#ComicsWednesday: The Mighty Thor by Walter Simonson

Continuity is both the best and the worst thing about superhero comics. It’s a huge part of what fans love about these stories, but it’s an even bigger part of what leaves new readers confused and annoyed. In fact, “continuity,” as I’m using the word here, is an obscure enough idea that I should probably back up and define it a bit.

In comics and other long-running serialized stories, continuity is the history of the world and its characters, the idea that everything that’s come before is still true and still matters. This isn’t fundamentally different from what we see in a long-running TV show -- ideally the folks writing season 14 of Grey’s Anatomy remember what happened in season 1. If they write in some sort of callback to the early stuff, like an old character showing up, longtime viewers get a thrill of recognition and feel rewarded for the time they’ve invested. But, on the other hand, 14 seasons is a lot to keep up with and new viewers might be put off by the fear that they won’t know or remember everything they need to really appreciate a story.

Now let’s return to comics and take Marvel’s Thor as an example. Thor’s been in comics since 1962, which is a long time during which to accumulate a fictional history of friends, enemies, battles, and life changes. He’s had a few different love interests and secret identities. He had a robot arm for a while, turned into a frog once, and died (but not for long). Sometimes writers have misremembered things and contradicted each other about how something happened or what Thor’s magic hammer can do. Sometimes they’ve written “imaginary stories” that share details with the “actual” continuity of Thor but aren’t meant to connect with or change it. It’s a big thorny mess, but it’s full of really great stories, and, just like with the Grey’s Anatomy fan we imagined above, there’s a special joy in reading something that you understand is building off of a shared creative universe decades in the making.

I picked Thor as my example here not because his history is especially old or complicated (in the grand scheme of things, he’s pretty average in terms of continuity baggage). But he’s got a movie coming out soon, Thor: Ragnarok, that looks like it will be pretty fun, and a good superhero movie usually leaves folks asking which comics they should read to follow up on a character they’re newly excited about. This can be a hard question to answer, but for Thor it’s easy.

Walter Simonson’s time as the writer on The Mighty Thor lasted from 1983 to 1987 and his is widely considered one of the all-time best collections of superhero stories. Carnegie-Stout owns them in a nice five-volume reprint from a few year ago.

Simonson’s stories are grand, heroic, and mythic. He shows us fearsome dragons, unstoppable fire demons, and armies of frost giants. He clearly knows and loves both Norse mythology and all the Thor comics that came before him, but peppers in these references with a deft touch that won’t alienate readers who don’t share his background.

Through most of his time as writer, Simonson also drew his comics (which is pretty uncommon in mainstream superhero books). He’s got a great eye for design and an obvious love for the ornate techno-fantasy aesthetic that’s been central to Thor since the character was introduced. This may seem an odd detail, but he’s especially great at enormous and improbable hats that somehow manage to look great on the page even though they clearly would never work in real life.

These five volumes contain multiple smaller storylines that build together to a grand and satisfying conclusion. It’s dashing, exciting, and optimistic in a way that’s not always been fashionable for superhero comics. The good guys face long odds and terrible trials, but they succeed through determination, teamwork, and the strength of their ideals. These comics are fun, fast-paced, and thrilling.

Now, I know I wrote above about how you can enjoy these comics without knowing every bit of background. But I also know that having some of that background can make these things more fun. Maybe more importantly, I know plenty of folks who have a hard time letting go of the fear that they’re missing something important, even after they’ve been assured otherwise. So to go along with these comics I’ve got a special extra-credit podcast recommendation: Thor: The Lightning and the Storm.

This 14-episode podcast came out over the summer of 2017. Hosts Miles Stokes and Elisabeth Allie read and discussed their way through Simonson’s whole Thor run. Each episode covers a few issues of the comic and provides some recap and explanation and a whole lot of background, lore, and critical analysis. It’s like being in a very small book club with two fun and knowledgeable friends who are super-excited to tell you the abbreviated history of each little minor character who pops up or to explain how any given plot point relates back to things that happened in the comic twenty years before. Miles has read these comics over and over since childhood and brings boundless enthusiasm. Elisabeth is new to Thor (though not to comics as a whole) and brings a fresh pair of eyes, catching and remarking on things that Miles has lost to familiarity. It’s a really good format and I highly recommend it to anyone who wants to dig into background info and comics trivia.

And if you enjoy The Lightning and the Storm and want to dig even deeper into a truly tangled web of superhero history, then you can move on to the other podcast Miles co-hosts, Jay and Miles X-Plain the X-Men, but that’s a whole other can of worms we’ll need to open in a later blog post . . . .

