If you're familiar with Carol Tyler, there's a good chance it's through her memoir, Soldier's Heart: The Campaign to Understand My WWII Veteran Father. It was originally published as three separate books between 2009-2012, and only collected into a single volume in 2015. Her upcoming book, The Ephemerata: Shaping the Exquisite Nature of Grief, might inititally seem like a sequel of sorts, as it covers her life from 2011-2017 but I think that would wildly misrepresent what this actually is.

The sales copy for the book reads, in part, "Drawing upon her own bereavement, renowned comics artist and writer Carol Tyler emerges from a decade long period of grief to create an allegorical masterpiece. During collisions between life and death, estrangement and loss, Carol Tyler turned to her pen to face facts and extract meaning from the oddly sacred experience." Because of that, I went into the book assuming she would mostly be discussing living with and then losing her husband Justin Green, a notable cartoonist in his own right who passed away in 2022. I thought it odd that Fantagraphics didn't name-drop Green anywhere in the promotional copy in order that they might pick up a few more sales, but I'm told Tyler had some strong opinions on that point and, given the particular nature of this work, I understand why everyone respected it. Because Green's passing is hardly mentioned at all here. You'll note that I said the book largely covers Tyler's life up to 2017; she has plans for a second half to this story to come out in 2027. This first volume is about all the other loss she experienced before that.

And that's not insubstantial. Early in the book, Tyler offers a simple list of those she lost in this short six year period: her mother, her father, her sister, her brother-in-law, a close cousin, her dog, the child of some friends, the "nice kid next door" and his father, one of her editors... in addition to a number of other friends both in and out of comics. It's a daunting list, frankly. I'm old enough to have seen many friends and relatives pass away -- some under very ugly circumstances -- but I can't say I could pull out any six year period that densely packed with funerals, much less so many significant ones.

The first part of the book discusses how Tyler looks at grief more broadly. It's definitely the more pensive part of the book, and offers some reflection on how people can process grief in different ways and how she herself processes it. If you're familiar with Tyler's work, it should come as no surprise that she relies heavily on metaphors. She receives a deed to a parcel of land in Griefville in which instead of a house, she finds her Grandma Theola's Mourning Bonnet. It is within the bonnet that she can work to process her grief -- or simply try to take a moment's comfort -- in whatever manner she needs. However, without a Guide Book, she's at a bit of a loss.

From there Tyler goes on to relay her life from 2011 onwards. Dealing with her ailing parents, trying to shield them from the ravages of cancer that are killing her sister, protecting her daughter from the repercussions of her daughter's boyfriend's dealings with some local low-level drug dealers... On top of the more day-to-day stressors like helping one neighbor to bury their dog, her own aging that's led to not only your run-of-the-mill creaky joints but also a bout of tinnitus, her husband's ongoing challenges with OCD, being forced to teach her college classes in a hallway, and -- perhaps most insidiously of all -- always having to say "fine, thanks" and pretend she really is every time someone asks, "how are you doing?"

It's a lot for anyone to deal with and she retreats to Griefville on more than a couple occassions. Hell, I had to put the book aside repeatedly because it was a lot just to read about! Tyler puts herself very much on open display for readers here, but it never feels like she's doing it to expressly gain sympathy. It's hard for me to pinpoint how, but it very much seems like Tyler was using the pages to process her grief as it continued to mount and drawing comics was the only way she knew how. Having it published seems like a "sure, fuck it -- whatever!" response to someone else's suggestion. And because of that, it's very raw and emotional. Tyler lays herself bare for the reader with an exhausted honesty and integrity that I suspect can only come from having to deal with so much death.

Look, I don't have to sell you on this book. It's Carol Tyler. If you're reading this blog, you at least are nominally familiar with her name and her reputation. There's a good chance you've read some of her work already, and there's even a half-decent chance you know her personally. This is everything you'd expect from Tyler and more; I'd certainly rank it as the best single piece from her that I've ever read. The Ephemerata: Shaping the Exquisite Nature of Grief is being published by Fantagraphics and should be available in your favorite bookstore next month. You can pre-order it now -- it retails in hardcover for $39.99 US. The publisher provided me with an advance copy for this review.

Here are this week's links to what I've had published recently...

Kleefeld on Comics: Check Your Assumptions
https://ift.tt/IwhHOoi

Kleefeld on Comics: The Man Who Dreamt the Impossible Review
https://ift.tt/Nx8pmIH

Kleefeld on Comics: Marvel All-On-One Review
https://ift.tt/4UQJRqz

Kleefeld on Comics: Action Comics #495
https://ift.tt/rT3Aeiq

Kleefeld on Comics: Graphic Comics
https://ift.tt/FQb6knU

One of the earliest comic covers that captured my interest at an intellectual level was West Coast Avengers #16 by Al Milgrom. (At right.) It stuck out because, as you can see, it has what might be considered a more graphic approach to depicting characters. If you examine the artwork, you'll see that most of the visuals are conveyed with colored shapes and NOT the black outlines we're so accustomed to seeing in comics. I thought this was wildly clever at the time (1987) and was pleased to see the idea repeated (albiet somewhat less successfully) about a year and half later on the cover of WCA #35.

