Featuring Kaare Andrews, Paloma Dawkins, Santiago García, David Rubín, Pat McHale, Jim Campbell, Rob Williams, Ryan Kelly and more!
Includes much-expanded News Section below!
Beowulf h/c (£26-99, Image) by Santiago García & David Rubín.
It won’t be long coming.
I give it three pages.
Even the first eerie offering foreshadows the doom. Lit like Charles Burns, an underground river cascades through a bleak, black cavern below jagged stalactites and knotted, invasive roots. Lurking in the darkness, a pair of glowing, inhuman eyes incarnadine the gristly, reptilian, obsidian flesh surrounding them.
Something has already had its fill.
Up above on the snow-swept, pink-dawn plains something hasn’t so much raised a dog’s hackles as left them buffeted weakly by the wind. A deafening murder of blood-stained carrion crows has formed and is feasting, fighting each other for the most prized pickings: the eyes. There appears to be a lot of carrion.
Behind them still stand the fractured remains of the Danes’ banqueting hall of Heorot, if only barely. Its broad timbers have been shattered like wooden toothpicks and smeared with blood.
“Fortune favours the Danes!
“I, Hrothgar, son of Beow, son of Scyld, arrived on these shores in but a humble driftboat…
“Now I lead the Danes’ most glorious era!”
It’s very well done: Hrothgar’s boastful pride is presented through flashback panels embedded above the very same pages on which he discovers its painfully brutal rebuttal in the form of the corpse-ridden obliteration of the very hall which he hailed at the Danes’ greatest glory. It is a perfect piece of juxtaposition, his face falling between past and present as he comprehends his own hubris.
“Who dared massacre our own?” he demands, post-pyre, while we’re shown a sequence of panels inlaid once more above, showing that self-same, limb-rending massacre with mere glimpses of the intruder: a gigantic arm, eyes and teeth which will prove many and set fast in a crocodilian jaw.
Welcome to a big book of blood, guts and the shredding of sinews. Sinews will feature prominently, as will cleverly inset panels.
The first known manuscript of Beowulf – following many centuries of being passed down through the oral tradition – is dated roughly around 1000 AD. Even once written it preserved the importance of the oral tradition for sung stories featured prominently. These were how names were remembered, how histories were celebrated and how eternal glory became a goal far more treasured than mere trinkets.
“You’ve no debt to my kingdom. Why would you come to die so far from all you know?”
“Eternal glory, M’lord. After all… gold’s spent, life ends. Only glory remains eternal.”
So speaks Beowulf, more than a decade after Hrothgar commanded his finest warriors to seek out the murderous demon Grendel and exact retribution for the massacre.
“May the fury of Danes rain upon the earth.”
It didn’t. They failed. They have since retreated to a fortified town high up an isle like Mont St Michel, only land-bound. Now Beowulf has learned of this Grendel, has come to slay the beast with his bare hands, and as the stranger leads his men up the steep, icy path through its outskirts more inset panels show their own furtive glances and the reception by bird, beast and man alike.
The very finest deployment of these “windows”, however, lies within a double-page spread of the Danes’ new banqueting hall, glowing red late at night after the warriors have eaten and drunk their fill and lie sleeping on its thick-planked, bear wooden floor. It is so tight with tension that I stared at its details for a good half an hour. And there’s a lot of subtle detail.
At the far right, furthest from the entrance lies Beowulf, naked on fur. The others are clothed but oblivious to the creature who, having ambushed the sentry with its prehensile tail then bitten him in two, has gained entrance. Now, seen from above, Grendel slithers stealthily and unimpeded across the hall in four movements, its freedom to roam emphasised by the absence of vertical panel borders. Instead, multiple square panels hung in mid-air like free-floating portraits depict close-ups of the demon’s potential victims as its gaze darts left and right, assessing them, sniffing them, its steaming jaws mere inches from their faces. But Garcia and Rubin aren’t done, for there is an additional clutch of panels tangential to each of those already inset, all in bright red and revealing the ribbed, skin-peeled muscles underlying their arms, chests and heads. The beast can see through to their actual prowess: let’s call it Grendel-vision.