~Andrew, Adult Services

If You Liked Rocket Raccoon, Try Airplane Monkey!

Sarah and I were both huge fans of Ann Leckie’s Ancillary Justice (you can read Sarah’s review here). We’ve spent the last several months watching the literary awards roll in for Leckie’s singular and inventive story of a former spaceship out for revenge. When the British Science Fiction Association announced the choice for Best Novel of 2013, Ancillary Justice had tied with Ack-Ack Macaque by Gareth L. Powell, a book whose synopsis made “former spaceship out for revenge” sound positively pedestrian. From the back cover:

In 1944, as waves of German ninjas parachute into Kent, Britain’s best hopes for victory lie with a Spitfire pilot codenamed ‘Ack-Ack Macaque.’ The trouble is, Ack-Ack Macaque is a cynical, one-eyed, cigar-chomping monkey, and he’s starting to doubt everything, including his own existence.

To be honest, that’s the sort of pitch that usually elicits a chuckle but then disappoints me. With so many self-consciously far-fetched ideas in play, it’s no mean feat to keep a book from spinning wildly out of control. But if the British Science Fiction Association said Powell’s Nazi-fighting monkey pilot book was actually one of the two best sci-fi novels of the year, then I’d give him the benefit of the doubt.

Once I got into the book, things became even more complicated with the addition of a modern day plot built around alternate history, domineering corporations, transhumanists, and nuclear zeppelins. With all these elements crammed together, I’d have been impressed if Powell simply pulled off a crash he could walk away from. Instead, he soared effortlessly. The characters are fun and believable. The plot is engrossing and cohesive (though really hard to convey to a third party -- just ask my wife). There were moments where it's exactly as silly as a warrior monkey book should be alongside moments of genuine suspense and emotional weight.

My title for this review suggests Ack-Ack Macaque as a good follow-up for Guardians of the Galaxy. Despite the shared theme of cybernetically-enhanced mammals with big guns and aircraft, I don’t know that I’d say one is a good match to the other. Ack-Ack Macaque is fairly dark and spends a lot of time considering questions of humanity in a world of cybernetic implants. Guardians of the Galaxy certainly has some heart and sci-fi chops, but keeps things loose and funny. All that said, both works share an important feature of successful high concept media: despite the superficial absurdity of their premise, they play things straight. They don’t wink to the reader or viewer, trying to make sure we know that they know that a talking monkey is silly. Nor do they veer toward grim and gritty excess in order to grind out any trace of silliness. To some degree, both works succeed because their creators believe they can -- no extra support or justification required.

If, after Ack Ack Macaque, you’ve still not had your fill of uplifted animals, try one of these:

• Hive Monkey by Gareth Powell -- The sequel to Ack-Ack Macaque. I haven’t read it yet, but it seems an obvious place to turn.

• We3 by Grant Morrison and Frank Quietly -- If you want to read a thrilling and gory action comic that will have you weeping bitterly at the end, I’ve got the book for you!

• Duncan the Wonder Dog by Adam Hines -- For those who like their talking animal comics with a more philosophical bent.

• Mrs Frisby and the Rats of NIHM by Robert C. O’Brien -- A classic and personal favorite, this children’s novel is quieter and lighter on the sci-fi, but no less engrossing.

New Books for a New Month!

Today marks the start of a brand new month, and the long awaited arrival of spring weather! To celebrate, Andrew gives us a sneak peak at some fresh titles.

Lawn Gone
Landscaper and caterer Vivian "Kentucky" Bluegrass, Tuck to her friends, is in the weeds when she shows up for what should be a gala opening for a wealthy client's new yard but instead finds a plot of bare earth. Things really get dirty when the pinched peat shows up across town -- on top of the dead body of Zoysia Green, Tuck's biggest competition! With the help of hunky handyman Randy Bulb, psychic canine Digger, and a mysterious dryad named Sprout, Tuck's in a race against time to clear her name before the first frost!
Includes recipes and gardening tips.

Proof of Heaven
Having had his fill of tasteless communion wafers, Italian master baker Sacco Cerevisi set out to re-discover the liturgical loaves that inspired over 100 Bible verses. Cerevisi's first foray into the unfamiliar grains of the ancient Middle-East may have produced a staff of death, but through tireless experimentation he develops his seven core ingredients into a multitude of recipes easy enough to make daily, quick enough to throw together in a hurry, and hearty enough to strengtheneth man's heart.

