I’ve always wanted to use that as an entry title. It doesn’t have anything to do with what I’m actually going to say, but it’s pretty amusing, no?

Anyway, Alan David Doane has written up his picks for the Best Comics of 2003. I’m glad that he ignored all the cavilling that goes on about whether or not reprints or first-time collections count as having come out in a particular year. If you can’t count The Frank Book, Palomar, and Quimby the Mouse in a Best-Of list due to some technicality, it’s really not much of a Best-Of list, is it?

I agree with pretty much all the books he’s selected that I myself have read (I’ll reserve judgement on League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Volume II till I read it in its collected form, however; issue by issue I found it relatively disappointing). I do feel that he’s overselling Mother, Come Home by Paul Hornschemeier a bit. Visually, the book’s frankly incredible, and it’s inspiring to see a relatively young cartoonist attempt a work of such ambition. However, I think that towards the end Hornschemeier’s desire to deliver an emotional knock-out punch forces the story off the tracks of believability a bit. Like Craig Thompson’s Blankets, this is a gorgeous, involving, moving, but not-perfect work, one that I’m reasonably certain will be surpassed by its creator in his subsequent efforts.

I might come up with a list of my own, provided I develop the attention span to look through what I bought this year to figure out what actually was released this year–a possibility, if not necessarily a strong one. I’ll tell you right off the bat that Mat Brinkman’s Teratoid Heights and Marc Bell’s Shrimpy & Paul and Friends would be near the top of the list, and Bendis and Morrison’s genre work (particularly Daredevil, The Filth, Powers, and New X-Men) would be represented pretty highly as well. But till then, if you’re looking for Christmas shopping ideas for the irredeemable nerd in your life, Alan’s list is as good a place to start as you’re likely to find.

Once they find these guys, who I think it’s safe to assume have not aged at all due to their ingestion of an elixir derived from hidden jungle herbs, they should have them take their ancient warrior skills and hunt for the Abominable Snowman. Does this not make sense to everyone?

1) Ol’ Dirk Deppey gives Brian Bendis quite the ribbing today about the superhero scribe’s description of his upcoming Secret Wars project. Personally I think Dirk’s being unfair. Yes, Bendis’s choice of words–“A gritty real world take on the idea of a secret superhero war”–is, ahem, unfortunate. But Bendis’s work to date has evinced none of the ghastly, unimaginative, dreary cliches that his dopey phraseology calls to mind. We’ve seen any number of mindless atrocities in comic-book form touted as “gritty, real-world takes on superheroes”; I’d like to give Bendis the benefit of the doubt that this won’t be one of them.

2) The ongoing effort to shoot the zombie that is pamphlet-format comics in the goddamn head once and for all, most recently taken up by Franklin Harris, has met a couple of opponents, namely Johnny Bacardi and Tegan Gjovaag. Johnny and Tegan rightly point out that floppy comics are easy enough to travel with (I’ve taken many on airplanes myself; like Johnny, I bag-and-board mine, so they’re both thin and relatively durable). Tegan also deflates Franklin’s argument that collectability makes floppies too precious to actually read. Franklin alleges that today’s small print runs equate to big bucks later on, but he overlooks the fact that those small print runs all end up in the hands of anal-retentive bag-and-boarders (ahem) who are convinced that their copies of the Death of Superman will put their kids through college one day. Beyond the artificial demand created by things like Wizard’s price guides, most floppies won’t be worth much of anything. So hey, read ’em all you want!

But these little niceties, alas, amount to a fart in a hurricane compared to the overwhelming evidence that the world at large has less than no use for the stupid things. Tegan claims that “the form has worked for well over 50 years. Tegan, define “working well,” would you? No one buys them except a coterie of, what, 250,000 or so diehards in an increasingly insular market whose idea of growth seems to consist largely of puffing up its cheeks as it thrusts its head in the sand. The comics that sell in big numbers–manga–and the comics that make a big pop-cultural impact–trades and graphic novels–are unsurprisingly in a totally different, much more book-like format. That’s what the kids are reading, and to quote Mrs. Bobby Brown, I believe the children are our future. And then there’s the whole angle of cost-effectivness–don’t make me break out The Manga Stack of Intimidation…

Stuart Moore has detailed all the reasons that the industry is stuck with pamphlets, largely thanks to the backwardness of its current audience and retailership. But just because we have to rely on them now doesn’t mean we shouldn’t be looking to, and planning for, and doing our best to bring about, the future.