That’s about as far through the story as I’m prepared to take you, except to say that the next few pages come with a slight surprise which has sent this book straight to one of our top shelves. Consider that a Parental Warning for I have known Gareth Hinds’ interpretation of BEOWULF (back in stock and on our site in a fortnight – I’ve found an American edition now that Walker Books have sold out) be bought for the whole family. This gladdens my heart but, if you want to avoid some awkward dinner-table chit-chat, I would probably not be sharing this with your young sons and daughters.
I will also add that the title of this book is BEOWULF, not Grendel, and it is much wider in scope that you might initially imagine.
Comparison points for the art come in form of Becky Cloonan, Paul Pope and Rafael Grampa. It’s not as faithful in its literary nuances as Gareth Hinds’ version but it is absolutely riveting in its own right. There’s no real point in replicating others’ interpretations, and what I can promise you in lieu of the strictest tradition is visual innovation and jaw-dropping, jaw-splitting spectacle.
This is an over-sized book bursting with page after page of visceral, slice-and-dice conflict and gore as the stakes increase exponentially in line with each successive, monstrous adversary so that the pages, however large, can no longer contain the leviathans that lie within. At this point we reference Jack Kirby, Geof Darrow, Michael Oeming et al. None of those are random.
But it’s not just about the battles. The primal, raw sensuality is maintained by feasts depicting mouths dripping with rare-cooked meat and red-berry juices. And, oh lord, the colouring! I don’t think you could make this much more luminous or lambent if you’d lit it on fire: subterranean, glowing greens poisoned by reds and a dragon’s breath which appears to fill the air not just with cinders but it’s as if every single molecule were a curled piece of combusted paper, blinding and burning your eyes.
If that weren’t enough, the coup de grace comes in the form of an epilogue so unexpected but also so exceptionally apposite for a tale that’s been passed down through so many generations and translated into so many different languages.
Not quite sure what the end papers mean.
Renato Jones: The One Percent Season 1 s/c (£8-50, Image) by Kaare Kyle Andrews.
The contents are equally mischievous and uncompromising in the many ways they stick it to the man, to the establishment, to those so imperviously entrenched at the top by their obscene wealth and the ethic-free implementation of that wealth in order to amass even more. You know what I mean: tax evasion condoned and preserved by politicians in their pockets; slave-condition sweatshops; purchased immunity from prosecution; deliberately finite functioning of the latest technology to encourage upgrading as often as possible.
Warren Ellis calls this:
“A sort of hallucinatory rage pop ‘PUNISHER from Occupy’. It’s gorgeous and also demented.”
With which he scores a deliciously succinct bullseye.
However, Kaare’s so cleverly crafted set-up comes with its own wider implications for Renato Jones. His targets are the titular One Percent who own half the world’s wealth, and he’s now ONE of them. So unlike the Punisher who sets his sights on distant targets, these are all connected, up close and personal, and there will be ramifications. Did I say “now one of them”? He hasn’t earned the money nor has he inherited it. Well, he has, but perhaps it wasn’t his to inherit.
Like VELVET, LAZARUS and THE WICKED + THE DIVINE it’s one of those many titles perfect for readers who may want to wean themselves off the more inbred corporate comics, relentlessly eating themselves then regurgitating their same old storylines, increasingly nutrient-free simply to keep filling the shelves for their own One Percent’s benefit. Here you’ll encounter all the action you crave, but with much more besides, creator-owned, creator-controlled and creator-enraged, so it’s all the more blistering. Andrews is utterly enraged and this comic comes infused with a fury both verbal and visual, so you really won’t see what’s coming next.
“Action! Adventure! Affluenza!” screams one cover.