Alex Cross, Run
 "Three dead bodies. One, Two, Three. Alex Cross, Run!"
With these three sentences, the James Patterson biblio-empire stakes its claim in the early readers market. With colorful illustrations and an appropriately simple vocabulary, Patterson spins a tale of murder and intrigue that will keep even the littlest tot flipping pages through the bitter end! 

This Is Not My Hat
The eagerly-awaited tell-all memoir from the first Pope Emeritus of modern times! The mitre is an enduring symbol of the papacy, but, for Benedict XVI, it never sat comfortably upon the papal brow. This title is heavily embargoed, with a street date enforced by the Swiss Guard, but the promise of rare glimpse of the man behind the vestments has readers lining up! 

Pete the Cat and His Four Groovy Buttons
A grisly true crime story that has reviewers locking their doors and calling their loved ones! In the love-drenched streets of 1960s San Francisco, death walks on padded feet. Pete the cuddly tabby prowls the night with lethal doses of LSD hidden in the buttons on his collar. What demented killer pours this kitty's kibble? How will the FBI declaw this vicious mouser?*

A Week in Winter
When a jotun magus opens a portal to Niflheim and unleashes a supernatural blizzard, Mathghamhain, Druid of the Iron Grove, must leave his sacred copse and travel north, into the frozen fury of the storm. The greatest Irish fantasist of our age broadens hir range as hir fan-favorite Celtic hero leaves the Emerald Isle to battle the villians of Norse mythology.  

Vampires in the Lemon Grove 
Something something fruit bats. 









*Blood spatter image used in creation of Pete the Cat cover from a photo by Emily Raw: http://www.flickr.com/photos/emilyrawlings/5427257683

Buddha by Osamu Tezuka

I read a lot of comic books. There’s an endless stream of them going across my desk and it’s all too tempting to take one or two home to read. But I’m still pretty new to manga. I've read a fair number of them -- I feel like I have to if I’m going to have any sense of what to buy for the library -- but, generally speaking, manga are really different from American comics in a lot of subtle ways that can leave me a little lost and bewildered. In Chel’s review of A Bride’s Story she mentioned that some manga read right to left, and that’s really just the tip of the iceberg. Manga developed separately from American comics and have their own aesthetics of pacing, characterization, and art. Several years ago, when I was trying to give myself a crash course manga introduction, I plowed through several series by manga pioneer Osamu Tezuka. Of these, Buddha was by far my favorite. As such, I was thrilled when two group members suggested the series for this month’s Graphic Content reading group.

Buddha, as you might have guessed from the title, tells the story of Siddhartha Gautama Buddha, the man whose teachings form the basis for Buddhism (I’m hesitant to call it a biography due to all the story elements Tezuka introduces). To sum up eight volumes in a single sentence: a long time ago, all across the Indian subcontinent, lots of people are really unhappy due to famine and a tyrannical caste system until the prince Siddhartha is born and grows up to attain enlightenment and help others do the same. Put that way, it sounds pretty straightforward, but the first volume of the series Kapilavastu, the one we’re reading for the discussion group, is full of killer tigers, backflipping horses, extras cracking jokes about the book’s cheap printing, and a character who gets so mad he tears the panels apart and smashes them to bits. All this silliness and crazy action does a great job of creating balance with weighty (and sometimes wordy) explanations of ancient Indian society and spirituality. The mix will seem pretty familiar if you were a fan of the cartoon series Avatar: The Last Airbender. Both works move readily between action, comedy, drama, and philosophy in a way that sounds implausible but is actually quite effective. 

Buddha came late in Tezuka’s career and shows the confidence of a mature artist, not afraid to dive into a weighty subject (or to let that subject take the backseat to cheap gag or author’s cameo now and then). It’s a series I’m always happy to recommend to someone knew to manga and one I look forward to discussing at our graphic novel reading group. If you’d like to join us, there’s still plenty of time time to grab a copy of the book at the Circulation Desk and meet us on the Mezzanine at 7:00 p.m. on Tuesday, February 12.

~ Andrew, Adult Services

The Nao of Brown by Glyn Dillon

There is some danger in writing a review of a book one loves too dearly. It’s possible to be so enthused as to find oneself incapable of anything more insightful than “Zowee, this book was super good!” That's a perfectly reasonable reaction, but it makes for a pretty dull blog post. More importantly, it utterly fails to convey what makes the book good and, therefore, is unlikely to convince anyone to give it a go. And let’s be honest, that’s what this is really about: I want you to read the books I review and then come back and tell me how right I was. Librarians are a shallow and insecure breed.

