Review: Fear Agent (entire run)

I just finished Fear Agent's final arc 'Out of Step'.
I've not read the one-shots collected at the back of Library edition volume 2 and I guess I won't be reading them immediately either. No matter how good they each individually might be, they would only diminish the feeling that Out of Step and the ending to the entire Fear Agent series gave me.

Simply put; it was fantastic.

One Hell of a Ride

A well thought-out, at times completely insane, hard-to-follow plot, complete with alien invasions, time-travel and Mark Twain quotes (who's way more nihilistic than I knew), a story that went and introduced twists and plot progressions that I consistently never anticipated (bar one and that one significant, but it's all about the execution baby), that kept me satisfied and entertained with every page and regularly shocked me with its depictions of over-the-top brutal space weaponry induced violence.

The Last Goodbye;
 an apocalyptic storyline that can stand
alongside any end of the world story you've ever seen.

Main character Heath is both relatable and utterly not so. He is the man you wish you could be. A man capable of anything but also so tortured and guilt-ridden that you find it's best just to observe him going about his business and just be happy that you're not in his shoes. It really isn't fair how much he goes through during the course of this series.

Alcohol dependent and frequent drug induced episodes and yet...
what a bad-ass.

I mentioned Mark Twain before, aka Samuel Clemens, whose more nihilistic ramblings infuse this entire body of work. His quotes always accompany Heath's greatest moments of pay-off or loss.

I found them right up my alley. Nihislim, but from a very human perspective.

Above I mentioned I saw a plot progression coming and the truth is that I originally got an inkling about how this all would end at the end of the second Fear Agent arc.
At first, starting this post, I was going to go in depth about that ending but as everything I could say would constitute a damn spoiler for a tale that really shouldn't be spoiled, I will leave it out and just say that I also love the ending to David Gemmell's Waylander trilogy. Take that any way you like.

The Art, especially in volume 2 is pretty damn good and easy to look at and is kept as close to maximum consistency throughout the entire series. Meaning what you see when you begin is what you'll be getting at the end. The art does noticably get a little finer past volume 1 but I guess what I'm saying is that there aren't any radical shifts in art direction as there usually are in some comics. It's something that bums me out, so I was glad here for the consistency.

So, 32 issues with over 700 pages of  damn good-looking art and clever storytelling.
If you like space comics with an epic, reality-bending storyline, you've already picked this up. If you haven't, go on and give it a chance; it's absolutely worth it.

Run-up to Something Wicked This Way Comes(Or how the ending can just ruin your reading experience despite the enjoyable road to get there, or maybe not.)

I just finished Ray Bradbury's Something Wicked This Way Comes.

What an utterly silly ending.

And that silliness, the juvenile antics, the desperate laughter against the coming dark, is, of course, the point. "...We can't take them seriously...".

But when a scene doesn't connect with the reader that scene can only come off as bad. Badly and deeply silly. foolish and corny and ill-advised. There's a complete disconnect between the emotional investment in the various understandable and quite likeable characters, the various chapters of really well paced build-up of tension (which is a really hard thing to get right and yet there were several memorable tense scenes throughout the book). But then suddenly at the resolution its hoped for catharsis is then made a mockery of.

I feel let down.

By the end we're meant to laugh or cry in joy, in relief at the passing of danger and the end to mounting tension.
A heartbreaking moment in which we and the characters choose to give over to joy rather than fear. A hopeful message and a good one too. Like many lessons in the book, it is one to live your life by. The problem is that they, in what is a fraught and hopeless moment, the characters, deliberately make the choice to become happy in order to change the ending.

In a desperate and dark situation you can not just choose to be happy. To genuinely laugh, joyfully, in the face of your own despair is almost ludicrous, to laugh in such a situation is to tempt madness. And I'm not talking about wry laughter in recognition of some irony.. I'm talking about genuine Happy Joy, in full knowledge that that joy will change the outcome of whatever happens next. Knowing that without your positivity you get a bad ending. We're treading close to a paradox here. Belief as a tool powerful only in proportion to the power of your believing. And you, a rational being, knowing it.

But there's more.
At that point, in that scene, the writing is just as strained as the decision of the characters to be joyful.

Bradbury's writing and in particular his dialogue, already overly crafted, gets to be even more so. Dialogue in general is a hard thing to get right, but he seems to go an extra mile here; stunted sentences induced by despair and near-panic, juvenile expository exclamations. accompanied to the singing of several corny songs.

For other people this might very well be perfect. It just didn't connect how it should have with me.

And yet, it was close.
I know it was. I could almost feel it.