Then there’s the bludgeoning refrain initially after each opening page against stark black and white:
“They’ve run our economy into the ground, destroying jobs and opportunity.
“They’ve taken homes from families. Turned the middle class into poor and the poor into felons.
“They’ve stolen, thieved, bribed and killed. But the ONEs have brought their way out of judgement and persecution…”
What a bunch of bankers.
Kaare Andrews has long been one of comics’ greatest chameleons with a new style to suit each project. Here he throws a great many of them into the same series and splashed in photographic advertisements for perfume and cologne for good measure. Calvin Klein’s “Obsession Pour Homme” has become “Oppression – For Everyone (Renato Jones, justicier de luxe)”.
Full-colour flashbacks nonetheless indicate their age by being seemingly sun-bleached, printed in the old Ben-Day dots you may remember from comics of yore, and slightly scarified as if once folded and put in a pocket or the back of the mind, the memories only now unfolding again, triggered by something that is seen, smelled or overheard. Isn’t that clever?
You’ll find colour, black and white, and black and white with just a hint of cheek-bruised colour suggesting physical abuse. There’s plenty of that, and as the cover makes clear this isn’t for kids. Ooooh no.
But as well as being filled with invention it is brave to boot. Who would expect three consecutive double-page spreads, none of them used for action? The first two feature full-bleed confrontational close-ups / standoffs of eyes and nose only.
For the main action I perceived elements of Frank Miller circa DK1, especially the teeth, and indeed there’s a brief rooftop reference to its most iconic image in silhouette against lightning immediately following what I recognised – rightly or wrongly – as a Kingpin work-out as seen in Miller’s first DAREDEVIL run. Mostly, however, Andrews is emphatically his own man and master and his overhead depiction of a cul-de-sac in a suburb is exactly as he describes it thus:
“Neighbourhoods were once designed as grids, a simple landscape of left and right turns to get anywhere you wanted. The equality of choice. But modern suburbs are a maze of dead ends and looping roads. When you’re above them, they look like footprints.
“Just another little joke amongst the ONEs.”
I promised you anger, didn’t I? How about this, over a factory tannoy system in China:
“Welcome to Tech-Chi. We manufacture tomorrow today…
“Workers, be happy to have this job. Remember others are waiting to take your place…
“Bathroom breaks are earned, not taken…”
It’s not even hyperbole. When our Dominique sojourned at a certain international delivery firm’s call centre, she had to put her hand up if she wanted to go to the loo.
One of my favourite sequences occurs at a political rally with a Presidential candidate – one of the ONE – disingenuously stirring up sympathy for the beleaguered with crocodile tears and a rhetoric you may find familiar. The punchline is a such a sweet play on words:
“Hate, REAL HATE has always made us great…
“I HATE not having jobs for this country.
“I HATE watching the ‘everyman’ struggle.
“I HATE the terror that threatens our peace.
“I HATE criminals and rapists who threaten our women and children.
“I’m SCARED at what this world is becoming.
“And I HATE not being able to do anything about it.
“I am asking you to join me. To unite in HATE and FEAR. Because if we hate a thing enough, if we truly fear it, we DESTROY IS BEFORE IT DESTROYS US!”
Wait for it…
“Let’s MAKE AMERICA HATE AGAIN!”
Summerland (£7-50, Retrofit / Big Planet) by Paloma Dawkins.
Delicious, delirious and drop-dead gorgeous, this is a neon-bright, rainbow, Day-Glo affair.
I don’t use “delirious” idly, either.
Wide-eyed and innocent and fundamentally optimistic, it is light on script and bright on shared experiences: the wonder of nature.
This is one to meditate on.
At one point Dawkins quietly, solemnly and self-promisingly declares:
“I have to remember…
“Every single detail…
“I won’t forget.”
This rings ever so true to me.
Whenever I stroll through the Derbyshire Dales or even cross the River Trent on my way into work on some mist-shrouded morning, I honestly do consciously promise myself that I will remember every single detail. I soak up eye-candy for future reflection and remembrance. It will sustain me, nourish me and reinvigorate me when the city closes in.
