Attack on Titan Love

After Hunter Hunter I finally have allowed myself to begin watching Attack on Titan again.

I forgot how perfect the Season 2 opening song was.

Because I have been nothing but lazy this month, let me share it with you.

November Update

     Hello there, it's been a while! Been sick and lazy and all that. My month's been filled with sitting in front of the television, in a sick slouch or not, and hammering away at Fallout 4, Blasphemous and Dead Rising 4. Good games, although both the first and the last swiftly deteriorated into vapid busywork. Blasphmous, though initially not really my type of game, being a side-scroller, had an art-style and a type of lore that I loved and so I stuck it out and ended up having a blast. Here, take a look at the launch trailer.

     But, I've been wasting a lot of time this month, or so it feels. The truth is that I'm very out of sorts. So out of sorts that I have not much thought about blogging for these past few weeks, and on those times that I did, I had the damnedest difficulties in actually writing anything I was pleased with. Whether or not that any of this is due to not having imbibed any alcohol for nigh on a month or whether that it is because of a delayed reaction to the events that transpired earlier this year I don't know. Either way; this blog continues, I'm not here to announce my retirement. But I am saying that:... what the fuck man, why is this so difficult right now?
I'm annoyed and saddened that something that I could devote so much of my time and energy on has been delegated to a position of lesser import.

     I have been reading again though. There were maybe 2 weeks where I barely read a thing because of a very annoying slow-burn cold that took root in my brain, but since then I've finished a few comics, Laird Barron's The Imago Sequence, and a whole bunch of Jules De Grandin short stories.
     Of those, the one that I both want and don't want to talk about is the Imago Sequence.
You see, after a great start, specifically after The Procession of the Black Sloth, which read like a weird and terrifying Asian Silent Hill- kind of story, I was all set to proclaim Barron now one of my favourite authors, but then the last 2 or three stories in the collection veered a little too much into an abstract type of writing that is almost dis-associative free-form, and which, if you're not in the mood for it, is irritating in the extreme.
     I've indulged in that type of writing myself in the past, usually in the throes of depression or some or other violent passion, and it's quite an empowering form of art-making. You feel as if you are creating something truly impressive, and it's something that seems to validate itself, even if or maybe even because some or all of the audience that'll read it won't understand what you're talking about. There's a barrier there, and not everyone can slip past it. It's a form of magic, of perception.
But, as I said, it kind of sucks when you're not in the mood for it. Sometimes the chemical brain just doesn't care to cooperate; lack of sleep, nutrition, or being at the whim of emotional circumstance.
     So, though I loved Procession of the Black Sloth, and can recommend anyone to read that one, though Old Virginia, Shiva Open Your Eye, and Bulldozer were all bad-ass and very enjoyable to read, I didn't much enjoy The Royal Zoo is Closed, the latter half of the Imago Sequence short story, and though I thought that both Parallax, Hallucigenia and Proboscis were a little unoriginal, and though after all that, it seems like I didn't have a good time, I did actually appreciate pretty much of all that I read.
     I'm being unduly harsh here, and I wish the stories could've hit me at a better time maybe, but it is what it is.

     I also finally finished off Hunter X Hunter, which I pretty much only allowed myself to watch whilst exercising on my Home Trainer. At 148 episodes for 20-23 minutes per episode, it took me about 8 months of exercising before I'd gone through the whole bunch.
I had a good time. Hunter Hunter is a show not without its flaws but one that has some real nice emotional pay off.

     Lastly, it was my birthday this month and, as you might've expected, I replied to everyone that asked for gift ideas to just go and give me books, as if I didn't already have enough to read. What can you do? An addict is as an addict does, or something. I'll give you a look next post.

Garth Ennis' A Walk Through Hell

 

Two FBI agents go missing in a Warehouse, and the SWAT-team sent in to check out the situation comes out bawling, refusing to go back in.

FBI agents Shaw and Mcgregor go in to find out where their friends have gone.

And then, in their van, in tears and in despair, the SWAT-team commits suicide.