So this ending at first glance seemed like it just ruined my good reading experience up until this point.
But then, maybe I found something else in this scene.

The scene isn't genuinely touching, it isn't happy, it doesn't easily give rise to joy. And maybe it's not supposed to.

Just like the characters, we actually have to work for it. Deliberately create that emotional response. You have to strain for it to achieve it, strain to accept it. And then like our heroes, suddenly you deserve the happy ending.

In the end,
maybe that is the genius of this scene.

A perfect parallell of intent between reader and characters.



Or maybe I'm just emotionally dead.

Saviour of Mice

Would you believe I had an encounter with another mouse recently?

Literally crawling for warmth.

I went outside in the morning to clean my shoes and saw something splashing around in the pool.

There were a few moments where my first thoughts were literally 'Do spiders get that big?', 'No they don't get that big', 'Yes, they do, but that doesn't look like any spider I've seen' and then my thoughts went to the house mouse I put outside last week.

Luckily it wasn't him, he remains at large, whereabouts unknown. This was another one; a shrew.

And though it wasn't exactly a taming, and didn't even involve marriage of any kind, it was definitely a saving. (I'm so sorry)

Poor bugger must've fell in not long before. He spent about 5 minutes just literally shaking in my hands from cold, shock and exhaustion, before giving one loud squeek and practically spasming out of my hand onto the ground. Because I was sitting down and staying as still as possible it was okay though.

After that he became quite docile and only ambled off a little while later when I got up to deny him his hiding space beneath my legs.

He ended up crawling back, quite relaxed, beneath the boardwalk.

I can tell you that that felt good.

Like how a benevolent god must feel, just reaching out and helping a creature in need. A good day.

Books of Babel Haul

Look at these beauties!

All three books, both trades and hardcover have been given a matte non-reflective finish (And why the hell would anyone want otherwise is beyond me, matte non-reflective should be standard!).

Artwork and cover design by Ian Leino.

Some horror comics at the back. Don't mind them, they're not related to this.

Spines.

Note the odd, slightly out of synch spine of the hardcover.
As it is easily fixed by bending the dustjacket in a few places I'm not too horrified by it but I will
 leave it as is in case I should mess it up.

Back of the Trades. I kept Book 2's back blurb out of it in case of spoilers.

Sleeveless hardcover, uniform grey front and back.

Very nice spine limited to title and author's last name. Ideal and cheap for the self-publisher and the minimalist approach really adds a touch of class.

And here is the back of the hardcover.

You'll note there's no book blurb and only review quotes.

And as a bonus the Hardcover has a map, of sorts, that isn't present in the trades.

This acquisition and the ensuing blog post is mostly because of Mark Lawrence, known for his Prince of Thorns trilogy, whose Self Published Fantasy Blog Off project moved these books into the spotlight.

They've been getting alot of hype and exposure these days, again because of the SPFBO, and though I'm a little late for the party, I thought it'd be nice for potential buyers to see how the books looked on display and in the flesh (paper) as it were.

I haven't really got time to read them but as they're so pretty, I don't really care.

For now I'll just wait until the sequels are out and read them as the set is complete.

The Books of Babel will run up to 4 books. Josiah Bancroft is now working on book 3, tentatively titled The Hod King.

Brutania Chronicles Haul

Alright, a break from the dark stuff.

Look at what finally arrived!

The final Part of the Brutania Chonicles.

So far, the best storyline and, in my opinion, best artwork of the entirety of the Slaine canon.

Have a look at its opening pages.

And if this looks batshit insane to you...
Well, you're not wrong.

Predominately violent, bloody red and blazing yellow (which is literally power Blazing Forth from the mouth of the Primordial) against a backdrop of varying shades of dark and moody blue. Some very impressive work by artist Simon Davis. And that yellow bit from page 2 seems to signify that more flashbacks are incoming.

So far, in the series' long history as an art comic, I haven't liked anything as much I like Simon Davis' run. Not even Bisley's Horned God.
Though Brutania might still be not as good as Bisley's part of the Book of Scars. Small though as that was, it was perfect, and possibly only perfect because it was so small. It was in effect the climax of the 'Horned God' storyline compressed into a small part of  'Scars' and updated, revamped and showered with an artist's patience and love.

Yeah, I love Bisley's part in Slaine's Book of Scars. Who doesn't? Look at it.

Mind-numbing Bad-Assery undercut by the silly antics of Ukko and Nest.

But I was going to say something about Brutania, wasn't I?