Dawkins captures that aspect – that specific imperative – to perfection.
Santana and Chucho sneak off from a communal Summerland beach party where the seas sparkle with bioluminescent plankton and so do the shores they’re washed up on as well. They kick its wet sand up into the air, and the all-but-invisible plankton gives off radiant evidence of its existence.
The stuff of stardust in the sand beneath our feet!
They visit the Graveyard of Exoskeletons: limpets and winkles and the dead carapace of a crab whose life lingers on through its extraordinary shape and its compartmentalised intricacies.
“The sunrise makes the rock cliff glow a brilliant red.
“And it illuminates the yellow leaves of the crab apple orchard.”
Sunlight is brilliant, isn’t it? And stars are heavenly.
Stardom and cities…? Perhaps not so much.
Many years later and things may have taken a turn for the kohl-crying worse.
Over The Garden Wall vol 1 (£14-99, Titan) by Pat McHale & Jim Campbell…
“Would anyone like a slice of chocolate cake?”
“Can’t digest it.”
“Hey, that’s not chocolate cake. That’s just air. Air isn’t real.”
“Oh, we’re making believe!”
“Yes, it’s fun playing tea party instead of doing chores all day.”
“Shh… I noticed too, detective! First the salt went missing, and now the chocolate cake is gone! Something is very wrong… There must be a food magician among us, making everything invisible!”
Ahhh… how sweet. Not invisible chocolate cake, obviously. For whilst the calorie count might hit the spot, I can’t imagine it would be a tasty treat at all. Unless it really had just been made invisible by a food magician, I suppose. However, if I could do that, I’d be busy putting invisible cream cakes on peoples’ chairs rather than their plates heh heh…
No, what is sweet, is that this is new material! I had mistakenly thought it was merely an adaptation of the exquisitely dark and dreamy cartoon, of which practically everyone who has ever seen it is forlornly pining for a second season. I suspect, like everyone else, that is not going to happen, which I reluctantly respect, so it is therefore wonderful that we have some excellent additional material.
Regular review readers will know my thoughts on media tie-ins: it only ever goes one of two ways, that being brilliant or dreadful. This is exactly like a lovely big yummy slice of chocolate cake as half-brothers Greg and Wirt stumble into mildly hazardous surreal situation after situation in the vast wood known only as errr… the Unknown. With only sarcastic bluebird Beatrice and the old woodsman to help them, will they ever make it home? Or indeed find any cake?!
The main reason this is such great material is undoubtedly because it’s penned by the show creator Pat McHale and illustrated by the show storyboard artist Jim Campbell. The fact that they are continuing to collaborate on this property still gives me the faintest shred of hope for a second season. Meanwhile, we have this, plus also a forthcoming ongoing series starring Anna the woodsman’s daughter and of course, Greg. I wonder if he’d like some Baileys in a shoe to wash that chocolate cake down with? Ooops, wrong Greg!
Unfollow vol 2: God Is Watching (£13-99, Vertigo) by Rob Williams & Michael Dowling, Marguerite Sauvage, Ryan Kelly…
Now despite the fact that Dave occasionally has problems with what’s real and what’s not – like the talking leopard only he can see – he’s probably picked the worst possible person to crack such a joke to, given Deacon, the insane mercenary, sees ‘the Dragon’ everywhere and in everyone. Mind you, that leopard is just about to appear on the wing of said plane to inform Dave he’s going to have to kill a whole bunch of foreign people to survive his current situation, that someone he likes very much is going to betray him, and that Deacon the insane mercenary’s imaginary dragon, which is always apparently coming to destroy everything, is… well, already here… Ah.