Nao Brown, the main character of Glyn Dillon’s Nao of Brown, is no stranger to insecurity, though hers is of a more profound variety. Throughout the graphic novel she is a terribly unforgiving judge of her own thoughts and impulses. This can be a tiresome and alienating trait in a character, but Nao comes off as incredibly relatable and sympathetic. A lot of the credit for that goes to Dillon’s art. His subtle watercolors capture emotions and facial expressions with a disarming accuracy. At the same time, Nao’s quite aware of her propensity for self-excoriation and throughout the book she strives for some sort of mental equilibrium. It’s always easier to root for a character who’s trying to do right by themselves, even if their efforts aren’t terribly successful. All of Dillon’s characters have their flaws laid bare, but always in a spirit of honest acceptance rather than judgment. I never felt more connection to Nao’s friend and boss Steve than when he relates to her the disastrous aftermath of a failed date. The appeal is not in watching Steve be humiliated but in watching him make peace with that humiliation and accept it as part of what shapes him.

Backing up a bit, I should mention that Nao’s psychological issues go beyond garden variety insecurity. She suffers from Purely Obsessional OCD, which means she gets trapped in loops of obsessive thought but doesn’t progress from there to the physical compulsions one generally associates with OCD (handwashing, touching light switches, etc). I didn’t mention it upfront because one of Dillon’s achievements here is the extent to which he writes Nao as a fully-fledged character, not simply a case study of a mental illness. Her obsessions, which manifest as mental images of herself doing violence to those around her, followed by crippling anxiety over the possibility that she might act on those thoughts, certainly do play a part in the plot, but they don’t define the book any more than they define Nao herself.

The main narrative arc of the book details Nao’s romance with Greg, a drunken washing machine repairman with surprisingly broad reading tastes. On their first date, Greg drinks too much and voices several incorrect and offensive assumptions about Nao’s Japanese ancestry. Some mutual fascination gets the pair over that initial hurdle and it’s soon apparent that while their relationship is sure to be challenging, it has a lot to offer both participants. They need only abandon false pride, past pain, and personal insecurities in order to let themselves interact freely in the present.

If that all sounds a bit high-minded and spiritual, that’s because the book has a strong thread of Buddhist teaching. Nao looks to the local Buddhist center and its members as a source of calm inspiration. However, Dillon is careful to show that, despite Nao’s reverence, these men of faith are no more pure or infallible than the rest of the cast.

Comic books, grounded as they are in superheroes and other genre stories, often exist in a world of absolute good and absolute evil. The incorruptibility of Superman and Lex Luthor’s fundamental selfishness are part of a grand tradition of myth and storytelling and are often just what I want to read about. But I’m also grateful for graphic novels such as The Nao of Brown that exist in a nuanced world of gray-shaded relativism. While Superman reflects human nature in broad strokes of brightly colored ink, Nao Brown’s carefully studied and finely textured watercolors capture the essence of a single character. She may not speak to everyone, but she left a clear stamp on me.

~ Andrew, Adult Services

Graphic Novels for People Who Don't Read Graphic Novels

I recently had the opportunity to butt my nosy self into a conversation two co-workers were having about graphic novels. Bill, who reads all sorts of superhero comics, was attempting to explain their appeal to Michelle, who has no experience with or interest in graphic novels. It wasn't going well.

"It's like being 8 again," said Michelle, obviously not interested in indulging her inner child.

"No," said Bill, "some of them are really quite grown up."

Michelle remained skeptical, so I jumped into Bill's corner. "It's a hugely varied format," I argued. "I bet I could find some things that you'd like: graphic novels for people who don't read graphic novels."

Mirdza, another librarian, popped her head out of her cubicle and into the conversation like an eavesdropping prairie dog. "I'd like to see that list! I've read bits of graphic novels I've liked but never knew where to start."

Thank goodness for Mirdza, because Michelle was having none of it. She let out a bit of good-natured grumbling and went back to work. I shifted my lecturing to Mirdza, not wanting to waste a good head of pedantic steam.

"It's important to remember that graphic novels are a format like DVDs or audiobooks, not a genre like fantasy or mystery. Just as one may make a DVD about any number of subjects, a graphic novel can deliver memoir or journalism as easily as it delivers a superhero story."

Somewhere during those opening remarks Bill slipped out of the workroom and Mirdza sat back down, pretending I wasn't there. I've worked here long enough that folks understand they must sometimes ignore me if they're to get anything done. Like any dumb beast, I'll eventually forget what I was doing and wander away.