 Beautifully painted panels, capable of easily conveying oodles of kinetic energy, the depth to the story, the heightened level of introspection that gives us a more mature take on Slaine.

All of it is just so great.

And it's not as if the more mature take on Slaine does away with the "Hero-talk" or the absurd grandstanding, or the weirder parts of celtic lore. No, the things we've come to expect of a Slaine comic are all still there but this time it's backed up by a weighty and involving narrative relying on the character development of our hero. And he goes far, people.

I don't think his psyche has been given this much attention before and it really makes these books stand out from the rest of the Slaine saga.

I haven't read book 3 yet, as the start of the comic makes it clear that I should go back and read parts 1 and 2 again to refresh my memory.

I'll have to see when I can give it the attention it deserves.

I'm very much looking forward to it.

The mouse captured... and freed.

Here he is then, yesterday's silly little bugger.

Would you believe he peeked underneath the door while I was on the toilet?

It just goes to show; voyeurs always get caught.

I spent the next 30 minutes playing a heated game of man and mouse, dismantling cupboards and shifting beds.

By the time I at last cornered him, literally in a corner, I felt quite sorry for him.

Poor thing must've been terrified.

But it ends well though; he calmed down by the time he was set free. Sorry about the end of the movie not keeping the mouse in focus, I got a little excited and forgot where to point the camera. At the very end you can just see him scoot away though.

Don't pay any attention to the gibberish spoken in the film, I doubt it's even a real language. It's more like sounds of exclamation, really. Cavemen happy with the hunt, while in the background exotic birds warble most strangely.

Purpose from Stories

It's all about how you get through the day. You tell yourself any story you like. The stories, the lies, the self-deception and deceit, no matter how uplifting or how degrading for you or others they may be; they don't matter. What matters is that you keep going. despite anything and despite everything, despite the rest.

It seems impossible and indeed, pointless, that you should.

But after a while your innate self, the nature of a human being will take over and as always you will fall back into the ploy of following the currents of life. letting yourself drift on the temporary whim and drive of others to point the way forward. Letting yourself glide along is the the trick.

We are people who live in thought. I can not give you a fraction of the stuff I've thought and the numerous and endless, pointless scenarios I've thought up to 'dream' myself through the day; they've all been fake, each and every one of them. but I'm still here, occasionally, and currently, to my great regret.

I tell myself it is for others that I do this thing. because there is no hope. there is no drive. there is no wish for, or of myself. I'm just plodding forwards. taking the path of least resistance, rolling into the next situation. Trusting, no, hoping that there is a light at the end of the dreary tunnel.

Some of my favourite fiction deals with this. And it's not that I always recognize this. just in some cases, obvious cases, I do.

True Detective, Scott Bakker's the Second Apocalypse, Malazan the Book of the Fallen, there's bound to be others. I'd like to mention the Acts of Caine and Baltimore but I'm not sure they fit the requirements.

Nihilism and the worthlessness of humankind (though this is absolutely not Malazan's message, but one of its messages is definitely that nature and life itself is probably better off without humanity's destructive selft). yet we all find meaning for ourselves. we tell ourselves the meaning that seems to apply, simply because there must be one. This existance could not possibly be without it.

Right?

Reading Update

I've started reading Von Bek and it's already better and more engaging than the two Elric volumes I've read since last month.

It's not that the 2 Elric books were bad, boring or unambitious... They're not.
But still, they did take me a month to read though, both of them together at a little over 600 pages. I've literally read more of Von Bek, in one day (which was last saturday), in a few sessions than I have in any 4 consecutive days over the last month.
I also have no desire or interest to actually talk about the Elric books as they just seem so run of the mill. (though I did end up writing alot: completionist is as a completionist does, I suppose. As a consequence the two elric books will get their own post. )

So then, with that out of the way, about Von Bek.
The first thing that is noticable is that the story's in first person. the framing device and narrative conceit for the story is that this tale has been, not written by but, only translated by Michael Moorcock from an unearthed Manuscript found in the walls of an old monastary.

The second thing you'll most likely notice is the morally ambiguous, selfish and self-centered, very complex hero that puts what I've read of Elric to shame. (though as soon as we get a little mileage with him it does seem like Moorcock just put some dark stuff at the start of the book so he can be continuously noble later on.)

Something that I though was very well done was the build up for the various mysteries all leading up to the big reveal, even knowing beforehand what it is, it being the book's central premise, made me grin almost constantly.

