Chronicles of Conan, v. 20: Night of the Wolf and Other Stories

Collects: Conan the Barbarian #151-9 (1983-4)

Released: December 2010 (Dark Horse)

Format: 200 pages / color / $18.99 / ISBN: 9781595825841

What is this?: Conan stabs his way through another nine issues of his eponymous series.

The culprits: Writer / artist John Buscema and writer Michael Fleischer, with fill-in art from Gary Kwapisz

There’s no doubt the comic book direct market is in trouble. Sales have been declining for years, and unlike at the direct market’s dawn, few titles are guaranteed a continued existence. This is discouraging for those of us who would enjoy long runs for new characters and titles or hope titles that have always been at the fringe of economic viability (Power Man & Iron Fist, Defenders, Alpha Flight, etc.) will get a new ongoing series. The only good news is that almost every current title has a purpose or a hook. You don’t see too many zombie titles any more.

If you’ve read comics in the late 20th century, you’ve probably come across a zombie title or three. They’re the ones that lurched along, all semblance of life drained away, still repetitively doing all those things it did when it was new and vital. There’s no creative reason to publish these comics: no overarching plots, no exciting young creators looking to work with the character, no groundbreaking creativity. There’s just a semi-loyal audience hanging around, large enough to make money off of. For a Marvel comic, there’s something humorous about this: Marvel zombies helping zombie comics titles survive. A zombie support network, if you will.

Conan the Barbarian was a prime example of a zombie title. After original writer Roy Thomas left, there was a drop-off in the writing quality; few of his successors had a handle on Conan and his world like he did. Truth to tell, even Thomas was having trouble by the end of his long run. The title floundered. So by issue #151 — where Chronicles of Conan v. 20: Night of the Wolf and Other Stories begins — what was the purpose of this title?

The easy answer is that Conan stuck around to give artist John Buscema, often inked by his frequent Conan collaborator Ernie Chan, a place to play. Conan is the title the elder Buscema brother was most associated with, and if he wanted to do the title, why not let him? The art still looks great; there’s no doubt about that. Conan and his enemies are dynamic, active enough to still occasionally surprise the long-term reader with their vividness. Conan himself hasn’t devolved into a copy or parody artistically, although I have my doubts about his blue-sleeveless-tee-tucked-into-furry-bikini ensemble. Still, the monsters are monstrous, and the girls are as gorgeous as ever. And Buscema even started plotting the stories. Giving Buscema a forum for his work and keeping him happy seems a worthy goal, right?

But it’s hard to shake the idea that even the art has lost its freshness. I’ve seen the Conan / pretty girl / evil-wizard / monster set piece before, and if Buscema moves the elements of this stock tale around artfully, he can’t disguise that they are the same elements. I find myself wishing Marvel would have given Buscema a new challenge, something for him to flex his character design and artistic muscles on.

On the other hand, Conan must have sold. The zombie stays in the publishing schedule.

The writing is a larger problem. Certainly there’s nothing new there. The stories aren’t the worst in the Chronicles of Conan series, but Buscema and Michael Fleischer (writer #151-4, dialogue #155-9) aren’t breaking new ground. There are no overarching plots, no development of Conan’s character (although 21st century readers should know that’s not a priority), and few characters — good or evil — are worth seeing again. Conan’s violent edge has dulled into a paternalistic affability; he’s a nice guy by this collection. A nice guy who guts a few people every issue, but he’s not out to destroy, and he’s not always on the make.

The same elements are used again and again — abducted maiden, lost city under attack (that one’s used twice), evil woman trying to control Conan (again, twice), the perilous inn. Issue #155, in which Conan rescues a grateful toady from a semi-competent wizard, is the best of the lot, and although there are a few attempts at twists (the wolf in #158, the wizard’s identity in #157), the execution produces limp results. (The twist in #158 is spoiled on cover, for instance.) This is partially down to Buscema, who is presumably learning the ropes as a writer; in #156, for instance, the final third of the story is a flashback in which Conan doesn’t appear.

I have to admit I didn’t initially catch that the title of #154 — “The Man-Bats of Ur-Zanarrh!” — was a play on a 1958 Batman story, “Batman — The Superman of Planet-X,” in which Batman encounters the Batman of Zur-En-Arrh, an alien planet. (Not many other people would have caught it had Grant Morrison not resurrected the idea for his recent Batman run.) Clever — but not clever enough to save the story or the book. In any event, when a war between winged humans and bat men on a floating city — a war in which Conan rides a giant dragonfly — seems a little ho-hum, it’s probably time to strike the curtain and call it a day.