But my failures as an ambassador don't change the fact that there are all sorts of great graphic novels being published these days! All the superheroes you remember are still around and are still lots of fun, but that's just the tip of the iceberg. Here's a short list of suggestions for a variety of readers.

For the memoir fan:

Special Exits by Joyce Farmer
The author unflinchingly relates her attempts to care for her elderly parents as their physical and mental health deteriorates. Bring tissues.

Or Persepolis by Marjane Satrapi

For the non-fiction reader:

Palestine by Joe Sacco
Groundbreaking journalism hidden away in the graphic novel section. Sacco shows us a uniquely personal view of the Palenstinian people.

Or Students for a Democratic Society: A Graphic Adaptation by Harvey Pekar

For the sci-fi fan:

Saga by Brian K. Vaughan
Vaughan was a big name in comics before he ever wrote for TV on Lost. His new sci-fi series is equal parts epic space opera and intimate family story.

Or Finder: Voice by Carla Speed McNeil

For the foodie:

Oishinbo by Tetsu Kariya
A manga series whose thin plot is little more than an excuse for some expertly-drawn and highly informative discussion of Japanese cuisine.

Or Get Jiro! by Anthony Bourdain

For the fantasy fan:

I Kill Giants by Joe Kelly
A young girl escapes troubles at home by losing herself in a terrifyingly real fantasy life.

Or Conan by Roy Thomas.

For the artist:

Building Stories by Chris Ware
An experiment in form from an established master. Ware's work is always expertly composed, great to look at, and full of soul-crushing ennui and isolation.

Or Asterios Polyp by David Mazzucchelli

For the mystery/thriller fan:

Blacksad by Juan Diaz Canales
A collection of classic noir private eye stories in which the detective happens to be an anthropomorphic cat. Great art, atmosphere, and tough guy antics.

Or Queen and Country by Greg Rucka

For those interested in a fiction with religious themes:

Buddha by Osamu Tezuka
Tezuka's so important to Japanese comics that it's ridiculous to pick just one of his titles, but his tale of the founding of Buddhism is a personal favorite.

Or Habibi by Craig Thompson


I'll end there, as I have to end somewhere. Did I not address a genre or topic you're interested in? Did I not name a graphic novel you'd love to see more people read? Speak up in the comments!

~Andrew

Drama by Raina Telgemeier

Uncharacteristically, I was actually planning to write this week’s review on something that was neither a comic book nor a fantasy novel, but then fate intervened and handed me a book that’s simply too good not to write about. Drama is a new graphic novel by Raina Telgemeier, author of 2010’s award-winning Smile. Drama does not continue Smile’s autobiographical tale (not explicitly, anyway), but does match the earlier book’s endearingly honest and kind tone as it documents main character Callie’s year of seventh grade.

The book’s title reflects the two plot threads that dominate Callie’s year: the school play and Callie’s love life. The school play plot was instantly appealing to me, as it echoed my own scholastic experiences. At one point, Callie explains that she’s loved the theater ever since she saw Les Miserables as a small child. At first she dreamed of being on the stage, playing the part of Cosette, but her artistic skills (and lack of singing talent) eventually steered her toward building and painting sets. This year she’s in charge of set design, a responsibility she embraces readily.

For a lot of kids, an event like a school play is their crack at success in something largely self-directed. It’s exhilarating, rewarding, and terrifying. Telgemeier does a great job of conveying the jitters and the joy, both increasing steadily as we near the performance. It’s not easy to draw a comic that captures the magic of a successful live performance, especially a middle school production with cheap sets and lo-fi special effects. Telgemeier shows the excitement in the faces of the actors and the response of the audience rather than breaking from the reality of the scene for some sort of splashy production number. She’s made a clear choice to find the honest drama at the core of life rather than injecting melodrama by constructing a grandiose plot.

This same simple and effective verisimilitude informs the romantic storyline. It’s obvious that the ups and downs of her love life are very important to Callie, but Telgemeier keeps them in proportion, never forgetting that romance is just one part of a young adult’s life. In this respect, Callie’s a great role model. It’s not easy for her, but she manages to make good choices, voice her feelings, and handle disappointment with maturity. The extent to which things are not drawn out of overblown is immensely refreshing when compared to other YA books.

This is a fairly contained book, without a lot of spectacle and explosions. That may not suit all readers, but it was right up my alley. The quiet sincerity and emotional honesty were what I enjoyed in the author’s previous work and are what I look forward to in whatever she does next. You can see some nice samples of Telgemeier's work on her website.