The conversations with Sabrina, including underlying sexual tension, had me riveted and I can honestly say it's more fun than anything I've read in a month. Specifically I want to draw some attention to that part about Eve; you'd think this wouldn't be an original take on the serpent or used as a vehicle for feminism, but it's certainly the first time I've come across this idea.

 And then immediately after that, the lie is given to the lifting up of freedom as a concept and an ideal that everyone should and does strive toward. And I found myself easily agreeing.
It's like that time In The Dark Knight when the Joker equates himself to a dog chasing after cars. "I wouldn't know what to do with one if I'd caught it." A slave to nature, not logical reasoning.

Reading these parts it's like looking at constant barrage of fireworks, especially for me.

Of course none of these are new themes and virtually all of them have been adressed in, say for instance a work likex Malazan, but never just as plainly and clearly, without disambiguation, as here.

It's also that it feels like these themes speak directly to me.
Themes of faith, metaphysics and religion; specifically the variations of and in christianity.
Oh, and despite Ulrich strident complaints of not actually willing to engage in discussions of a metaphysical nature; at this point it's become unavoidable.
He's in the wrong series of books to get away from it.

Also this little quote. A very obvious recognition of the darkness that comes before.

Of course, this also ties into the straying into nihilism stemming from loss of faith that I've been suffering from (or been delivered into). This isn't a recent thing, it's just something that rises occasionally from its dormancy and starts yanking my chain, to drag me down into a dark well.

I suppose it's a goal and purpose thing. Or lack of it.

So anyway, so far, the book is a winner on almost every level for me.

Also. I saw a mouse when I came down the stairs this morning.

A terrified little creature, blinded by the (flash)light of a higher being.
Serves him right for keeping me up at night.

I gave him some cheese though, so it's all good.

The Conspiracy against the Human Race

"The Conspiracy against the Human Race sets out what is perhaps the most sustained challenge yet to the intellectual blackmail that would oblige us to be eternally grateful for a 'gift' we never invited.

Being alive is not alright: this simple not encapsulated the temerity of thinking better than any platitude about the tragic nobility of a life characterized by a surfeit of suffering, frustration and self-deceit; There is no nature worth revering or rejoining; there is no self to be re-enthroned as captain of its own fate; there is no future worth working towards or hoping for.

Life... is malignantly useless."

What do you do when you are depressed?

You go and read Ligotti.

Because Of course.

Why Not...

Mine.

Dust is churning against the indigo sky in great whirlling motions. It leaves a hole in the firmament like the calm eye at the center of a hurricane.
The gale shakes the earth, obscuring everything at ground level. I cannot see the houses, the waiting crowd that I know is there, those eager, straining faces waiting to see what will happen here, sceptics and believers alike, the grinning face, eyes laughing with disdain and eyes filled with desperate, shining, brimming-wet belief.

There is a roaring as of a waterfall, as from my lips fly the last syllabels of the incantation.
My incantation.
My work, my creation, all I have worked for, so long, so hard. All those sacrifices made in preparation for this: An answer in demand to a terrible need.

The earth shakes, and a sound like thunder. And from the hazy, churning sky something comes racing down. The road is caved in and cracks split the asphalt with deafening sound, racing out. I stand unmoved, unmovable, as it buries itself into the ground at my feet. I am guarded from this violence. I made sure of it. Shingles, glass, brick, all fall from the houses around us with the force of its coming. His coming.

There is silence and then, after a few moments, a wailing.
It is a pathetic, wretched sound. As of a mute child, endeavoring to give voice to its stark despair. It is incomprehensible, but the anguish is unmistakable.

Dust drifts down from the sky, revealing slowly, by increments, the rest of the intersection.
Asphalt and traffic lights, turning green. Trees planted on the side of the road, in orderly intervals, stretching into the distance. This is where the two main streets intersect and even on a calm day the traffic makes speech impossible. I look at the crowd held back by so much blue.
I gaze at them impassively, though my heart, were they privy to its palpitations would tell them a different tale.

I look at them and then I look down.
To where it lies at my feet. It. Him.

A shriveled thing. Bald and emaciated, with long arms and spindly legs. A sunken rib-cage supporting a thin neck barely holding up a wobbly head.

I stare.

Human. Bizarre. Unhealthy. Sexless. In no shape fit for true existence. An impossible and impossibly weak body. But human, unmistakably so. His heaving breaths fill the soundless air. It cannot be.

"Why are you human? Why are you in this shape?" I ask of it. Him. My disbelief mounting. This can't be You. Was it my incantation that did this, did I make a mistake? I involuntarily shake my head. No. It is impossible.