I’m glad to see that non-bloggers are beginning to pick up on the Weekly Standard’s leaked-memo story, originally reported by Stephen Hayes. Here’s Slate’s Jack Shafer, arguing persuasively that the allegations of a link between Saddam Hussein’s Baathist Iraq and Osama bin Laden’s al Qaeda terrorists proferred by the memo merit attention and scrutiny by the major media; Here’s Newsweek’s Michael Isikoff and Mark Hosenball paying the memo just that, but finding it wanting.

And while we’re at it, here’s Hayes’s rebuttal to the Defense Department’s quasi-dismissal of the the memo story. And as a supplement, here’s Slate’s Edward Epstein describing exactly why the jury’s still out on the much-ridiculed notion of the Prague meeting between 9/11 hijacker Mohammed Atta and an Iraqi intelligence agent.

I, for one, am glad to see this stuff being discussed again anywhere, and am saddened that it still hasn’t become the major story it deserves to be in the mainstream press. Yes, I tend to credit the notion that Saddam and al Qaeda were acquainted with one another’s operations, for several reasons. The specious argument that Saddam is secular and bin Laden fundamentalist and never the twain shall meet is belied not just by their sharing of a common and far-more-hated enemy (the U.S.), or by Saddam’s increasing tilt towards Islamism himself (adding the Koranic verse to Iraq’s flag, writing a Koran with ink containing his own blood, the constant language of jihad and infidels he employed on every occasion), or by the fact that despite their much-touted animosity for one another bin Laden never once took action against Saddam

And when you hear your master,

You will come a little faster, thanks to

Bitch School

Bitch School

(Gonna have to send you back to)

Bitch School

—Spinal Tap, “Bitch School”

Could be that a lot, and I mean a LOT, of blogging will occur today. Could be. We’ll see.

Attention viewers of Hope & Faith: I know what you’re thinking. You’re sitting there week after week, watching this loud, basically unfunny sitcom, wondering “why am I doing this?”, but in your heart of hearts, you know exactly why. You’re hoping that Kelly Ripa and Faith Ford will start making out. Listen. It’d be great if they started making out. I hope they’ll start making out. Regis Philbin and Candace Bergen hope they’ll start making out. Everyone hopes they’ll start making out, but the fact is, they’re not going to start making out. They play sisters, and it’s gross for sisters to start making out, no matter what those Coors commercials with the twins seem to be implying, and so even though they’re not sisters in real life and it would be totally, totally awesome to see them sensually explore one another with Blur playing in the background like a hyperactively blonde version of Sarah Michelle Gellar and Selma Blair in Cruel Intentions, they are not going to do it. Ever. So forget it.

Attention viewers of Gilmore Girls: I know what you’re thinking. You’re sitting there week after week, watching this strident, maddeningly dialogued dramedy, wondering “why am I doing this?”, but in your heart of hearts, you know exactly why. You’re hoping that Lauren Graham and Alexis Bledel will start making out. Listen. It’d be great if they started making out. I hope they’ll start making out. The entire WB Family hopes they’ll start making out, except maybe the writers of Seventh Heaven. Everyone hopes they’ll start making out, but the fact is, they’re not going to start making out. They play a mother and daughter, and it’s gross for mothers and daughters to start making out, no matter how many Eros Comix you’ve read, and so even though they’re not mother and daughter in real life and it would be totally, totally awesome to see them tonguing each other like Axl Rose and Stephanie Seymour in the video for “November Rain,” they are not going to do it. Ever. So forget it.