Storm Front by Jim Butcher

Storm Front, the first novel in Jim Butcher’s Dresden Files series, is a fast-paced and exciting read with a twisty mystery and plenty of magical action. The main character, Harry Dresden, is a professional wizard with a tarnished past living in Chicago and trying to eek out a living doing private investigation work and consulting with the Chicago PD’s Special Investigations unit.

Urban fantasy is all over the place these days. We’ve got shelf after shelf of books about witches, vampires, shapeshifters, and fairies who solve crimes and fight evil in a gritty modern setting. As much as the genre appeals to me, I’d tried a lot of urban fantasy series without finding one that really held my attention. For one thing, most of what I’d tried was paranormal romance and I don’t have a lot of patience for angsty longing or meaningful glances. Butcher leaves the romance out and draws inspiration from hard-boiled detective novels, which suited me fine.

Storm Front opens with Dresden in his office worrying about his rent payment. He’s interrupted by a phone call from a woman in distress and then another from a police detective who needs his help with a grisly magical murder. The plot quickly develops into a tangle of demons, mobsters, and thaumaturgy as Dresden chases down leads and leans on informants. It’s not unlike a Raymond Chandler story expect Dresden is more likely to pull a wand than a gun. Butcher doesn’t break a lot of new ground in either the mystery or fantasy genres but he gives each some new twists and combines them with a well-developed voice and highly readable style.

I’d been meaning to check out the Dresden Files ever since I heard their virtues extolled by Patrick Rothfuss, author of the Kingkiller Chronicles. I’m often in the market for some unpretentious plot-driven fantasy and am quite happy to have a well-established series to add to that reading list. The trick now will be to keep myself from plowing through five or six of them in quick succession like a foolish child with a sack of Halloween candy.

~Andrew

The Magician King by Lev Grossman

Lev Grossman’s The Magicians was one of my favorite books of 2009. It told the story of Quentin Coldwater, a very smart but disaffected and socially awkward young man who’s spent much of his life obsessing over children’s fantasy novels in an attempt to escape the disappointments of the real world. As someone who’s always preferred slaying imaginary monsters in a party of adventurers to making small talk in a party of actual people, I found Quentin’s character very familiar (though not always comfortably so). In obvious allusion to the two titans of children’s fantasy, Quentin discovers and trains at a secret school for wizards and then stumbles into the magical land of Fillory, where children from Earth can be kings and heroes over a bunch of mythical creatures and talking animals.

To some degree, this is all wish fulfillment for the author and reader: it’s Harry Potter and Narnia smooshed together with swearing, drugs, and sex! At the same time, it’s wish fulfillment for Quentin: he’s found and mastered the magic he’d always dreamed of. However, what really makes the book sing is Quentin’s slow realization that magic alone cannot alleviate the emptiness he feels. Fantastic adventures, whether one reads them or lives them, may distract one from depression or angst, but they will not remove the root cause. Somehow, the novel managed to be a thrilling magical adventure that made the reader question the value of thrilling magical adventures.

The new sequel, The Magician King, contains just as much wonder and excitement as its predecessor. Much of the book takes place in Fillory and tells a story of suitably epic scope. The characters, both old and new, grow and develop in compelling ways. Of particular interest is Julia, a minor character from the first book who steps into a major role in the sequel. Denied entrance to Quentin’s secret school of wizardry, Julia had to find her own path to magical knowledge and her story expands Grossman’s magical universe in intriguing ways (though the price Julia pays for her power will be distressing to many readers).

Some critics were put off by Quentin’s character in the first book, finding him self-centered, indecisive, and whiny. These qualities were both believable and thematically appropriate, but not entirely pleasant to read. In the second book, Quentin has grown up a bit and embraced his role as a hero in a fantastic world. He stills struggles to understand exactly what this means, but he does so with a measure of maturity.

When The Magicians was published, Grossman made it clear that he intended it to be a stand-alone novel. But, the author claims, he found himself unable to put the characters down and it now appears that Grossman will write a trilogy. There’s been no official word on when and if a third book is coming, but there are worse things than having a book to look forward to.