In the warehouse, the two agents are faced with the darkness of their past, and as the world around them steadily becomes more horrible, the horrors without start to merge with the horrors within.

And worse is yet to come.

A Walk Through Hell is one of those comics that is very likely to rub some people the wrong way. If you're familiar with Garth Ennis that shouldn't really come as a surprise,

 as you'll know that this is what he does in most of his work: Violence, deviancy and sex, swearing and extreme gore; the man's actually put out most of those comics that I put on the top shelves, their sweaty red-and-pink pages deemed shocking enough to keep out of reach of the kids.
     Crossed, Preacher, Caliban, his run on Hellblazer; in these there's always some line being crossed, something that'll manage to shock and thrill all but the most hardened of readers. And since I am one of those, so when I need to get my kicks Garth Ennis' tends to be an interesting bet, if not a safe one.
     On top of that, his way of building-up a narrative and his method of structuring stories generally make for very good, and very enveloping reads, easily capable of letting the hours while away, leaving one completely absorbed in the unfolding story.

*BANG*

     A Walk Through Hell is pretty much like that; fascinating and shocking and a pretty good read, annoying in some places but still pretty forgivable there ( more on that below,) and if the comic does one thing wrong and it's a big one! it is that its ending is unmitigatededly bleak, kinda shit and pretty unsatisfying. I wasn't really expecting to be let down by Ennis as his stories tend to end really quite well.
     Despite its content and viciousness, even Crossed had a more hopeful ending, even though that ending was only good in the way of all in medias res endings everywhere, with the happy couple probably dying horribly a few minutes after the last lines or the last panels.

    But not so With a Walk Through Hell; it ends straight up horrible. That isn't anything new par Ennis of course, but at least usually, he brought us micro stories, snapshots of a greater horrible whole, that ended well within the bounds of that greater horrible whole. And that isn't the case here.

     It's a real bummer, as I went into this with high hopes and I really wanted to like this one, but this story isn't really one that stands on its own. It comes across more as reactionary, as an outlet for Ennis to rant against the state of our society, with a higher focus on the derailment of America. But it doesn't offer anything else hopeful on its own, some redeemable way forward, and this isn't too bad all by itself but what is bad is that this isn't a piece of art that satisfies in its own right.

Ennis probably should've sat on A Walk Through Hell's ideas a little longer as anything to do with the supernatural elements and the ideas at the heart of what is actually going on seem to be sound. I would have loved to see more of that. But the whole package is so much a product of its time that it can only be read with knowledge of American society's current ills, and it's worse as those ills have infected Ennis' tendency to craft satisfying endings. But then, this might just be the point. This isn't supposed to be satisfying. It's instead something that's supposed to alarm.
It is a warning: worse is yet to come, for all of us. Be wary, and be afraid, the world is about to shake.

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     And I should also mention why that some people are going to end up annoyed even if they aren't left cold by the ending: Though I wasn't really all that bothered there were some elements that were so in-your-face that it jarred me out of my immersion a few times. Ennis does satire pretty well in general, but here his point of attack wasn't much occluded by the choice of fantastical elements this time and instead he chose to put them front-and-center: Twitter, Trump, Racism, SJW zeitgeist, Gender Politics, and more. If that irritates you, then you just can't read this comic.

A Horror from dim Yesteryear

What do we want when we pick out a horror novel to read, when we purchase them and take them home and dive right in?
There's of course the desire, the expectation of being scared, with our own fear sought out and recognized in the moment. Fear, but at a safe remove from daily life, in a comfort zone of our choosing with eyes riveted to the page, hands gripped around the covers eager to see what's next.

Horror is a demanding genre. Demanding in what it requires from the reader.

Alot of times I get lost in what I think what fear in a horror novel ought to mean; shouting in surprise, shock or disgust, and your mind stepping back from behind your eyes, detaching itself for a moment in shock and bewilderment.
But that isn't fear, or at least not totally. Fear is dread. The anticipation of something that might happen. Might. Because it might not.