God stares at me in His pathetic confusion, making mewling sounds in terrified, dawning realization.
A slobbering, nasal piping from a toothless mouth not shaped for articulation.

"Is this your shape? The shape of the all-powerful? Unending, limitless might..." I stare" ...and this is your shape?" It can not be.

I take a step back. A trick, it must be.

I feel my eyes narrowing as suspicion dawns. I find my rage coming back. The rage that has brought me here. That has brought Him here. Is this mockery?
"Do you taunt me... even now, when I have taken You from heaven? With everything I have done, all I have shown myself capable of, this is the shape You choose to show me?"

The mewling stops.

God stares and is silent. He is just looking.
His twisted mouth drawn to one side, for all the world smirking at my incomprehension. But no smile on that cretin's face. Too large eyes and a small forehead. A simpleton's stare above his tiny nose.

He is like a foetus. A thing unformed, defenseless and innocent.

I stare into His eyes and think I see a glimmer of something. Comprehension.

I feel something shift inside me in response.
Not innocent.

I feel my face twist as I look at Him. My fingers curve into claws as rage starts to flood my mind.
The street and the breathless crowd fall away.
It's just Him and me and nothing else. Finally. A perfect relationship between man and God. Sir? God will see you now. Oh, yes he will see me now. He can't even look away. The irony dances in my mind.

An old memory, distorted, echoes in my mind.

There will come a moment, when all men are almost dead. And then there will be the last man, and he will be alone with God. And then the moment will pass. The last man, alone with God. Am I that man?

A fleeting moment of melancholy and then purpose reasserts itself.
His eyes bulge as He sees it on my face. He knows why I have brought Him here.
The words, so long prepared, come back from where they've lain silenced and roar back forth into my mind.

For the worship is done, and now there is to be a reckoning.

He starts to scrabble desperately, atrophied muscles flailing as I advance on him, joining Him in His crater. Somehow he flops himself around, turning his back on me. And what else is new? He manages a few feet before he slides back down. He mewls again, a broken child. So pathetic. So helpless.
You'd think God would've made more of an entrance.

His hands reach out, besceeching, to outside of the pit He's made for himself this time as I grab hold of Him and scream in His face.
An inarticulate roar that makes Him flinch and squeeze his eyes shut. his limbs flinching together, like a spider in its final moments and oh, how apt this is. His hands grasp weakly, encircling my wrists, his drool sprays from his mouth as he heaves his desperate breaths.
One of his hands moves up and hits my face. I flinch, expecting... something.

But nothing comes.

he stares at me, my face inches from his own.
I scream again and there is only hate.

Hate for this nothing-god, this betrayer and deserter. this uncaring and unfeeling monstrosity. This manipulative god in his world built of lies. The faithless king in his broken kingdom.

I throw him down on the gravel, the cracked slabs of his coming.

I spit on him. No god of mine. Earn nothing but a grinding, clenching death. Hurt. Pain. Rage.

I lose myself as my fists start to pummel him.
A red rage is all there is. The futile weakling at my feet, in vain trying to block my blows.
his arms are stick-thin and they snap easily. Dry cracks in the dull twilight.
My screams mingle with his and they echo off of the houses. Perfect communion.

he screams as he finally feels what he, in his almighty wisdom has delivered us to.
But his physical pain is but a fraction of the agony I've been subjected to for so long.

his pain is as nothing to the torments of my mind. The self-induced fever. The self loathing and the all-reasoning, unflinching self-hatred. The endless years of fear and shame.
You dare scream at mere pain. My teeth grind down and clench and I can't speak for the fury in my head. I choke. My head pounds.

My fists break on a splinters of bone and my blood stains his pallid flesh. But the bones of his arms and legs and chest are healing as fast as I can break them. There won't be a lasting mark from this. We're still screaming, a roaring duet of question and answer, like lovers climaxing together, as another sound finally intrudes on my hearing.

The watching crowd, forgotten, comes roaring back with a mob mentality,
They tear at me as they drag me off him, their many-tongued chorus a mad banshee wail of hatred. Their fists rain down on me as they give voice to their hope and their outrage.
Grown men cry as they embrace the thing in the pit. They wipe my blood off of him. Even this I am denied. They carry him out and cradle him close. The mob strains forward to touch their God, their saviour, desperate for approbation.

Meanwhile my mob is breaking me and I rage in pain and fear as tears mingle with the blood flooding from my eyes. They drag me from the place of my greatest triumph, my greatest loss.
I shriek as they strip me from my clothes and their hatred fills my ears. In their hurry, in their hate strips of flesh come with the pieces of cloth.
They stab me. I don't even know with what. My mind is so far gone with fear and pain I have forgotten why I am here. The purpose for this summoning, the reason for this violence. This wasn't necessary. I could. I should. I'm sorry. Please.