This was, of course, before I studied graphic design at all, and just as I was beginning to study comic book history. At the time, I was still wholly unfamiliar with the work of Jim Steranko and Frank Miller had just begun experimenting with the idea of removing linework from his work.

I went to college not long after this to study graphic design, and I learned a great deal about color, line and form. The program was rather different than the fine arts program, although we still shared a studio in our foundation drawing classes. In fact, though, very little time was spent on drawing and illustration even compared to photography. We were taught how to depict objects with forms. Minimalism was often encouraged and I particularly enjoyed working on a project where I had to stylize/iconify images from Star Trek, Star Wars, Dr. Who, Flash Gordon, 2001, Alien, Metropolis, Forbidden Planet and War of the Worlds. They were all done entirely using shadows and provided an interesting (for me) examination of how to illustrate without lines.

It occurs to me though that now, dceades later, we're still seeing very little in the way of non-line-drawing comics. Even after Miller brought the idea to such high prominence -- with more than a little help from Robert Rodriguez -- in Sin City. It's not entirely absent, certainly, and you can see forms of it, to varying degrees, in the work of Mike Mignola, Time Sale, and Frank Espinosa but I would think Miller's work especially would have inspired more people by now. I should think that more comic book artists would be taking up the idea to stand out from the crowd of more intricately detailed art that covers just about every other book on the market.

C'mon! Cool graphics and decent marketing concept? Who wouldn't want that?

This is the first comic book I actually purchased with my own money. I recall seeing it on a spinner rack in a local drug store while Mom was picking up whatever it was that she picked up that day. I had been interested in comics for at least a few years at that point, but I had only recently started getting an allowance. I definitely remember being attracted to the cover, possibly because of the obvious Clark/Superman duality being expressly shown. (I know I liked the cover to Superman #268 for that reason.) I thus made the decision to make my first "major" purchase. I mean, forty whole cents! That required me to save up my allowance for two weeks!

The story was entertaining enough, if a bit far-fetched -- even in the context of a Superman comic. I do recall liking it, though, because it did have all the "classic" Superman elements I was aware of. The villain appeared to be from Krypton (Superman's home planet) but was in fact an alien from a world Superboy had saved years ago (continuity). It featured Clark and Lois as Planet reporters (key characters and traits) but occurred in Smallville (Clark's boyhood home). There was a brief discussion of the original S-logo Clark had toyed with (alluding to the historical elements of Superman's history in the real world) and the mandatory Clark-pretending-to-be-scared-so-Lois-won't-discover-his-dual-identity routine. Plus some out of this world logic (Superman throwing the villain's sword all the way around THE ENTIRE PLANET and catching it as it came back) and a decent fight sequence. And, oh yeah, the whole thing was drawn by Curt "Best Superman Artist Ever" Swan.

Apparently, from what I can tell right here and now, that story or the alien race depicted in it, has NEVER been referenced before or since that issue. So, c'mon! Who's with me in writing to new DC head honcho Diane Nelson to help back the Zoltams, Gnmod, or the Xaka sword? Let's get everybody on board this and make it a real grass-roots movement to honor the great legacy of DC stories! Who's with me? C'mon!

Anyone?

Anybody...?

Hello? Is this thing on?

I'll have to admit that when I first heard Marvel was going to do an issue with nothing but splash pages, I wasn't keen on the concept. A lot of what I like about comics is the storytelling, and how an artist is able to break down the pages to draw the reader through a page and focus (or not) on particular actions and such. And while there is some element of that in giant, single-page images, I feel the focus on the illustrations over the storytelling to be less interesting. Personal preference on my part. So I was a little surprised when my monthly box of comics showed up on my doorstep a few days ago, and I found Marvel All-On-One #1 among them. I didn't recall specifically ordering it, so I guess my old school Fantastic Four completist mindset kicked in when I was filling my online shopping cart.

The story is basically explained on the cover. As the Thing returns home after a mission, the rest of the Fantastic Four attack him for no apparent reason. The Thing initially assumes someone's mind-controlling them but quickly realizes they're actually robots, allowing him to let loose without fearing of actually hurting them. He's then attacked by the Avengers, the X-Men, and pretty much everyone else in the Marvel Universe. Heroes and villains. And most of the issue is just an extended fight scene until robot-Phoenix drops the moon on the city, obliterating everything but the Thing.