These days, it's mostly an idle hope to try and capture that feeling. The remove, that distance, has slotted into place and the mind has become less malleable.

I've been scared maybe a handful of times by written fiction.

Mostly that honour lies reserved for Adam Nevill's The Ritual, which for its sublime first half also relied on the build-up of fear coupled with moments of horror in its nightmare sequences and contrasted with its suddenly bizarrely shit second half, though I admit that the last pages managed to become quite good again.

I read it over the course of a single overcast afternoon, with the drawn blinds adding a grey gloom to the room.
I was so deep into it that I almost literally could hear the greedy excited tapping of hooves on the boards inside of a coffin. It's the sound, the perfect way it presented itself to my mind later that night, that made me creep fearfully underneath the covers. Good times.

There was another book that literally gave me nightmares when I was a kid, and I've tried to find it several times to see how it would hold up. I suspect that it would be disappointing now, it was, after all, read in a different time, in a time when there was no remove between story and immersion. When one grows up, the remove slots almost inextricably in the way. There's too much distance to be fully immersed.

The first time I read it I couldn't finish it, and I remember my parents taking it away from me because it was interfering with the household's sleeping cycle. I woke people up, in tears, because it frightened me so much.
Some time after, no idea how much, but years at least, I came back to it, borrowed it from the library  and found it, if not scary, then at least still very disturbing.

It was a tale of aliens, and of kidnapped teenagers forced to engage in bloody death-defying circus acts for their amusement. Of old people in horrific costumes and of rabid children tearing a tormentor apart, eating him, on a bridge overlooking trees while a talking rabbit doll screams for blood and violence in the voice of a small girl. The book ended with the survivors clad in blood and gore and wondering where to go next.

I really wish I could remember what it was called.
For some reason I keep thinking it's called Galaxy Wars, but try to google that in this day and age.
It's the age of Star Wars and easy escapism, baby, nothing else can compete.

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Edit: The Ink-Stained Beard got it pretty much within minutes of posting...
What the hell, man? How???
Anyway: the book is Galax-Arena by Gillian Rubinstein:

Review: Haunted, Chuck Palahniuk

17 writers answer an add for an exclusive writer's retreat and upon arrival are only mildly shocked to find themselves forcibly locked up in a building for three months together with the organizers, and are then forced to write their great novel, poem, or screenplay, completely isolated from the world, and with all the usual distractions removed.

They're being treated alright actually, hot water, plumbing, copious supplies of food, clothing and so on, but most of them wish that the situation was a bit more dire, a bit more harrowing, so that they can sell the desperate story of their 'kidnapping' to the world outside when the three months are up.

To then live the rest of their lives in luxury and attention.

And so, to up the stakes a bit, each individual begins to sabotage the group's supplies and their surroundings, and as a result, the situation begins to grow a lot more dire than anticipated.

As food begins to run out, the lights grow dim and bodies start to drop, and with boredom inevitably setting in, the aspiring writers have no other choice than to share their stories.

Stories which make it clear that each one of them is on the run from someone or something, and that each of them harbours dark and terrible secrets.

     Chuck Palahniuk's Haunted was written as a novel that would explore stories where the horror would be supplied by the most mundane of things. To paraphrase the author: "Carrots, candles, swimming Pools. Microwave popcorn. Bowling Balls." But that's not completely true of course, The ones mentioned here are just elements of the stories, and those first three are present in the infamous 'Guts' short story, the short story that kicks off the collection of tales from the writers-to-be/ aspiring celebrities.

Guts is notorious because it garnered a name for itself as being such an upsetting story that it quite routinely made people faint whenever Palahniuk gave a reading whenever he promoted his books. There's quite an interesting, and rather hilarious, afterword in the book which has Palahniuk stating that he's made 73 people pass out at his readings over the years, and that he still gets mail that reveals that there's still readers and listeners out there who pass out whenever the story's being read.