Attention viewers of The Lord of the Rings: I know what you’re thinking. You’re sitting there week after week, waiting for the final installment of this magnificent, epic fantasy masterpiece to debut in theatres, wondering “why am I doing this?”, and if you said “because they’re awesome” you’d pretty much be right, but in your heart of hearts, you know exactly why. You’re hoping that Orlando Bloom and Elijah Wood (and maybe Viggo Mortensen) will start making out. Listen. It’d be great if they started making out. I hope they’ll start making out. Multiple Academy Award nominee Sir Ian McKellen hopes they’ll start making out (and I think maybe Merry and Pippin do too). Everyone hopes they’ll start making out, but the fact is, they’re not going to start making out. I’ve read the books, and in no way do Legolas and Frodo (and maybe Aragorn) ever physically manifest attraction for one another, and so even though Peter Jackson has changed all sorts of other shit around and it would be totally, totally awesome to see them tear into one another like an all-male, non-interracial version of Halle Berry and Billy Bob Thornton in Monster’s Ball without the death penalty subtext and with a hobbit and an elf (and maybe a ranger) instead of poor horny lonely people from the South, they are not going to do it. Ever. So forget it.

I’m serious, people. Let it go.

Die, pamphlets, die! Franklin Harris lists all the reasons why the conventional comic book needs to go away. Unfortunately, Stuart Moore has already listed all the reasons why they can’t, not if the industry wants to stay afloat right now. This tension is what Mick Martin unconsciously picked up in his follow-up post to Franklin’s.

Bob Morales, the writer behind the controversial “black Captain America” miniseries Truth, gives a lengthy interview over at Newsarama today. I liked Truth quite a bit. It took a couple of issues to get going, and along the way there was a misstep or two (the execution of hundreds of black soldiers, for example; Morales concedes this was based on urban myth more than anything else, and I think it gives people predisposed against a series examining the shady doings of the U.S. military an easy excuse not to take the book seriously), but once it kicked into gear it became one of the most startling and disturbing horror comics (well, that’s what it was) in recent memory. Morales even redeemed some of the unrelenting harshness with a kindly, humanistic coda. Well worth checking out when the trade collection is at long last released.

Also at Newsarama, Brian Bendis talks about his upcoming Secret Wars project. If you guessed it’d involve black ops, well, you’d be right–you’d be right 99 times out of 100 at Marvel these days. But seriously, folks, I’m looking forward to this, despite its being a remake of one of the most egregious emblems of 1980s funnybook dopiness, because Bendis has an uncanny knack for taking the absolute most fanboy-button-pushing geekiest ideas imaginable and executing them in a remarkably non-fanboy fashion.

Speaking of Bendis, Jason Kimble eloquently defends the man’s work against his detractors (John Jakala being a prominent one). John was certainly mistaken in calling Bendis’s dialogue ripped-off Tarantinoisms–it’s actually ripped-off Aaron Sorkinisms. But Bendis is actually better than Sorkin, because the dialogue is crafted (as Jason suggests) not to sound clever, but to sound human.

Steven Grant argues that comics should be the new drugs. Actually, he argues that comics should be vehicles of unfettered and boldly original imagination, which is absolutely correct (and, as usual, it’s kind of a bummer that this even needs to be said), and then slaps an “edgy” catch-phrase on top, which I could do without. But his points remain rock-solid. (And keep in mind, altcomix fans, that this does not mean everything has to be gonzo fantasy–Diary of a Teenage Girl is one of the most imaginative comics I’ve ever read. There’s more than one way to skin a Cheshire Cat.)

I always dig when NeilAlien starts talking about Dr. Strange, even when I have no idea what he’s talking about.

Bill Sherman advocates the slow-and-steady approach to Love & Rockets, saying that things take off in Volume Two. Forager goes contrarian, saying the hardcover Palomar collection is too big and unwieldy to really sink your teeth into. But contrary to his opinion, I actually did curl up in bed with it last night (yep, went out and bought it yesterday). Haven’t read very far yet, but it’s tough not to be impressed as hell with that first “Chelo’s Burden” story, isn’t it? When was the last time you saw a comics story told that way, anyway?