At which point, the real antagonist shows up (I won't mention who it actually is to avoid spoilers) and the whole thing was basically just an elaborate setup as part of basically a real-life role playing game, and now Thing's wrecked it because he just spent the whole time clobbering everybody instead of trying to investigate all the intricacies and subplots and such. But the Thing thanks him for the workout and goes to his actual home, less frustrated than he was before.

Honestly, I found this just boring as all get-out. There was really no plot so the dialogue was almost entirely just catch phrases and quips, and while Ed McGuiness's art is pretty, the repetitiveness of page after page of splashes felt monotonous. I found myself barely skimming things by page 10 or 12, and when I caught a line of dialogue 40-ish pages later about a moon being dropped on him, I had to flip back through the issue to see what they were talking about because I had completely lost interest and zoned out by that point.

I get it. Splash pages are generally used for large, dramatic moments so if you want to do an entire page of splashes, it makes sense that you'd do it as a giant fight where every page is someone punching, leaping, flying, falling, crashing through something, etc. But the storytelling rhythm becomes absolutely static pretty quickly. Regardless of how you bookend the fight with story elements and use dialogue to highlight individual characterizations, it's just a 'song' that has a driving bass line and drum groove, but with no guitar solo or lyrics to any dynamism to it.

Back in the mid-1980s, Scott McCloud did a one-shot comic called Destroy!! in which he had a superhero go mad and just start smashing things, and another superhero had to come in to stop him. There was -- by design -- literally no characterization at all, just the bad guy yelling "DESTROY!!" over and over, and a quick explanation from a bystander telling the good guy "he just started yelling 'destroy' and began smashing things." Then it's 30-pages of these two guys hitting each other. That was more interesting to me than Marvel All-On-One #1 because, despite having technically less characterization and story, at least McCloud broke the pages up into various panels and there was some variation in the cadence and pacing.

If you're a fan of McGuiness's art, I expect you'll enjoy looking at the illustrations here. And because it's the Thing versus "the Marvel Universe," he drew all the big name characters. But I can't really find a reason to recommend this otherwise. It's not bad for what it is; I just think what it is isn't very interesting in the first place. Certainly not for a $7.99 US cover price. The book came out a couple weeks ago, so it should still be readily available at your local comic shop if you are interested though.

One of the challenges I often see with comics trying to honor Jack Kirby is that they wind up trying to rely pretty heavily on replicating his illustration style. Of course, how well executed this is depends on the talents of the artist, but it almost always feels reductive; they almost always pick up on the superficialities of Jack's work, but miss the energy and creativity behind it. So let me start this review by saying that I think The Man Who Dreamt the Impossible by Mário Freitas and Lucas Pereira absolutely does NOT do that.

Going into this, I knew the story wasn't going to be a strict biography of Jack Kirby. It says right on the cover it's "fictionalized" after all. I don't know that I was prepared for how this story rolled out, though. It takes place in a rest home for old comic book creators. Jack's there, of course, but also Steve Ditko, Bill Everett, Gene Colan, and Wally Wood among others. According to the workers, Jack's mind has been failing since the library he had spent years building up and been completely disheveled and disorganized thanks to Martin Flask. It's only when "Mike" begins to help clean up the library that Jack regains his vitality. Enough that he's able to resurrect Mike (killed by Martin to prevent the library's reorganization) and battle back Martin, who joins forces with power-monger Bolt Bisley, in an epic battle worthy of an entire movie unto itself.

The metaphors here are not subtle, and they're clearly not intended to be. Freitas and Pereira put a very clear stake in the ground on the matter of who contributed what in the Lee/Kirby debate and I don't doubt that, were Stan Lee still alive, he would be upset as his depiction as a parasitic, fame-obsessed villain. And he'd almost certainly point out that he had zero control in Marvel's creative or business dealings by the time the company was bought by Disney. But accuracy is hardly the point. I mean, the book starts with Jack being wheelchair-bound and living in a rest home, having outlived his wife Roz, so we're clearly well into fiction territory right from jump. The creators here are making a statement of ideas and opinions here; they're not trying to litigate reality.

I started this post by mentioning how often creators try to "do" Kirby when working on tributes to him, but that Pereira doesn't do that here. Not only does he avoid trying to imitate Jack's illustration style, but he also steers far away from even Jack's pacing and cadence in storytelling. There are two two-page spreads in particular which he plays with the flow of the panel sequencing in a way that (I'm nearly 100% sure) Jack never even attempted. Both spreads must have been very complicated to lay out and are actually rather dangerous to attempt, as either one would have absolutely killed the narrative if they weren't completely successful. In its own way, this type of approach does more to honor Jack's legacy than all of other people's superficial attempts; I think Jack would've thought the spreads very bold and powerful in ways he likely never considered.