I myself laughed when my turn came, though I had been spoiled quite a bit beforehand, and I knew the general gist of the story before I began. But it ended up being quite a bit funnier than I was expecting, written with the genuine humour of someone looking back after the fact.

     The stories that the characters tell each other are pretty much always offensive, inspired as they are by themes of depravity, crime, terrorism, violence, cannibalism, and just all-round weird shit. The depravity in particular is a theme that runs throughout and is present everywhere and even if you've got a strong stomach and open sensibilities you'll probably still find a story in here that'll disgust or horrify you.
     But what's maybe most horrifying is that a lot of the stories that the characters tell each other were in fact inspired by true events, anecdotes that Palahniuk had gathered over the years concerning some of the most disgusting and repulsive acts that human being have gotten up to. They're probably not even a thousandth of some of the worst shit that this world holds, but still, surely it's bad enough (or good enough?) that the novel has gotten so much of these between its pages.

     The most repulsive one, and yet strangely, also the one I most appreciated, was Director Denial's story; Exodus.
     It was so vile and disgusting, the acts hinted at giving such a low and degrading opinion on humanity that it quite simply revolted me, even more so when I reasoned that, yes, this stuff undoubtedly happens. It's the kind of stuff, the kind of actions you couldn't conceive of anyone actually doing, until someone says it, suggests it, lifts the rock and lifts the monster out into the light, and then you realize that, fuck, there is definitely people doing this kind of bile-inducing shit, and your stomach just turns at the thought of it.
     And then, this really quite short little tale, it ups the ante by offering you vengeance against those people, and gleefully you take it, oh yes, you want to see this wrongness punished... until you actually see it enacted, and it's a bit more nasty than you expected. Karmic justice, sure, but there will be a queasy cast to your vindictive laughter nonetheless.
     And then it just made laugh out loud, which is something that very few books ever have managed from me.

     I'm not going to talk to much about the stories, and the poems themselves, as people should probably read the book on their own, without spoilers, as it is such a unique and memorable experience.
     But I must stress that all the short stories in here are all incredibly polarizing, not suited for an immature audience, and that some people will find themselves targeted, or even confronted by their past, and that for some old sins might come back to haunt them, whether they be victims or sinners themselves.

     Either way, with any type of fiction you take and accept what you're given, really, but if there's one negative here, it's that I found that it never became believable that these were stories by 19 different people. Palahniuk's voice was always dominant, and as it's such a distinctive voice, it's never any less than clear that we're reading something written by a single writer. It's a minor niggle, but I felt I had to remark on it nonetheless.

Review: The Green Mile

In the Georgia Pines' nursing home, Paul Edgecombe spends his days trying to exorcise his demons. He's been writing about his experiences of the time when he was employed as the chief guard of the Death Row staff at the Cold Mountain prison in the far-gone year of 1932.

To Paul and the other guards of that part of the prison that was to be the final destination for hundreds of human lives, the year of 1932 was a year of cruelty, of botched execution, of miracles and darkest sin, and no-one who lived through it was left untouched by the events that took place there.

To Paul, regardless of everything else that happened, he would always remember it as the year of John Coffey, the black man convicted for the rape and murder of two 9-year-old white girls, the depraved killer with his eyes full of tears, the man whom Paul began to believe was innocent.

     I had previously seen and loved the movie adaptation of Stephen King's stab at a prison novel somewhere in my childhood, a few times even, and I remember having been in tears at a few points throughout. Mostly because it's such an amazingly impactful movie, able to sweep you up and away in its emotional rollercoaster. It's isn't very horrific though, which is why I was very dubious about its inclusion in Gollancz's Terror 8 series.

     But it turns out, that there are reasons enough to include it.
The novel obviously has a large measure of its time devoted to ruminations on death and death-dealing, and these are interesting, though less than adequately explored through our narrator Paul Edgecombe, who is a little Blasé (internally at least) about the executions he has performed, but it ios also implied at one point, hinted, that there just might be something more involved, something evilly supernatural.