In that same post, Forager responds to my defense of Top Shelf as a company not primarily concerned with style over substance. I’ll grant him that Top Shelf is definitely tied into the mini-comics aesthetic, sometimes for better, sometimes for worse. And I also think he’s right that the success of Blankets is in part attributable to its larger-than-life format, but not simply for the novelty factor J.W. describes–it also happens to be the best way to have told that particular story. I’ve said in the past that little previews of the book left me cold, but reading the whole massive thing made everything “make sense” to me. It’s to Craig’s credit that he insisted on releasing the thing the way he did, rather than serializing it into much less effective individual installments.

Big Sunny D responds to my assertion that Jimmy Corrigan isn’t really horror despite his claims to the contrary by… agreeing? Man, this is why I love the comics blogosphere–you don’t see this happen on message boards, well, ever!

Chris Allen joins the Ross/Riefenstahl fray, mainly in service of his belief that Ross is great. In so doing he fires a couple shots my way for mocking how Ross draws all his superheroes as pudgy dimps, which point of view I proudly stand by. (No offense to gym teachers or guards at women’s correctional facilities.) Chris, I wasn’t going for “cheap yuks” at all–I really do think the way the characters look is a problem. We’re clearly meant to be impressed by Ross’s heroes, and instead we think “wow, these look like slightly overweight people in goofy superhero costumes.” (In other words, they look like his models, who tend actually to be slightly overweight people in goofy superhero costumes themselves.) That’s the biggest obstacle to Ross’s artistic project, not the allegations (unfounded, I think) of fascist undertones.

Shawn Fumo has a long post on manga, in response to a Johnny Bacardi post that essentially wonders what all the fuss is about. Shawn’s argument is that while the American comics mainstream attempts to graft the conventions of one genre (supeheros) on to a variety of genres with which they are occasionally incompatible (or at the very least in which the juxtaposition is not rewarding, particularly for young readers), manga repeatedly utilizes a certain set of narrative tropes (ie. methods of plotting storytelling, not capes and spandex and so forth), which work equally well in a variety of genres. I think this sounds more limited than Shawn intends it to; check out his post and see what you think.

John Jakala replies to Dave Intermittent in a similar pas de deux about the merits of manga. John argues that the reason kids like manga is that it’s actually entertaining and geared towards them, two things the bulk of mainstream American comics can’t seem to manage; as a grown-up, “your mileage may vary.” (There is plenty of enjoyable, adult-centric manga out there, though.) Anyway, Dirk Deppey’s similar assertion was John’s inspiration here.

Rick Geerling offers an extremely long and impassioned rant about what the hell is wrong with superhero comics anyway. He charges that the industry-dictated need to keep the franchise characters’ storylines open-ended for decade after decade strips them of all potential for true change, innovation, and lasting resonance. He’s got an uphill battle to fight if he thinks DC’s going to let Bruce Wayne die so that we can enjoy our copies of Arkham Asylum more, but the point’s a fascinating one. This is actually an argument that comes up when discussing the philosophical ramifications of immortality–the idea that you need death to be able to weigh and make sense out of life, because death puts a cap on things, giving you a sense of scale, relativity, purposefulness, etc. Is the same true for comics? Alan Moore, in his introduction to early collected editions of Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns, argued that it was, that legends lose their impact without a denouement. I’ve certainly seen it argued that the big superhero characters have all been stretched well past the point of diminishing returns–despite what the marketing departments would have you believe, these aren’t mythological icons that arose out of the collective unconscious, and therefore cannot sustain the repeated use that the gods of old could. I still enjoy a good Spider-Man or Batman or even Superman story, when they come along, but would I enjoy them more if they gained the sense of finitude and permanence granted by closure? Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

I don’t really have all that much to say about the Massachusetts court’s decision regarding gay marriage, because I’m just too damn happy about it. Gay people are normal people who feel love just like anyone else, and deserve the basic human right to enshrine that love through marriage just like anyone else. End of story.