At this point I should also probably add the 140 apparently random (and apparently lucky) recipients of dead social media entrepreneur Larry Ferrel’s 17 billion dollars are already down to 134… So the original120 million dollars each from UNFOLLOW VOL 1 has gone up somewhat, and will climb considerably more so by the end of this volume as the bodies of ‘the 140’ – as the news cycle has oh so imaginatively christened them – begin to drop / bleed out / combust rather more rapidly. But who is responsible for the increasing concentration of wealth?
Well, we know Ferrel’s mad aide-de-camp Rubenstein, with his golden Aztec mask that whispers sweet nothings to him, is on the hunt, having managed to inveigle his way onto the magic list at the last minute, but are there other more clandestine players in the game? Oh yes. Plus a few other not-so-subtle ones trying to muscle in on the action by offering their protection at the point of a gun. All for a reasonable price, of course! Which is the situation Dave currently finds himself in, being ‘helped’ by the Russian mafia.
Social butterfly and spoilt sociopath Courtenay, meanwhile, has followed blade-legged, heavily tattooed author Akira to his private island, where he has been gathering as many of the 140 as possible in his high-walled peace commune for their mutual security. Because collecting all those targets in one place is a great idea obviously… Also, how does Akira’s dystopian doomsday novella, seemingly the inspiration for Ferrel’s crazy idea to dispose of his cash, factor into matters?
Mike Dowling, Marguerite Dowling and Ryan Kelly share the art duties on this second volume. I’m not usually a massive fan of chopping and changing the artist on a title like this, but actually given the large cast of characters we rotate around, it doesn’t particularly bother me, despite their differing styles. They are all great artists anyway.
Rob Williams keeps the mystery factor high, and even manages to throw in one very huge whopping surprise, whilst weaving this tale of social media-inspired madness. Practically every main character seems at least one hinge short of a cupboard and I am happy to report I genuinely have no idea where this is going or what the endgame could possibly be yet. Given the rate at which the 140 are expiring / being pruned, though, I may not have to wait that long to find out!
Hellblazer vol 15: Highwater (£22-99, Vertigo) by Brian Azzarello & Marcelo Frusin, Guy Davis, Giuseppe Camuncoli, Cameron Stewart.
Lots of grim S&M, and other assorted worries.
Before then we journey back in time to London for a two-chapter instalment illustrated by SANDMAN MYSTERY THEATRE’S Guy Davis, while Constantine was still lead singer of the punk band Mucous Membranes, in which we learn that even then John was pissing on long-suffering taxi-slave Chas from great heights. At the most inopportune moment imaginable.
I know a few people cancelled their regular order during Brian and Marcelo’s run, but I can’t for the life of me think why. Perhaps because it was a trek across America.
HELLBLAZER hadn’t felt this dangerous since Alan Moore, with some fantastic shadows from Frusin, and ranks right up there for me with Ennis’ main stint, albeit a completely different take.
John’s not your mate here. He’s silent, saturnine and wicked as sin. If you want to hook then reel the trickster in, you’re on a suicide mission. Same if you want to befriend him.
Please see HELLBLAZER VOL 14 for a much more expansive analysis. What a horrible cover this has.
Prometheus: Life And Death s/c (£13-99, Dark Horse) by Dan Abnett & Andrea Mutti…
“…They’re back. They’ve God damn well come back.”
“Please, God, tell me you’re joking.
“Sorry, kid. That’s the way it is. I’m looking at one through my scope right now. A God damn Engineer.”
“I can’t… I just… not after everything. I can’t face them again too. We’re screwed.”
No, not Ridley Scott gee-ing himself up for the forthcoming Prometheus film sequel (entitled Alien Covenant, which as it happens, looks more than half decent from the trailer), but one of the surviving grunts left behind on Tartarus (LV-797) after the cataclysmic and rather bloody events of PROMETHEUS: FIRE AND STONE.