     Of course, having seen the movie, I knew that Coffey himself has an extraordinary power at his command, and it's also more than clear that he has it in the book itself. However, what wasn't clear in the movie (I think) is that, at one point, Coffey appears to exorcise a woman of an evil spirit. It's hidden, occluded, behind known science; the vileness is cloaked behind the symptoms of dementia and Tourette's, but King gives enough hints here that whoever is so inclined to will be able to see it. It's especially clear since the novel evokes the name of God more than a bit, and in horror, where there's the light there must be darkness as well, and not just human darkness.
     The human darkness is presented mostly by Percy Wetmore, the sadist guard who's only at the Green Mile to be able to execute a man himself, and William 'Wild Bill' Wharton, both of whom are different shades of irredeemable all on their own.
     I should make mention of Eduard Delacroix who never ever fits the role of rapist-arsonist-murderer, and who only ever comes across as pitiful, likable and silly by turns. This is remarked on several times in the story, of course, but this does not excuse or validate King's portrayal of this particular prisoner, who's ever only here to evoke sympathy in the reader, and isn't well explored because of it.

     Mr Jingles is perfect of course. And if I hadn't seen the movie I probably would've been bloody shocked and angered. As it is, I remembered where the story went and took it in stride, only to then be surprised, in not so nice a manner, at the end of the novel, which does do things a bit different, epilogue-wise. Brutal, Harry Terwilliger and Dean Stanton are all very likable characters, and it was a little bit disconcerting to have their eventual fates revealed as well.

     There's a lot of Melancholy in this book, and though it's reasonably light on details concerning the time period it takes place in, it does manage to evoke a lingering sense of the time. It's a slow, ruminative novel, filled with a gripping sentimentality, and it should be, the conceit being that this is Paul writing his story 60 years after the facts, but it's remarkable how well this reads.
     I'm not a fan of King, at all, but the man does consistently write the proverbial page-turner.

Icky October Book Haul

*BOOM*

     Told you this one'd be big, didn't I? Here it is then: The Massive October Book Haul! 

You'll notice that it is (almost) a nice mix between books and comics this time, and that pretty much all of it is horror except for a few fantasy titles and the obligatory Judge Dredd comic book.

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Let's start from the top, which is also immediately the book I'm reading right now: Chuck Palahniuk's Haunted, which is technically a collection of (or at least, the back-blurb says these are going to be) 23 short stories connected by an overarching narrative in which 18 or so wannabe writers answer an ad to go to an exclusive writer's retreat and who are then surprisingly locked in a building for three months. They're being treated alright, actually, but most of them wish that the situation was a bit more harrowing, and so pretty much all of them start to sabotage the group's supplies and their surroundings and, as a result, the situation quickly begins to become more dire than anticipated. Or at least I think so. I've only read a fourth of the book at this point.

     Palahniuk might be familiar to some of you. His big mainstream success came when his novel Fight Club got adapted by David Fincher. I watched the movie, became obsessed by it and eventually got around to also giving the novel a go. And honestly it was okay but on the whole I just preferred the movie. Palahniuk's writing style is one of those that goes in one ear and out the other, so to speak; nothing much sticks at the end except the idea that this is one man who doesn't like society much.

     And he's right of course, but that doesn't mean I want to read about it. Palahniuk's stories are infused with grime, with the baser elements of life and sex, and on the whole frequently comes off as mean-spirited. It's good for an outraged chuckle or two, but I still don't believe this is the type of literature that'll stand the test of time. Yuppie-infused capitalist nonsense of yesteryear. Kind of like American Psycho. And realizing that immediately makes me think that I might just be wrong about Palahniuk's books not withstanding the test of time.

At least the cover is glow in the dark, which is something.

I bought this one finally because I had it listed somewhere on the books I'd like to give to a friend, purely on hearsay, as the novel frequently tops best of lists in the horror category. So far it's been both hilarious and annoying, but no scares as of yet. Or even anything that one would constitute as horror reading, though I guess it does have a certain queasiness factor going for it.