~Andrew

The Name of the Wind by Patrick Rothfuss

I may have my nerd-card revoked for admitting this, but I have an astonishingly hard time finding fantasy novels that I can tolerate, let alone like. I don’t dislike the genre. I’ve played Dungeons & Dragons for years and am more than happy hold forth on gnomish subspecies or the relative merits of wizardry and sorcery (in fact, every time I go to the reference desk I’m secretly hoping that today will be the day someone comes in with a meaty question about orcs or displacer beasts). After some consideration, I’ve determined that the problem is usually one of tone. Many authors seem to confuse “epic” with “self-serious.” Others veer in the opposite direction and produce novels that are just long strings of dwarf and elf jokes. In The Name of the Wind, Patrick Rothfuss strikes a refreshing balance between dour and frivolous and spins an engrossing tale of monsters, magic, and intrigue.

As the book opens, we learn that the main character, Kvothe, is a man of legendary power, known by such awed appellations as “Kvothe the Bloodless,” “Kvothe the Arcane,” and “Kvothe Kingkiller.” However, fate has turned against him and, following some undisclosed calamity, he’s holed up in a backwater hamlet waiting to die. When he’s discovered by a collector of legends, Kvothe agrees to relate his story and the book takes off, careening through forests, alleys, taverns, and palaces, detailing the creation and destruction of a hero.

Rothfuss balances self-importance and self-effacement in a very concrete and effective manner. The young Kvothe of the main story is clever and ambitious, convinced of his own brilliance and eager to prove it to the world. At the same time, the older Kvothe of the framing story is all too aware of the tragic folly of his younger days and undercuts the heroics with a wry fatalism. This duality is riveting, drawing the reader in for both the vicarious thrill of success and the train-wreck voyeurism of defeat.

Not that anyone knows the full extent of Kvothe’s power or the exact nature of his downfall. The Name of the Wind is the first book of a trilogy. The second book, The Wise Man’s Fear, was published in March of this year. The final book, tentatively titled The Doors of Stone, doesn’t have a release date and can’t come soon enough.

~Andrew, Adult Services

Dylan Dog Case Files by Tiziano Sclavi

"I can read the Bible, Homer, or Dylan Dog for several days without being bored." - Umberto Eco

With Dylan Dog: Dead of Night currently showing a score of 31/100 on Metacritic, I feel compelled to use this week's book review to come to the defense of the bestselling Italian comic book that inspired the film. Begun in 1986 by author Tiziano Sclavi, the comic tells the ongoing story Dylan Dog, a "nightmare investigator" living in London with his assistant Groucho, a delusional Groucho Marx impersonator (for legal reasons, in the English version Groucho is called "Felix" and has had his mustache removed). Dark Horse Comics has translated a handful of stories and published them in The Dylan Dog Case Files. In your average issue, Dylan is approached by a beautiful and desperate woman who pleads with him to help her with whatever supernatural mess she's found herself in. They bumble around, finding clues and falling passionately in love, until everything comes to a head, Dylan just manages to pull their fat out of the fire, and their love is tarnished forever. Groucho, meanwhile, hangs around making terrible jokes and possibly helping out a little bit at the last second. It would all seem like a sitcom if it weren't so pervasively weird.

First off, Dylan is a tangle of idiosyncrasies. He's claustrophobic, chiroptophobic, and acrophobic. He suffers from terrible motion sickness. He avoids technology and writes with a feather pen and ink pot. He's dirt poor but lives in an enormous house filled with an odd assortment of junk. As mentioned, his assistant is a Groucho Marx impersonator whose delusions have left him permanently in-character. All these frivolous absurdities play counterpoint to the dark

strangeness of the cases Dylan investigates. Case Files starts off with a fairly straightforward zombie story but subsequent passages, pulled from various points in the character’s long history, range from bizarre medical experiments to meta-textual musings on the nature of narrative.

If you’ve seen the trailers for Dead of Night, you will have gleaned that the movie shows a supernatural action hero roaming the streets of New Orleans with his zombie sidekick trying not to get caught in the crossfire between warring vampires and werewolves. This hodgepodge of ideas cribbed from existing American horror media may not appeal, but remember that there’s another, more singular, Dylan Dog out there and try not to hold the comic’s responsible for the movie’s shortcomings. You can see previews of the comic on Amazon or at Dark Horse's website.

~Andrew, Adult Services

Howards End by E. M. Forster

I've seen Ismail Merchant and James Ivory's film adaptation of E.M. Forster's Howards End so many times that it's somewhat embarrassing that I haven't gotten around to the book before now. Ultimately, the experience was like watching a newly released director's cut of the film -- everything I liked best about the movie was still there, but with exciting new scenes and added dimensions. My favorite books and movies always leave me wishing to spend just a couple more pages or scenes in the world I've been enjoying and Forster's novel offered just that.