I respect the arguments made by same-sex marriage opponents like Eve Tushnet–who, insofar as she is gay herself, may be reasonably excluded from the ranks of gay-bashing troglodyte SSM opponents like John Derbyshire–but, frankly, I don’t buy a single one of them. Maybe it’s because I actually happen to be married, but the idea that as such I’m just some cog in a societal machine designed to produce and properly rear babies is dehumanizing and ridiculous to me. Doubly so, because, unless you accept specious and antequated theories about gender roles that successful same-sex or one-parent families are currently giving lie to day in and day out, it actually winds up being an argument for gay marriage, not against it. (Moreover, scratch someone who’s constructed elaborate legal and philosophical arguments against gay marriage, and more often than not you’ll find someone who thinks that God doesn’t like homosexuality underneath. That’s not the God I know, to put it mildly; and even if it was, that’s not how we do things in the United States of America, thank, well, God.)

Human rights were extended to a large group of humans the other day. Bravo.

Well, I was right–I’ve posted a lot today so far, and there’s no end in sight. Right now your options are:

(1) Jim Treacher avenged

(2) Terror attack stuff

(3) Bush’s speech stuff

(4) Saddam/al Qaeda stuff

(5) Anti-war protestor stuff

(6) Smutty silliness

Pick yr poison!

This morning, after hearing about the appalling dual terroist attack in Istanbul today (the second such attack in a week, this one levelled against people guilty of being British as opposed to guilty of being Jewish), I was listening to the joint press conference being held by Bush and Blair, and this question stood out:

“What do you say to people who today conclude that British people have died and been maimed as a result of you appearing here today, shoulder-to-shoulder with a controversial American President?”

I’ll let Blair himself answer:

“What has caused the terrorist attack today in Turkey is not the President of the United States, is not the alliance between America and Britain. What is responsible for that terrorist attack is terrorism, are the terrorists. And our response has got to be to unify in that situation, to put the responsibility squarely on those who are killing and murdering innocent people, and to say, we are going to defeat you, and we’re not going to back down or flinch at all from this struggle.”

The fact that it is necessary for a major world leader to have to take the time to say something like that is disturbing to me. Unfortunately, the notion that we may now blame Bush/the U.S./the West/Jews for every terroist-attack death everywhere is becoming increasingly popular.

Fortunately, it’s an easy argument to defeat. Before 9/11, this cowboy president of ours had made it absolutely clear that he was planning on keeping his hands off of not just Iraq, but really every other country on the planet. Remember the whole “no nation building” thing? Back then, he was criticized as being too isolationist by the same people now convinced he’s out to conquer the world. What, then, prompted Islamist terrorists from atomizing 3,000 people that day? Bush’s interventist approach toward Texas?

Similarly, take a look at that MSBNC article about today’s attacks. It points out that up until today, the most deadly terrorist atrocity in Turkey’s history was a 1977 assault against leftists. Surely they weren’t advocating an imperialist oil war at the time.

And as Christopher Hitchens points out, one of the synagogues devastated last Saturday had already been the site of a terrorist attack, back when Reagan and Thatcher were in charge of the US and UK and Saddam was our friend. Unless those terrorists were time travellers, it’s difficult to understand how their actions were caused by the regime change policy.

It’s also difficult to understand the mentality that leads one to ask a question like that one from this morning’s press conference, but I’m trying. You can’t defeat what you don’t understand, after all.

Yesterday, in the parking lot at the train station, I saw a car with a bumper sticker that read “BUSH LIED – PEOPLE DIED.” I’ve often wondered why the anti-war movement (if a contingent that can only muster one-eighth the amount of protestors that took to the streets against a fox-hunting ban can be called a movement–I’m sorry, I should be above cheap shots, shouldn’t I?) have stuck so hard to these strident, all-caps claims of mendacity.