Someone has a cable and they loop it over my head and throw it over the nearest traffic light, its lamp burning bright red. Together they haul me up, my feet kicking in the air.

A thousand screaming voices, and not a soul on my behalf.

As the cells in my brain start to burst, I watch, as they cloth him in vibrant colour and carry him on their shoulders.

A thousand screaming voices and all of them shouting for His love and attention.

And he, only with eyes for me.

I'm sorry.

He, only with eyes for me.

His bulging eyes, locked with mine.
There is meaning here, there is purpose here, but my starving brain is deaf and blind to it.
He holds my gaze as I die. His mewling, sobbing mouth voicing imprecations or earnest and comforting truths. It doesn't matter. He's drowned out completely by the crowd. Heh, again, and what else is new? Slowly, I cease to care and let go.

The evening wind blows gently through my open mouth. It caresses my swollen tongue.

From beyond the boundaries of life I look on.
I look on as they venerate this Hah Fallen God.

In worship, in a warring world, they put their hope on Him.

I sigh and pass on.

But thank God.
There is no judgment now.

Review: Batman Vs Judge Dredd

Another day, another Judge Dredd crossover. And this time it's the caped Crusader who gets the nightstick, literally.

Please note. This is the British version from publisher Rebellion. This edition is NOT DC.

I'm not a superhero comic reader, mostly as I don't like the hero worship culture but also because: with my need for completing series; it'd be a bad can of worms to open.

But as I do want to read every Dredd comic I wanted to eventually read this one too.

Now I actually read this a while back and found that I didn't really like it. I recognized that some of  it was due to bias and as I didn't want to get supernegative I took a break to be able to come back to it later. These days however, all I can look at is this cover staring back at me in mute accusation.

SO... I guess I'll get it out of the way. With lots of pictures and a minimum of writing. Maximum quality entertainment from a minimum effort, or so I hope.

This book contains several crossovers; Judgment on Gotham, Vendetta in Gotham, The Ultimate Riddle, Die Laughing and the Lobo/Judge Dredd crossover.

Judgment on Gotham is probably my favourite. with Simon Bisley art and a cool, (almost) serious storyline where Dredd and Batman meet for the first time (see above).

The violence is brutal and yet there's occasionally time for some fun.

A SuperFiend.

Yes, that's right. A clash of the two most iconic (super)heroes from the british and american markets can't happen without their equally iconic supervillains. In Judgment on Gotham an alliance is formed between several key villains, including the always hilarious Judge Death, Mean Machine Angel and Scarecrow.

I always imagine Death's voice to be the voice that Barry Yandell used to voice Fink in Borderlands 2.
Sounds a lot like a naughty, sibilant Joker, as voiced by mark Hamill, I suppose.

The art makes Death twist in bizarre shapes and he pops like never before and it's quite alot of fun to see the bizarre shapes Bisley makes of him.

Some other things I want to mention is that there seems to be subliminal bat-styled art on every other page and it can be a game to spot how much of it you actually notice.

Also, Anderson shows up, heavily sexualized, and though I like it,  maybe your one strong female character shouldn't get this kind of treatment. Though again, I did like it. No, no pictures.

A nice wrap-up to the story too that isn't reliant on 'to be continued' deserves a mention.

Next, we have Vendetta in Gotham.

This short comic seems to be more of an intermezzo piece, and a bit of fan-service with Dredd and Batman just straight-up duking it out for whole pages (which is pretty cool).

With Cam Kennedy art that isn't bad and isn't good, just uneven, It's a step down from the promising start that was Judgment on Gotham. But maybe it's just that coming straight off the first comic, it can't help but be a let-down.

There are some inspired art moments but nothing that'll redeem the throw-away story.

Say what you want though, but this is damn good art.

Dredd literally comes back to Gotham to just beat the crap out of Batman on a night when Ventriloquist/Scarface (I don't really know much of Batman's mythos so forgive me if I'm getting it wrong) is brewing up a dastardly scheme. The story ends with the promise of something big yet to come... Judgment 3: die Laughing.

But first we have another story to go through; The Ultimate Riddle.
The name of this one will give away who the Villain is (just like Die Laughing does, really).
The story begins with Batman following up a riddle from the Riddler. He riddles it swiftly out though as he is promptly whisked away to an intergalactic cage match where he will have to fight against various baddies from far-away corners of the galaxy, including his old sparring partner; Judge Dredd.