While the overall story is fun and exciting, there are a couple of dark lines of dialogue if you're familiar with comics history. The allusions to some of the creators' actual deaths -- Everett's and Wood's in particular -- did briefly pull me out of the story, mostly by virtue of acknowledging the reality of their situations. I suppose they stood out to me because virtually everything else in the book has an additional layer of metaphors on top of it, and those couple references did not. It's a minor point in the story -- a couple lines of off-hand dialogue that are not germaine to the plot -- but it did catch me a bit off-guard. Fortunately, that's pretty early in the book before the action really gets rolling and doesn't cast a shadow over the remainder of the story.

I'm always a little skeptical going into tribute type books like these because of the reliance on the superficial pap I mentioned up top. But The Man Who Dreamt the Impossible does a great job of honoring Jack Kirby's work without resorting to, much less relying on, just trying to ape Jack's sytlistic quirks. The book came out from Image about two weeks ago, so it should still be readily available at your local comic shop, retailing for $9.99 US.

As you probably know, I'm a big Jack Kirby fan. One of the interesting things about his Super Powers books -- particularly the second series which is all his art -- is that Jack was working with a huge cast of characters that were fundamentally not his. He was working with Superman, who readers had seen him work on in brief stints before, but also Batman, Robin, Wonder Woman, Aquaman, Martian Manhunter, Green Lantern, Dr. Fate, Hawkman, Flash, Red Tornado, Firestorm, Green Arrow, Joker, Penguin, Lex Luthor and Brainiac. And while Jack imbues the story with his typical storytelling oomph, the characters themselves don't feel quite comfortable. I think because they're fundamentally not his style of character design.

If you look at a Jack Kirby designed character, they tend to have a certain style about their design. Even if they don't have the weird squiggly line elements or some of the other hallmark-Kirbyisms, they still fit within his ouvre. But Superman and Batman? Not so much. Jack would never have designed characters that look like that; they're just not his style.

(As I think on it, though, the original Batman design with the purple gloves and the really low ears from Detective Comics #27 might fit within the Kirby aesthetic. Hmmm...)

But because all these characters aren't designed in a way that matches Jack's own design sensibility, they feel a little stiff. A little off. They're just not a good fit for Jack, just as Spider-Man never seemed like a good fit.

That said, some characters worked better than others. I was struck, actually, by how well Jack's Martian Manhunter looked. Of the entire Justice League, his costume design is probably the closest to something Jack might have come up with, and I really think that shows in his artwork. Manhunter just feels better in the story.

Which is further enforced by the fact that Manhunter plays a more significant role in the series than many of the other heroes. The whole story starts off from Manhunter's perspective, and even though the Leaguers split up to tackle different simultaneous threats, Manhunter is able to jump back and forth between them... apparently faster than either Flash or Superman.

In reading this, my thought process went something as follows: "Huh, it says Jack only drew these and didn't write them like the first series. But Manhunter plays a pretty big role here, and he's clearly the character that Jack is most comfortable with. I bet these were done in the old Marvel method, where Jack started with a loose outline and 'wrote' the story while drawing it, allowing Paul Kupperberg to just step in and script the final dialogue."

Makes sense, right? That's how Jack worked through much of his career, and he had just written the previous Super Powers mini. So I jumped to the interwebs to see if I can find somebody who's already confirmed my suspicions. And one of the first links I stumble across is from Kupperberg's own site!

"Well, great! I can get an answer directly from the source!"

But as I'm scanning through this post, I come across this passage...

Jack stated that he had been the writer of everything he ever drew. Stan was the dialogue man, but the stories came from Jack. Everything... including, apparently, my fully-scripted Super Powers miniseries, which he followed to the letter.

(Kupperberg's emphasis.)

Kupperberg goes on to wonder how someone could take such a broad, sweeping statement as fact. Particularly when he had clear evidence to the contrary. He had a full script for Super Powers that Jack drew. For at least that one series, Jack's input was strictly in conveying the visuals that Kupperberg had written out.

It's a minor piece to Kupperberg's overall point in that post, but he's quite clear how he and Jack worked on that story together. Kupperberg wrote the script; Jack drew what was in the script. But that means my guess that Jack chose to focus on Martian Manhunter because he was more comfortable drawing that particular character design? Complete bunk. The focus on Manhunter was Kupperberg's decision.

It's noteworthy here not because it lends to any great resolution to the Lee/Kirby debate or whatever. It's noteworthy because a logical-sounding series of deductions made in the absence of direct and complete evidence was proven as invalid. For as much as Jack spent his later professional years working on creator-owned comics and doing all the writing and drawing himself, there's at least one outlier incident where he sat down and just banged out a series that someone else wrote. "You want Martian Manhunter on page one? You got Martian Manhunter on page one!"

The moral of the story is: when you're digging through comics history and trying to fit all the puzzle pieces together, they don't always fit in the way that would make the most sense!