Then I listend to Bush’s speech at Whitehall Palace yesterday. Here was the most powerful man on the planet repudiating the realpolitik of decades past that saw the free world coddling Middle Eastern tyrants and thugocracies, repudiating ethnicist claims that Muslims are incapable of participating in democracy, calling for the establishment of an independent democractic Palestinian state, taking Israel to task for provocative and unjust policies yet defending its right to exist untrammelled by random violence, calling for an end to the rising tide of anti-Semitism, defending the removal of genocidal madmen in Serbia, Afghanistan, and Iraq, calling for the rights of women to be respected around the globe, demanding increased levels of freedom and tolerance from our so-called friends in the Muslim world, declaring that dictatorship is always harmful, asserting the need for freedom of speech, press, and religion, citing Woodrow Wilson’s idealistic internationalism as a good to be returned to, and generally declaring his intent to “raise up an ideal of democracy in every part of the world.”

This is the most radically liberal speech I’ve ever heard an American president give. It’s a tremendous break from years of “looking the other way” when it came to the behavior of friends and enemies alike in countries that contain one fifth of humankind. It advocated policies that have been close to my bleeding heart for years, policies I never thought I’d hear advocated by this or any President.

If I were the anti-war left, I’d be yelling “BUSH LIED!” too. The kind of cognitive dissonance a speech like that would engender in me would require nothing less than to deny that the man meant a single word he said.

“In its second minute the Hate rose to a frenzy.”

–George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four

Holy Moses, was I ever right. I posted the hell out of myself today. There may be more to come–who knows?–but for now you’ve got:

(1) Gay marriage stuff

(2) Horror comics stuff

(3) General comics stuff

(4) Jim Treacher avenged

(5) Terror attack stuff

(6) Bush’s speech stuff

(7) Saddam/al Qaeda stuff

(8) Anti-war protestor stuff

(9) Smutty silliness

Fire at will!

Thanks to the generosity of John Jakala, I read the two-volume horror series Tomie, by manga creator Junji Ito, this week. To quote Lost Highway, “that is some seriously spooky shit, sir.” The very concept–human being as tumor–is one familiar to any fan of Anglosphere body horror–Cronenberg and Barker, for example. But here, it’s pursued with a mad capriciousness, fusing the tumor metaphor with the viral metaphor to produce something truly terrifying and seemingly everlasting. The imagery is as strong as you’re likely to come across in a comic; the carpet that gives birth to a horde of empty-socketed faces is a favorite of mine.

However, I wonder if I didn’t stumble across a big obstacle to the effectiveness of comic-book horror, something we’ve been talking about around these parts for ages: Later that night, as I lay me down to sleep, some of those horrifying images started filtering into my mind again. This tends to happen when I watch or read something really frightening–but unlike those peskily persistent pictures of the Shining twins or It‘s evil clown Pennywise, these mental images appeared complete with panel borders and folded-back page edges, as though I was looking not at the image itself (the “real thing”), but the book itself! It’s hard to be truly kept up at night by the recurring image of ink on a bunch of pieces of paper…

The friend of mine who pioneered the “Friendstering the Masthead” game has expanded upon it at Low Culture. Apparently I accidentally scooped him with my post on the topic. Whoops!

UPDATE: In the interest of full disclosure, before I de-Friendstered, the editorial staff at the publication I edit for was an embarrassing four for four.

The responses to yesterday’s plea for help getting into Love & Rockets continue to flow in. The leading candidates seem to be 1) Palomar 2) The Death of Speedy 3) Getting the hell off the Comics Journal message board before it saps your last bit of enthusiasm for great comics. I’ll probably be heeding all three bits of advice.

Ha ha, seriously folks, Palomar and The Death of Speedy are far and away the frontrunners for the best way to dive into the work of Gilbert and Jaime Hernandez respectively; after trying those two, folks have suggested trying Gilbert’s Poison River next, followed by Chelo’s Burden, X, Flies on the Ceiling, Chester Square, and Wigwam Bam to varying degrees. In other words, I’ve got a nice plan of action, and as long as I can wean myself off of my chronological-order-of-release fixation, I should be all set. Thanks to everyone who’s written in or posted suggestions, and please keep those recommendations coming (especially folks who wrote in yesterday with ampersands, since my submission form ate whatever you tried to tell me!).