There are reasons for zombie titles to exist — or there were, at least. They served as a safe place to launch new creators, such as Frank Miller on Daredevil, and new ideas. They provided a feeling of a shared universe, which was more important then than it is today. These zombie titles also give readers a nice feeling of continuity: there’s Conan on the newsstand; it’s been there for a decade, and it will still be there in another decade.

That last is a luxury the direct market will no longer allow, though, and the other two aren’t relevant to Night of the Wolf. The only reason for Conan to continue throughout the ‘80s was economic. But that’s not really a reason for anyone but Conan diehards to read Night of the Wolf in 2012.

Rating: (2 of 5)

White Tiger: A Hero's Compulsion

Collects: White Tiger #1-6 (2007)

Released: September 2007 (Marvel)

Format: 152 pages / color / $14.99 / ISBN: 9780785122739

What is this?: A former FBI agent inherits her uncle’s mystical martial arts amulets and feels she must fight crime with the abilities it has given her.

The culprits: Writers Tamora Pierce and Timothy Liebe and artists Phil Briones with Al Rio and Ronaldo Adriano Silva

Remember when you were a kid, and there was always one guy who tried so hard to fit in, laughing too loud at the in-jokes, agreeing to any stupid suggestion, and making up grandiose stories that clearly weren’t true? And that only made you dislike the poor sap?

Angela del Toro, the new White Tiger in White Tiger: A Hero's Compulsion, is kinda like that guy.

It’s not del Toro’s fault, not really. The fault lies with wife-and-husband writing team Tamora Pierce and Timothy Liebe. Pierce is an experienced writer of YA fantasy novels; I’ve actually read Melting Stones and enjoyed it. But Pierce and Liebe’s unfamiliarity with comics might be a factor here.

I think the rules for establishing a new character — which del Toro essentially is — is different in novels and other types of serial storytelling. In a novel (or movie) series, some amount of downtime is generally expected between books, and a great deal of unexplored backstory is a given. People and events can be easily inserted, in most cases, where they are needed. Comics can try to do that, but eventually you end up with someone like Wolverine, who knows (or has smelled) everyone. Del Toro’s familiarity with how other characters smell is left unexamined, but it seems like everyone wants her to be successful.

Angela del Toro was introduced as the inheritor of her uncle’s mystical amulets in Daredevil (v. 2) #51, and the title hero was a bit of a jerk to her in her introductory arc. Pierce and Liebe go in the other direction in White Tiger: she gets help from everyone. Serving as her guardian angel is Iron Fist — unconvincingly disguised as Daredevil, a deception former FBI agent del Toro takes too long to unravel. Black Widow helps her shop for a costume and goes drinking with her. Those two, plus Luke Cage and Spider-Man, join her for her first Marvel team-up. The mention of the Black Cat makes some sense (similar street-level power levels), but Deadpool makes a gratuitous appearance, as does Emma Frost. (For some reason, the White Tiger’s costume is mistaken for Frost’s super lingerie ensemble. That seems … wrong, unless all female superheroes / villains in red are mistaken for the Scarlet Witch.) All that was missing was a big banner saying “The Marvel Universe Welcomes the New White Tiger, the Coolest Hero Ever.”

Perhaps the strangest part, however, is del Toro’s main supervillainous antagonist: Cobra. Not the original, squeeze-through-tight-spaces Cobra, but his nephew, who has similar powers but is better at hand-to-hand fighting and was created for the White Tiger miniseries. There’s nothing wrong with creating a new villain — even a new, knockoff villain — for a new hero. But the writers and Marvel were doing everything they could in this book to integrate del Toro into the Marvel Universe. Why create a new villain when an editor (or fan) could probably give you a half dozen pre-existing candidates who would fit thematically and physically against the new White Tiger?

It’s not just that the heroes like and accept del Toro; other than villains in the main plot, her life seems almost perfect. Although del Toro has some martial arts abilities before she gets the amulet, her powers come mainly through magic; she’s not like Spider-Man, who added powers through training and design. She’s not very careful with her secret identity, but she doesn’t get into trouble. Her costume is designed for her and given to her without any effort on her part. To give her a push as a real contender, Spider-Man foe the Lizard shows up — twice, neither time for any plot-related reason — and White Tiger defeats him both times. There is ready-made family drama — del Toro comes from a large family, and her uncle’s widow has to have some strong feelings about seeing a new White Tiger — but the story actively shies away from this until it lightly touches upon it in the epilogue. Del Toro is handed a job in her civilian identity that pays well, plays to her strengths, and gives her free time to fight crime. It’s almost as if Pierce and Liebe are going out of their way to eliminate conflict for del Toro, which is a shame. It’s not that all of these had to be followed up on. Any one would have added a great deal to the story’s tension.

