Independent Bookshop Of The Year 2014!
I think that’s the first time for a comic and graphic novel shop. We are so stoked!
Credit where it’s due: our submission was all our Jonathan’s work and he put one hell of a lot of time and thought into it.
– Stephen