Also on the Hernandez beat is Eve Tushnet, who’s blogged her own recommendations, and Johnny Bacardi, who’s a rare dissenting voice in the chorus of praise for Palomar. Alan David Doane is representative of the majority opinion. (How often do you get to say that?)

Big Sunny D advances his theory that Chris Ware’s Jimmy Corrigan is a horror comic. Horrifying, I’ll grant him, but horror? I can’t buy it. I agree with pretty much everything he says, but I think horror is more than just a sense of despair and futility–much as we’re supposed to think they need to be subverted or destroyed if a given work is to be any good, genre conventions do count for something, and I think that certain conventions of structure, imagery, and message are what enable us to stop the slippery slope that leads us to label as “horror” anything that’s bleak or disturbing. On the other hand, Steve Bissette (scroll down) agrees with Mr. D; it’s definitely a topic worth examining. (I touched on it in a footnote in my senior essay on horror.)

Alan David Doane weighs in on the dangers of the (as Barton Fink might put it) “merely adequate.” I’m not terribly familiar with Geoff Johns’s work so I can’t comment there, but it’s certainly true that there’s more at stake when you buy something that’s “okay for what it was” than just that vague sense of let-down-ness you’re feeling.

Will Franklin find his findings to be factual in the future?

Shawn Fumo unearths a truly shocking statistic from a Time Magazine article on Borders Bookstores–female-centric shojo manga comprises fully 60% of their graphic-novel sales! Speaking anecdotally, I have yet to visit the graphic novel section of the local Borders without seeing books picked up for purchase by teenage girls or elementary-school-aged kids or both. Every single time, people. But surely this manga craze in my Borders is just a fluke–after all, Shonen Jump just won’t sell!

Bruce Baugh has some thoughts on the extent to which righteous anger is an integral part of fandom; he also counters the fandom-supported argument that change is inherently bad. He cites the case of Ang Lee’s Hulk, and he’s right–it’s not the fact that Lee changed the Hulk’s origin that was bad, it was the way he changed it. (That is, needlessly and incomprehensibly complicating it, thereby stripping it of its allegorical resonance. And oh yeah, who gave a damn about any of those characters? The fact is that any time the Hulk wasn’t on screen, or those panel-border dissolves weren’t being used, the movie was dull as hell, and making a dull movie out of the Incredible freaking Hulk is pretty inexcusable. But that’s a topic for another day.)

Note to John Jakala: Nuh-uh! (Translation: there’s an interesting debate going on in that post’s comments feature about the merits of Mark Millar and Brian Bendis.)

J.W. Hastings tries to find where comic books as containers of literature end and comic books as art objects begin. He’s not all that happy with the latter conception of the comic book, no sir. Frankly, I think he’s targeting the wrong book by the wrong publisher–Top Shelf has some vaguely design-y books, sure, but that most recent anthology isn’t really one of them, at least insofar as it garners praise from the artcomix crowd; it’s too hit-or-miss an affair. Most of Top Shelf’s best books are nice to look at but are ultimately valued for their content, not their design–the works of Alan Moore, Craig Thompson, and Jeffrey Brown come to mind. A far more artsy publisher would be Highwater (who, in fairness to JW, are distributed in some capacity or other by Top Shelf); it draws a lot of its energy from Fort Thunder alumni, and NON anthologizer Jordan Crane, who are all leading proponents of the comic-book-as-objet-d’art school. Frankly, I’m tickled if a book is as neat-looking as, say, the hand-silkscreened and die-cut NON #5, but I’m really interested in the comics themselves, you know? Which is good, because Highwater happens to publish some of the best comics made by anyone in the last few years (Teratoid Heights, Shrimpy & Paul and Friends, Skibber Bee-Bye, The Last Lonely Saturday, and yes, the much-maligned-by-JW Kramers Ergot 4. JW, take another look at Kramers–yes, the endless collages are pretty much pointless, but check out “Lonely Sailor” by editor Sammy Harkham, the Sisyphus stories by Anders Nilssen, “Don’t Look Them in the Eye” by Jeffrey Brown–those I remember off the top of my head, and they’re good comics any way you slice it.)