There is a lot of potential for conflict and future storylines here. The real Daredevil, the one del Toro had a mentor / antagonist relationship with, never appears in the story because he’s in prison. The potential for family angst is near limitless, with many of del Toro’s relatives serving as cops. On a similar note, there’s always the traditional moral antagonism of the costumed vigilante vs. law enforcement. Pierce and Leibe chose to pit del Toro vs. the Japanese criminal organization that killed her FBI partner, and that’s a good choice, but there’s room for more conflict. I could understand them not using all sources of conflict if this was the lead-in to an ongoing series or establishing the character as a major player. But del Toro isn’t a major player, and most of her subsequent appearances shoot her status quo in the head.

French artist Phil Briones pencils #1-5, with Alvaro Rio and Ronaldo Adriano Silva drawing #6. Briones doesn’t remind me of a stereotypical European artist; most of his work on White Tiger fits in with the Marvel house style very well. It looks slick, and it has a smooth line, so I’m inclined to approve of it. His action sequences are more fluid and dynamic than most artists, but strangely, it’s his non-action scenes that feel stiff and posed. For a final issue art substitution, the transition to Rio and Silva is surprisingly smooth. The two new artists don’t look like they’re aping Briones in #6, but their styles, although slightly less detailed, mesh with Briones pretty well. The covers, by David Mack, are beautiful, but there are only six of those, so they’re not quite worth buying the collection (or all of the original issues, for that matter).

White Tiger has two facets that might intrigue Marvel fans: Pierce, the big-name writer, and the link to Daredevil. Neither amounts to much. The latter never goes anywhere because the real Daredevil is in prison, and although Pierce (and Liebe) craft an overall competent superhero story, it never reaches the height of a good prose novel. White Tiger’s involvement in the Shadowland storyline makes most of this book moot in terms of long-term consequences; as a stand-alone story, White Tiger looks like a collection of just-missed chances by someone who just wants to be accepted.

Rating: (2 of 5)

Strange Tales, v. 1

Collects: Megolamaniacal Spider-Man # 1 and Strange Tales #1-3 (2002, 2009-10)

Released: August 2010 (Marvel)

Format: 160 pages / color / $24.99 / ISBN: 9780785128021

What is this?: A collection of indy comics creators playing in the Marvel sandbox with short, mainly humorous tales.

The culprits: More than two dozen creators, including Peter Bagge, Stan Sakai, Becky Cloonan, Paul Pope, and Michael Kupperman

Strange Tales looks like an odd choice for Marvel, a company that won’t give up on its continuity and sticks more to its mainstream superheroes than the newly revamped DC. Strange Tales features the works of “indy” creators — although veteran creators such as Stan Sakai, Jonathan Hickman, and Paul Pope hardly belong in that classification — telling mostly humorous stories of the non-canonical parts of the Marvel Universe.

By virtue of the creators’ reputations, Strange Tales should be edgy, hip, different. But there’s a contradiction here: most of those creators gained their reputations by not working for the Big Two. Marvel wanted to gain some of what those creators have. But by giving these jokes and parodies its imprimatur, Marvel has removed the edginess, hipness, newness. And it’s not different because Marvel parodies are a dime a terabyte these days — I believe Marvel parodies are the third reason the Internet was invented, after porn and LOLcats.

Still, in Strange Tales, Marvel and its readers do get an outsider’s perspective of the characters, even if that perspective does look at Marvel as a source of humor. Fortunately for Marvel, most of the stories are funny, and their mockery is gentle, even affectionate.