The story isn't anything to write home about and isn't inspired or even very interesting in any way. If the stakes are only about the lives of your heroes it's hard to get invested, I suppose.

Despite the lacklustre story, the art is pretty good with chores divided between two artists; Carl Critchlow for the first half (which I personally feel is the better part, I prefer the thin lines of Critchlow to Power's thicker ones, or at least in this comic) and the latter half of the story by Dermot Power.

'Die Screaming': foreshadowing Die Laughing?

As I said, despite the cool art, if the ending is a foregone conclusion it's hard to be entertained. I did spot a cool little throwback to the first comic though.

It's as if we're just finishing that first conversation. Neat.

What bears mentioning is that all these stories were written by Alan Grant and John Wagner, the godfathers of Judge Dredd, and as such, despite their shortcomings, all the stories do FEEL like Judge Dredd comics.

Then we come to the one we've all been waiting for; Die Laughing.

Aaaaaaaaaand... It's got Glenn Fabry art...

Thriiillllleeeeeeeuuuhrr!!!!

Glenn Fabry is incredibly talented award-winning artist who is revered throughout the comics industry. With truly iconic and instantly recognizable painted art stretched out over various well-known properties. Everybody seems to like his stuff.

But me personally... I just can't stand his faces. I've seen him in his run on Slaine and in covers for Preacher and Hellblazer but I've never been able to warm to him.

It takes an incredible amount of talent to do what he does, to sculpt bodies and faces into a anatomically correct and life-like painting, but I've never liked any of it.

Good then that there's more on display than faces in Die Laughing.

Mortis is born.

Body horror and grotesquerie backed up by some incredible talent. Truly a joy to behold.

The experimental work of Bisley from earlier in the volume on Judge Death's shape  is built upon and improved. We see the Dark Judges like never before.

Yes,  Die Laughing doesn't just bring the Joker, It brings all 4 of the Dark Judges as well.

The story begins in Gotham, where Batman sees the Joker use a warp jump device to transport himself into another dimension. Soon after, a wounded Anderson appears in his Bat-cave to enlist his aid in combatting the crisis that has been foreseen in Vendetta In Gotham.

Batman warps into Mega City 1 where 10 000 citizens are just about ready to lock themselves into a pleasure dome for an existence of hedonism and wild debauchery.

Trouble is afoot as Batman and Judge Dredd find that the Joker has allied himself with the dark Judges and that they're planning some fun mas- murder in the Pleasure Dome.

There's so many jokes here, and so much fun to see. but the fun is a bit offset by the sordidness of the plot.

Literally in a Theme Park Meting out Death, having the time of their lives undead existence.

 The bodies just look unappealing and half the people have got those crazed Glenn Fabry faces.

On the other hand, at least this isn't sexualized.

The only ones who look unapologetically badass are the ones with helmets on (or cowls).

And it's this that does it for me. Despite the bizarre faces, unappealing bodies, a plot involving hedonism and people strapped into clothes too tight for them. Despite any and all personal preference. What I'm here for is Batman and Dredd being badasses. And that is what we get. And They have rarely looked this good. Bisley's earlier work is almost consistently trumped.

So Yeah, still a very cool comic. And artwise it's undeniably the best one in the book.

And here we arrive at the last of the bunch.
It's the one that confirms my earlier held bias against comics and why I never picked up comics when I was growing up: they're just plain weird.

We arrive at Lobo/Judge Dredd: Psycho-Bikers VS. The Mutants From Hell.

You know, the Batman crossover I get, Batman I understand.

But look at this, What the hell is this?

Dredd is normal but his world for sure isn't, so I should really not be so surprised to be looking at what is essentially a buff Elric with a mouse as his favourite companion.

At first I didn't like it at all. And ending the comic with this bizarre thing seemed an ill-advised thing to do.

But, looking back and looking closer... It really is just another Judge Dredd comic isn't it?

Intergalactic bounty hunter tracks his quarry down to Mega City 1 and comes into direct conflict with Judge Dredd, Trouble ensues. We've had this exact scenario a couple of times actually.

Art by Val Semeiks and John Dell.

So why the negativity? I'm assuming it's because the story is uncluded in this book.
If it had been placed amidst the rest of the regular Judge Dredd strip it would've stood out more, Coming after the art of Bisley and Fabry though, it's just another step down.

However. on its own. It IS a good Dredd strip. It's some Classic 'Dredd in action' and the art is easy to keep up with and pretty, if you stop comparing.

All in all...