Eve Tushnet responds to David Fiore‘s call for an eye-level aesthetic, which she interprets to eschew both reverence and cynicism. Sounds good to me–reverence and cynicism tend to be totally subsumed into horror in the works I admire…

In a post script to something of a running debate on the potential ameliorative effects of manga on American comics, Dave Intermittent notes that two American-made manga-style books, the Sandman spin-off Death: At Death’s Door and a Lizzie McGuire tie-in, have done well enough at bookstores to suggest that the manga market will, in fact, buy American manga. In other words, it’s not just Japanophile fetishism. This bodes well.

More on manga (hey, isn’t there always?) from Ron Phillips, focusing on manga’s role as sequential-art training wheels for America’s little kids.

Jim Henley, you are not alone!

Jason Kimble points out that amidst all the recent furor about mediocre comics, no one seemed to remember that the crap: gold ratio in other media is just as bad. Hey, I remembered–you don’t see me renting Charlie’s Angles: Full Throttle or running out to buy Britney Spears’s In the Zone today, do you?

Finally, in a recent message to his mailing list, Warren Ellis mentioned that he’d been surfing through “the comics blogosphere” the other day. While that explained the strange feeling I got a couple days ago that someone, somewhere, was exposing my dark American underbelly, it did more than that, too: it led Ellis, apparently, to give up on bitching about the state of the comics industry altogether, because it’s all been said before (by him, and now by the bloggers). Christopher Butcher is apparently going to follow suit. Though I wasn’t reading comics, let alone comics-related websites, when Ellis was at the height of his influence, it seems to me that his advice tends to be quite good; but there have been people saying there’s nothing new under the sun for as long as there have been people, if not as long as there’s been a sun. Personal Comics Burnout hits all of us at one time or another, and the joys of complaining are certainly susceptible to yielding diminishing returns, but don’t let’s mistake momentary fed-up-edness with unshakeable insight. If we don’t complain about the stupidities of this medium we love so much, who will? Not the people perpetrating the stupidities, I can assure you of that.

Here’s another comics-related anal-rententivity-inspired plea from me to you.

I have a hardcover copy of Chris Ware’s Jimmy Corrigan collection. Since this is one of my favorite books of all time, I like having a hardcover (a relatively rare thing in my collection). Essentially it was a gift from a friend who had an extra copy. The thing is, the cover is ripped along the spine in such a way that the printing and color is removed from an inch-long by half-inch-wide section of it and all you can see is the white of the paper. Think of what happens to wrapping paper when you rip the tape off and you’ll get the idea.

Anyway, this drives me nuts, and during the three or so years I’ve owned this book I’ve always considered it to not actually be in my collection, so flummoxed and flustered am I by that one tear on the spine. I know it’s crazy, but it’s true, just like getting lost between the moon and New York City.

Here is my offer: To the first person who sends me a nice pristine copy of the Jimmy Corrigan hardcover, I will send my own slightly-ripped-cover copy of that same hardcover, plus an undamaged, lovely hardcover copy of Ben Katchor’s Julius Knipl: The Beauty Supply District collection. How does that sound? I’ll even take care of shipping. How can you lose?

(You know, if you want to keep it simple and just want to trade Jimmy Corrigans, that’s fine too. But I thought I’d offer the Katchor book too.)

Go ahead and email me if you’re interested. (And I’ve been told the ampersand situation has been rectified, so don’t worry about that.)

Thank you, and goodnight!

You know what? Just go to Dirk’s today, okay? He’s got links to everything, and then some. Everyone else is just linking to those same things anyway, so I’m saving you the trouble. You’re welcome.

Long Island and its neighbors have been insane lately. The Missus has analysis, with particular emphasis on the troubling implications these stories have for criminal justice, high school culture, the eating disordered… fascinating reading.