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Next up, an overpriced novella, which I had to pay import taxes on for more than half the price of the book itself. 20 euros for 'formalities' on top of the 3.50 or so of actual income-tax... Modern Highway Robbery I tells you.

     This one'd better be good, is all I'm saying.

Don't know much about it except what the blurb told me, and that a writer who I still have an entire unread trilogy of lying around was the one who wrote it.

     So, a venture of about 50 euros for a huge big question mark of a story, written by an author you don't know anything about, Levi, what possessed you to do such a thing?

     Well, snooty reader, have a look at the blurb of the thing.

ENTER THE EXECRATION,

WHERE THE DAMNED AND THE DESPERATE

COME TO PRAY TO THE MAD GOD…

It is two hundred years since the deity known as the Absolved went mad and destroyed the Kingdom of Alnachim, transforming it into the Execration, a blasted wasteland filled with nameless terrors. For decades, desperate souls have made pilgrimage to the centre of this cursed land to seek the Mad God’s favour, their fate always unknown. 

Now a veteran warrior known only as Pilgrim, armed with a fabled blade inhabited by the soul of a taunting demon, must join with six others to make the last journey to the heart of the Execration. Allied with a youthful priest, a beast-charmer, a duplicitous scholar, an effete actor and two exiled lovers, Pilgrim must survive madness, malevolent spirits, unnatural monsters and the ever-present risk of treachery, all so that the Mad God might hear his prayer and, perhaps, grant redemption. But can sins such as his ever be forgiven? 

Set in a world where demons and gods walk the earth, A Pilgrimage of Swords is a dark and exciting fantasy adventure from the New York Times bestselling author of the Raven’s Shadow and Draconis Memoria trilogies. 

     Yeah, exactly.

I don't know about you, but I got some serious Hyperion-vibes from that.

     Mad Gods, a pilgrimage-type quest, demons, religion, darkness... Sounds bloody awesome!

And to be fair to the book's price tag: It does look quite nice. And it's limited too!

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     Yes, in the Book-Pile photo at the top you'll see that there's a few more books in there than I'm actually giving attention to, which in every case is because those individual books and comic books all have already had their time to shine in another of this month's posts. To whit: after I had read The Light is The Darkness, by Laird Barron, And which is in the picture up above, I immediately went ahead and ordered the short story collection I really should've picked up ages ago by now: The Imago Sequence.

     It arrived pretty quickly too, and I have begun reading it already, as I had a bit of waiting time at the doctor's today. It's immediately become clear that Barron's work is more inter-connected than I thought. Bare pages in, there are already organizations and names intimately connected with some of the elements in The Light is the Darkness novella. His protagonists also come across as pretty bad-ass, which is very much to my liking. Apparently this is called Hard-boiled.

The book  itself is actually the winner of the 2007 Shirley Jackson Awards for Best Short Story Collection, so, you know, that sounds pretty cool. Even though I'm not one to put much stock in popular opinions, or jury-based decisions of any kind.

What an odd thing to say, no?

Almost as if there's more to say there...

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Next up; the latest Michael Fletcher novel.

I haven't read anything by him since Beyond Redemption, though I compulsively buy everything he puts out.

     I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I'm a compulsive reader, and a slow reader.

Which means that if the story isn't finished by the time I've read the first book in the series, I'm very likely to be side-tracked by other stuff, and in the end I usually don't go back to the series at all.

     Reading takes a lot of time for me. Which is why I just purchase the stuff I know I'll like when it comes out, and then wait for the series to be finished before I dive in.

It's a problematic and selfish position to take maybe. But I've been burned a few times too many to look further than my own capabilities on this one.

     The one idea that informs all of my thinking on this is that there is so much good stuff to read still, and 95 percent of which has been finished decades ago, if not generations ago, and it's whole and complete and guaranteed to satisfy.

     Read the world's classics, for God's sake people. Stop diving into the very next buzz-worthy thing. Half the stuff you're reading right now will not last a decade. There's too many writers out there right now, and most of them don't add much to the art.