Well, the whole FIRE AND STONE storyline was spectacularly brutal actually, running through the ALIENS: FIRE AND STONE, PROMETHEUS: FIRE AND STONE, ALIEN VS PREDATOR: FIRE AND STONE and PREDATOR: FIRE AND STONE trades in that order. Oh, and then the subsequent finale PREDATOR: FIRE AND STONE – OMEGA one-shot which didn’t get collected anywhere except in the massive omnibus hardback that came out later… Righhhht, nice one Dark Horse. Actually, more of a inconsequential coda than a true finale, but still…
PREDATOR: LIFE AND DEATH actually forms the first part of this new storyline, rather than the last this time around. Events in that, and this volume, basically take place one year on from their respective FIRE AND STONE parts, and, in case you were wondering, which I’m sure you weren’t, forty-three years after the Aliens film. (I’m resisting as hard as I can to control my inner Bill Paxton, even after all these years, but it’s tricky!!)
What’s also different about this second comics’ merry-go-round is that Dan GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY / WILD’S END Abnett is writing all four parts of it, along with any surprise after-thoughts presumably. This almost certainly explains why this arc feels even tighter and more relentlessly paced. The action does not stop.
If you’re remotely a fan of Aliens, Predators, Aliens fighting Predators and indeed even Engineers wiping the floor with everyone, with lots of soft, squelchy humans getting mashed in the middle, you will love this. The art is from a different artist for each tie-in, and here Andrea REBELS VOL 1 Mutti brings his trademark ultra-fine pencil lines to bear on the inevitable mayhem that ensues from the moment another group of grunts lands on Tartarus. Do these people never learn?!
Arrived, Online & Ready To Buy!
Reviews already up if they’re new formats of previous graphic novels. The best of the rest will be reviewed next week while others will retain their Diamond previews as reviews.
Kill Or Be Killed vol 1 s/c (£8-99, Image) by Ed Brubaker & Sean Phillips, Elizabeth Breitweiser
Sister BFFs (£4-00, ) by Philippa Rice
Snow Blind s/c (£13-99, Boom!) by Ollie Masters & Tyler Jenkins
The Goddamned vol 1: The Flood (£8-99, Image) by Jason Aaron & R. M. Guera
Weathercraft h/c (£17-99, Fantagraphics) by Jim Woodring
Prophet vol 5: Earth War (£15-99, Image) by Brandon Graham, Simon Roy & Brandon Graham, Simon Roy, others
Abe Sapien vol 8: Desolate Shore (£17-99, Dark Horse) by Mike Mignola, Scott Allie & Max Fiumara, Sebastian Fiumara
Chew vol 12: Sour Grapes (£14-99, Image) by John Layman & Rob Guillory
Star Wars vol 4: Last Flight Of The Harbinger (£17-99, Marvel) by Jason Aaron, Chris Eliopoulos & Jorge Molina, various
Steven Universe vol 1 (UK Edition) (£10-99, Titan) by Jeremy Sorese & Coleman Engle
Sunstone vol 5 s/c (£13-99, Image) by Stjepan Sejic
Flash vol 1: Lightning Strikes Twice s/c (Rebirth) (£15-99, DC) by Joshua Williamson & Carmine Di Giandomenico, others
Harley Quinn vol 5: The Joker’s Last Laugh s/c (£14-99, DC) by Amanda Conner, Jimmy Palmiotti & Amanda Conner, Chad Hardin
Justice League vol 1: The Extinction Machines s/c (Rebirth) (£14-99, DC) by Bryan Hitch & Tony S. Daniel
Mighty Thor vol 1: Thunder In Her Veins s/c (£17-99, Marvel) by Jason Aaron & Russell Dauterman
Old Man Logan vol 3: The Last Ronin s/c (£14-50, Marvel) by Jeff Lemire & Andrea Sorrentino
Scarlet Witch vol 2: World Of Witchcraft s/c (£14-50, Marvel) by James Robinson & Marguerite Sauvage, Annie Wu, Tula Lotay, Joelle Jones, Kei Zama
Blade Of The Immortal Omnibus vol 1 (£17-99, Dark Horse) by Hiroaki Samura
Fruits Basket Collector’s Edition vol 8 (£14-99, Yen Press) by Natsuki Takaya
ITEM! Here we go again!