The book felt instantly familiar, which I take as a testament to the faithfulness of the film. Many of Forster's descriptions brought vivid memories of specific shots from the film and I found it quite impossible to read dialogue from Margaret or Mrs. Wilcox without hearing it in the voice of Emma Thompson or Vanessa Redgrave. Even scenes and details that didn't make it to the screen blended seamlessly with my movie-based interpretation of the book. Over time, however, the quality of Forster's novel overwhelmed my memories of the movie and I began to appreciate the book on its own merits.

Howards End was originally published in 1910 and is very much rooted in the social structures of Edwardian England. It tells the story of the Schlegel siblings: Margaret, Helen, and Tibby. The Schlegels, taking after their German father, are bookish, cultured, and idealistic. Throughout the book they are contrasted with the very wealthy, athletic, and capitalistic Wilcoxes. Forster pushes the families into each other time and again, using their difference to tease out the Schlegels’ naivete as well as the Wilcoxes’ callousness. Forster clearly has sociopolitical ideas he wishes to illustrate, but the balanced flaws of all his characters spare us any hint of didacticism.

Counter-intuitively, it was my new cell phone that led me to delve into this classic Modernist novel. Howards End is one of several thousand public domain eBooks available for unrestricted download through the library's website. Reading on a cell phone screen means one gets many short pages, each no more than a couple paragraphs. This pace seemed strangely fitting as the Schlegels spun through their breathless discussions. Altogether, I suspect Forster would have appreciated the juxtaposition of the hi-tech and the classical.

Castle Waiting by Linda Medley

I’m a great fan of fairy tales and have spent many happy hours poring over the more obscure corners of the Grimm brothers’ stories (if you’ve never read The Mouse, The Bird, and The Sausage, I recommend it highly). However, even the most avid fairy tale reader may tire of their emphasis on plot over character development and bemoan the lack of strong, interesting women. In Castle Waiting, Linda Medley rights both these wrongs and produces an enchanting graphic novel that Publishers Weekly called “a modern, feminist Chaucer for happy people.”

The titular castle serves as a safe haven for a small group of social outcasts including a bearded nun from an unusual order and a widow whose giant husband was murdered by a bigoted young “hero” named Jack. The main storyline follows Jain, a pregnant woman who comes to the castle to escape an abusive husband. No one pushes her for details about her past, but everyone’s curiosity is piqued when her baby turns out to be less than human.

Ultimately, the mystery of Jain’s past takes a backseat to the simple pleasure of watching the interactions of the cast of well-developed and likable characters. Domestic affairs such as patching a roof or tending the goats are enlivened by Medley’s detailed and expressive art and her clear affection for her subjects. Over time, the characters reveal themselves through numerous flashbacks. Much of the first volume is devoted to the history of the bearded nuns of St. Wilgeforte, many of whom joined the convent to escape mistreatment in traveling circuses.

Castle Waiting is largely devoid of the sword-fights and derring-do that some readers may expect from their fairy tales. Instead, the patient reader will joy a leisurely sojourn filled with gentle humor and smart, kind women.

~Andrew, Adult Services

Luka and the Fire of Life

There are a lot of great young adult books being published these days and a lot of big name authors are trying to tap into this lucrative demographic. However, Salman Rushdie had a more personal motivation behind Luka and the Fire of Life, his second YA novel. Published in 1990, Haroun and the Sea of Stories was written for Rushdie’s first son. Twenty years later, Rushdie had another young son asking for a book of his own so the author returned to the world he created in Haroun. In the book, young Luka has heard all about the adventures of his older brother Haroun and yearns for a story of his own. When the boys’ father falls into a magical coma, Luka sets off on a quest to wake him.

Much of Rushdie’s fame comes from the controversy surrounding his novel The Satanic Verses. The fatwa and assassination attempts sometimes overshadow how much fun his writing can be. Luka is a celebration of the power and joy of storytelling and the book is crammed full of wordplay and whimsy. Luka’s compatriots include a dancing bear named Dog, a singing dog named Bear, and the Insultana of Ott, the young queen of a people who take such innocent joy in insulting everyone that no one really takes much offence. At one point, the whole group pauses in their quest to watch Aphrodite best Freya in the daily gladiatorial battle of forgotten goddesses a beauty.

Luka is worlds away from the brooding angst of Twilight or the grim politics of The Hunger Games. Neil Gaiman’s books provide better reference points, with either the surreal imagery of Coraline or the mix-and-match mythology of American Gods. Rushdie’s infectious glee will likely appeal to fans of The Phantom Tollbooth.

~Andrew, Adult Services