But if you find one you really like, you should stick with them.

Michael Fletcher is my one thing.

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So then, on to comics!

First up is the latest Junji Ito manga hardback, which now completes my Junji ito Horror Library.

Though I guess I could still buy the Dissolving Class Room manga, if I really crave some horror manga, but it isn't likely.

Manga is very miss with me, and barring Berserk and 2 of Ito's stories, almost never a hit.

I loved Uzumaki, or at least the concept of the thing itself, but there were elements that just couldn't help coming across as silly, the whirlwind-flyers for one (boy, was that stupid...), but there is a certain draw to these things anyway. And I'm of the opinion that one should probably go and explore the top of each art form one comes across. And the top in Horror Manga is Junji Ito.

But if I'm very honest, I'm happy that I can close this particular chapter of Manga exploration quite soon. It might just not be my thing entirely.

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Here's the last Hellboy trade ever.

Hopefully.

What can I say about this one that won't drip with annoyance and ill will?

     Hellboy was such a great character and had some really damn good stories, and it all went to shit when the BPRD went and became their own thing. Storylines that would've worked fine in the hands of Mignola himself went to other writers and artists, and it almost never worked. This is my opinion of course. I'm sure most people love the BPRD storylines but I have come to actively loathe them.

     And here then, in Ragna Rok, is the story that's supposed to end 25 years of storytelling, and a whole universe worth of comics and properties. And it just sucks.

It's all so rushed that it actively pissed me off.

     What's bizarre though is that it does get really really good there at the end, you know, when Mignola's the one doing the drawing. And even I have to admit that it's really one hell of a way to end the series. I'm not sure if I've ever seen anything done like this before.

     But does it work though?

I really liked those 5 final pages. But when they were done, I felt just kind of deflated, and disinterested. Some of these characters got such a raw deal, and the landscape is just unrecognizable.

     I suppose the name of the game is that this really has become an almost alien world now, and that humanity's day has drawn to a close. And my beef isn't that 'I can't identify with this' or something, no. Hell no. Fuck humanity, kill them all.

     No, I loved the fact that this was an unstoppable apocalypse and all. But it felt just so hollow, so rushed and poorly executed. You gave the annoying plague of Frogs 14 trade paperbacks of story, Hell on Earth got 15, and the Apocalypse itself only gets 3 trades, and when Hellboy shows up to finally do the thing he's been having to do since issue 1 and then you don't even make him feel like Hellboy?

     No. My guess is that somebody got tired of the whole thing, and it all needed to be wrapped up as soon as possible.

     The problem with this is that there's no desire for pre-quels or spin-offs either. I was reading Crimson Lotus and I was wondering why I was doing so. There was build up here for the grand finale, and it annoyed me, because the grand finale itself ultimately had proved itself to be disappointing. It was all pointless. Ugh.

Man, I have a lot of annoyance and anger on this one. Might eventually come back to it, but on the whole, I'd rather just forget about Hellboy right now.

 Moving on.

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     Here is one I am very much curious about. 

There's something abstract about these covers, something that teases without even showing anything.

There's black, blue and 3 spots of red in a scene that just screams that there's something going on here, but because we're so far away there's also a sense of peace and quiet about it. Some sort of hidden darkness.

     And then the highly suggestive title, somehow connected with that pitch black warehouse door... this one looks very, very enticing.

     Somehow I've been able to keep completely spoiler-free on this one. I solely picked it up based on the name of the comic itself, the writer associated with it and the kind of art-style that the cover has. There's no guarantee that this one'll be good, but at the very least the whole series, 12 issues in total, has been collected between these two trades.

I'm itching to dive in.

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Here it is finally.

Terminal Diagnosis.

This is likely Harry Absalom's final outing.

He'll likely die here, though I hope not, but if he can give a good poke in the eye of the powers that be I'll be more than happy either way. Hopefully there'll also be some more hints to Gordon Rennie's Cabbalistics universe, which there was a playful reference to in one of the earlier Absalom volumes.