The Lakes International Comic Art Festival 2017 is open to creators, publishers and retailers to come and join Page 45 in making a ridiculous amount of money! Also, having fun.
What an electrifying poster! Please click to enlarge! And please apply now!
LICAF 2017 runs from Friday 13th October to Saturday 16th October with the exhibitors’ Kendal Clock Tower open on the Friday and Saturday. ENTRY REMAINS FREE!
If you’ve any doubts about why you should be there (comics readers, retailers, publishers and creators like), here’s Page 45’s Report on The Lakes International Comic Art Festival 2016 in which we OBLITERATED our all-time biggest weekend sales record!
I’ve seen the Official Comic Creator Guest List for LICAF 2017 – which is all done and dusted – and it will knock your blinkin’ socks off: some enormous international names including two Page 45 customer female favourites (and indeed female customer favourites).
Here’s the latest American National Cartoonists Society Magazine with a massive report on LICAF 2016 beginning on page 9.
ITEM! There are some absolute beauties in the current edition of PREVIEWS free online at Page 45 for comics and graphic novels shipping from March onwards. Please consider pre-ordering via our website or emailing / phoning in to add to your Page 45 Standing Order Pull List. We’ll have them whizzing off to you worldwide on arrival or pop them straight into your file.
- SOUND OF THE WORLD BY HEART with its New York cityscapes looks astounding. Lots of interior art for SOUND OF THE WORLD BY HEART on the Magnetic Press website.
- Fabrizio Dori totally nails Gauguin for the latest in SelfMadeHero’s Art Masters Series. Its English translation will out on 6th March. I don’t have a pre-order page for you on this one, but there’s plenty to whet your appetite at that link and you can always phone / email. (I have no idea what is up with this numerical formatting!)
- GRASS KINGS #1 is the latest series from Matt Kindt & Tyler Jenkins. Tyler Jenkins was the artist on SNOW BLIND whose collected edition is fresh in stock this week and will be reviewed next week. Father / son generation-gap nightmare leading crime-ridden nightmare.
- John Allison’s all-ages BAD MACHINERY VOLUME 7 appears to have undergone a change in format if I’m not much mistaken. You can read Page 45’s reviews of all things John Allison here but why not start with BAD MACHINERY VOL 6 in which I really get into its mechanics.
Well yes, you could wait as usual until the day after they’re published and be disappointed once again as everyone finally descends upon us and we so sell instantly out or – radical idea, this – you could order these things now if you know that you want them, so giving us the confidence to order in greater depth.
- Finally – and this is frankly insane – Sikoryak is adapting to comics iTunes’ absurdly long and labyrinthine TERMS AND CONDITIONS by illustrating and so mocking it, word for word, in the style of some classic comicbook creators. His Mike Mignola is impeccable and adds just the right level of menace. More full-page examples of Sikoryak’s TERMS AND CONDITIONS here.
It’s mostly on the subject of Simone Lia’s all-ages THEY DIDN’T TEACH THIS AT WORM SCHOOL in stock and reviewed by Page 45. Did you come to her Page 45 21st Birthday Party signing? No? And you call me a buffoon!
ITEM! Families! The PHOENIX COMIC WEEKLY for kids is celebrating its 5th Anniversary. It is a hallmark of quality which is why we stock almost every single collected edition whose reviews you can read right there at that link.
Here’s hat-tastic Sarah McIntryre’s PHOENIX COMIC launch blog from way back then. Sarah’s blogs are always the best with photos of creators you’ll never find elsewhere.
Pop her into our search engine for her very own all-ages comics and illustrated prose co-created with the ridiculous witty Philip Reeve who once Tweeted me “Rampaging foodstuffs are a bit of a recurring theme in our books…”