Having some time off and some time apart from this comic really helped because I'm brimming with positivity now.
It also helped me experiment with this review and how to quickly and efficiently do a comic review.

Now this comic can go on the 'Read' shelves and I can start looking forward to some more Dredd to buy.

Comic Book Haul and Slight Insight

And another heap of purchases...

By now it's probably clear that I get as much joy or even more from purchasing a new book than I get from actually reading one.

Purchasing a new book holds promise, of new lands and secrets, of untold and unthinkable knowledge, of a new author's style and themes, of loss and joy possible to be held off at a comfortable arm's length (the book to be put down whenever it's too much, like the ending to Y the Last Man...). the hope that this book, THIS BOOK!, will be the perfect book for me and that I will have never read a book that will touch me as deeply as this book, a book that'll be ideally for me in this moment, a perfect alignment of circumstance, a book so good it'll inspire me to do god knows what to god knows who and what and how.

It's mostly an idle hope though isn't it?
I don't know about you, but it's a rare book or book series that makes me a fan. and then usually only after some time when I can look back at it.
There are always exceptions though, but only the best break all the rules.

In general though, most times it's more fun to look back on a book than it was to actually read it.

As it happens I'm reading Elric: The Fortress of the Pearl and I've hit quite an interesting part of the story. In it, Elric and Oone are travelling through the dream realms, and they've just arrived in Marador, The land of old desires.
And here this conversation happens:

Better surely to continue looking, even when the reality can only prove inadequate when compared against hope. To do otherwise would be to give up, give in.

Maybe that's what all this manic buying is, a desperate gamble for fulfillment. and if not that, then at least a weekly dose of hope.
We all have ways to cope, this one's one of mine.

Here then we have Fell, volume 1. A comic I'd like to give a post of its own soon because it's really quite good. A plunge into darkness when you need it.

Next up, another horror comic. one that I won't read for quite a while. Though I am slightly and cautiously intrigued. Providence, Act 1.

I used a flash to take this picture. though things are certainly clearer, it does tend to spoil the background effect a bit. I'm not sure about it yet.

Anyway, Providence is a prequel and a sequel to Alan Moore's Neonomicon.

A comic both reviled and adored by horror fans. I'm not sure how I stand on it. You know, even despite being so damn nasty, there is a perverse allure to it. It's got Lovecraft horror and clean line art and there also might be more to it than meets the eye. And anyway. If you've stuck through the horrifying set-up in Neonomicon, why wouldn't you stay for the pay-off in Providence?
Or at least if this will eventually lead to what I think will happen. Either way, Alan Moore continuing with his meticulous take on Lovecraft's universe.

As I'm in the process of reading Elric I thought I'd pick up the comics as well, or at least those in stock anyway. So here we have the start of the Michael Moorcock Library, which will apparently run to 12 or 14 books (6 Elric, 4 Hawkmoon, 2 or 4 Corum, or is it the other way around?)
These will be read in the far future, when I'm done with both Elric, Hawkmoon and Corum at least. For now it's just fun to have them.

And here are is a deliciously grimdark version of Elric, and apparently quite gleefully accepted by Moorcock himself. I've taken a look at the art and some of the story and it is really quite bad-ass.

Up next is a project that I've had my eye one ever since I learned of the comic on the late blog of Graeme Flory some years ago; The Goon.

That man got me into alot of things, if I think about it. Judge Dredd for one, and his recap of the Black Company books was amazingly insightful. I wonder what happened to him?

Anyway,  with library edition volume 5's publication date looming close on the horizon I thought it would be a good time to start collecting. A very fancy edition. Dark Horse do tend to have high quality special editions. I'll continue collecting the rest next month.

And here are two books I bought without checking to see if they'd actually be worth it.
A very lazy thing to do, as Seven to Eternity is still on my shelf, bought specifically to see if Fear Agent would be my thing.
But, in the end I figured, why not just jump into it, it's complete at any rate. 

And lastly, A book I've already read. In its individual issues anyway.

I came to this one because it was written by Xavier Dorison, whose writing and themes I absolutely love, and because it had demons in it.

When Humanoids finally released the series in its own hardcover omnibus I knew I had to have it. I pre-ordered it a while ago and it finally arrived this month. A beautiful book.

The story is reasonably good, especially as in the end it really can only end one way. The art is so and so; what you see is what you get. Adequate smaller pannels and absolutely beastly big panels.

Dorison and Lauffrey, the same team that did the phenomenal Long john Silver comic book. That one still beats out this one in terms of quality, but it still isn't close to being bad.