The story's one that the groundwork's been laid for in the previous Absalom stories:

To keep him in line, the forces of Hell have kidnapped and imprisoned Harry's grandchildren and put them in 'The Mills', and now, with Harry's final days approaching as his much-stalled cancer is taking the last chunks out of his system, he's putting a team together to get his grandchildren back.

I'm gonna miss the old bugger.

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Another one from the pages of 2000AD.

Tales of Telguuth collects the comic adaptations of Steve Moore's Telguuth short stories, and as I've read about a third of it now I can already say that I'm going to go and get the Tales of Telguuth collection from Strange Attractor Press as well. These tales are dark, and nasty, and pretty unique as well. Sorcery, Gods and monsters, and some tits thrown in for good measure. The artwork is gorgeous and pretty similar across all the tales in here, which is perfect for someone like me who can't stand it if the art veers between too different styles. 

Now, I've read a bunch of sword and sorcery stuff but there's a very strange taste to these stories, and I can very well understand why the most often used adjective to describe them is 'perverse'. It isn't exactly that but the word does seem to sum it up best, as they all seem to end badly for their main characters, and pretty much every time there's a sick delight in watching this unfold. 

I recommend you pick this one up.

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Dreddy's number 24 outing.

It's been pretty good. Not much to say though.

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I do have a lot to say about this one.

Note the paws?

     I've already read three chapters, and though the edition featured above is gorgeous of course, and quite hefty, though not heavy, I was a bit on the fence about recommending the Top Shelf edition of From Hell as I thought there wasn't any introduction or explanatory piece in here, but last night I discovered the appendices at the back of the book and: ehh... maybe there's not even a need for an introduction?

     Well, let me put it this way.

There's this bit in BBC's Luther where a girl is reading a comic book, and Luther asks her what she's doing, and she responds with, "I'm reading a Graphic Novel", and Luther scoffs and says, "Call it what is, it is a comic book, I don't know why the youth always have to pretend that things are bigger than what they are. Go read a real book, might do you some good", or something. There's a lot of disdain there for this idea of wanting to call comic books graphic novels, as if that can 'legitimize' an art form that's pretty much just dumb entertainment to the people that love reading actual novels.

     This pretty much was my position as well, for the longest time, and when I began reading comics I always called them comics, but From Hell has made me realize that you just can't call this thing a comic book; In some ways it IS a novel, and if you go into this one expecting to breeze through it you're gonna fall flat on your face. And the funny thing is that when I tried to think of other comic books one should be calling graphic novels the only ones I could come up with (and that I'd read) were those that had also been written by Alan Moore: V for Vendetta, Providence (though not Neonomicon), and From Hell.

     So what's the difference, why are some of these 'higher' than others?

I guess it's about what's in it, behind it, what brought the thing about.

Anyone can tell a story (though not really), but what I'm trying to say is that this one is of a different class than anything else in comics. When I look at it, I just can't understand that anyone crafted it. It is whole and complete, exactingly pre-determined and then meticulously executed. It's laborious and perfect. There's so much that's in it, that it can not have done anything other than consume the artists working on it, and From Hell did do that of course. Moore came out of this one a changed man.

     Anyway There's over 40 pages of notes in here, indicating which elements have been fictionalized and which elements came about by research and speculation, and it's dense and quite heavy to read. And it almost obviates the need for an introduction.

Here's the girl that those paws belong to.

Saffy's got a good home, let me tell you, and she knows.

Oh yeah, I can recommend the Top Shelf edition.

I'm going to take it slow reading this one, as it really is quite a lot to digest.

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And here's the last book on the pile: the American Vampire Omnibus.

Strangely, there's no news on omnibus 2 even though the story isn't completely collected in here.

There simply might not be enough issues to constitute a new volume but I'd like one anyway, even if it's half the size of this one.

Nothing to say about this one either really, as I'm going to hold off reading until at the very least I have the whole series in one form or another.

Oofh, I'm exhausted now.