Since the material comes from so many creators, it’s hard to formulate a cohesive conclusion about a collection of such disparate stories. They’re mostly two- or four-page jokes, with a wide variety of comedic approaches. Strange Tales includes style parodies (which look like intentionally nonsensical versions of ‘70s comics), MODOKery, redialogued Silver Age comics, Horatian satire, children’s slapstick humor, gag pages with one panel jokes based on a single concept (“Marvel’s Most Embarrassing Moments”), and full-on absurdity. I found the absurdist sketches the funniest; Tony Millionaire’s story has a Silver / Bronze Age look and features Iron Man battling Baloney Head, Liver-Wurst Face, and the Communist Dwight D. Eisenhower; it’s even weirder than it sounds. My favorite is Michael Kupperman’s “Marvex the Super Robot,” which has nothing to do with Marvel and reads like something out of his Tales Designed to Thrizzle.

Some of these could actually fit as a back-up or in an anthology title. In Jacob Chabot’s “Lookin’ Good, Mr. Grimm!,” the Thing gets a chia moustache; it’s silly, but the art and the plot could be a backup in an issue of Fantastic Four. A series of four posters tries to recruit new workers into the service of Galactus, although allowing Terrax to speak — and giving potential recruits the recipe for Five-Finger Kabobs — might have been a mistake.

A few stories don’t seem to fit; either the creators didn’t the memo about humor being a theme or they decided to go their own way. This leads to a few different approaches: action sequences (“The Punisher,” with the hero redesigned as a kung-fu fighter, by Jonathan Jay Lee), trying to evoke real pathos (“Nightcrawler Meets the Molecule Man” by Paul Hornschemeier), or plain incomprehensibility (“Cupcake!” by Chris Chua). Usagi Yojimbo creator Stan Sakai turns Bruce Banner into a cowardly Shogunate retainer transformed into a Hulk-like oni by a vengeful ghost. “La Querelle des Monstres” by Jay Stephens features a Beast / Morbius battle with a typical Bronze Age downer ending fitting for two characters in their ‘70s incarnations.

The final two stories in the collection, both by Peter Bagge, are the longest: “The Incorrigible Hulk” and “The Megalomaniacal Spider-Man,” each of which originally were single issues and are about 20 pages long. The latter is about Peter Parker, whose life takes an Ayn-Rand turn before Gwen is killed, and his fortunes rise and fall with the fortunes of his alter ego; the former is about the dual-natured Bruce Banner, who attracts two vastly different ladies as a mild-mannered scientist and as a monster. “Hulk” is definitely the better of the two, as there’s a limit to the humor in abuse of power and Randian philosophy, even in satire. Bagge’s characters are distinctively exaggerated, seemingly designed for humor comics, with their bandy limbs and gaping, distorted mouths, but after 40 pages it begins to grate.

This is a funny collection — not hilarious, but funny. On the other hand, this is $25 for 160 pages; at that ratio, it needs to be better than just funny. That’s a good price for a high-quality collection, one that’s at the level of the best work in Strange Tales. But it’s too high for the average level of humor, which consistenly inspires grins but not enough laughter.

Rating: (2.5 of 5)

Excalibur Visionaries: Alan Davis, v. 3

Collects: Excalibur (v. 1) #59-67 (1992-3)

Released: July 2011 (Marvel)

Format: 216 pages / color / $24.99 / ISBN: 9780785155430

What is this?: Writer / artist Alan Davis wraps up his run on X-Men spinoff Excalibur.

The culprits: Alan Davis, with help from writer Scott Lobdell and artist Scott Kolins

Excalibur Visionaries: Alan Davis, v. 3 wraps up Alan Davis’s work on Excalibur, a team he co-created with Chris Claremont in 1987. And when I say “wraps up,” I mean “wraps up” — Davis, as the writer and artist, isn’t making a half-hearted attempt to give closure to a few storylines. He’s trying to put an end to almost all of the storylines he worked on during his second run of Excalibur, some of which — like what exactly Widget is — started in his first run with Chris Claremont at the beginning of the series.

In other words, if you haven’t read v. 1 and v. 2, you should probably do that. If you haven’t read them for a while, you might consider reading them again, just to make sure everything’s fresh in your mind.

Davis puts an end to the stories of Widget, the Warpies, and Alistair Stuart, even tying the last two into one neat bow — a bit of craftsmanship undercut only by my complete disinterest in the Warpies. The culprit who framed Alistair’s sister, Alysdane, faces justice. Roma resets Captain Britain’s status quo so that future writers don’t have to understand what gives Brian Braddock his powers, and Davis gives a definitive direction to Brian and Meggan’s romance. Rachel confronts her place in the universe and the Phoenix; all the manipulations of her body and mind are wiped out so that she can begin again. (And be jettisoned in quick order by another writer, but that’s not Davis’s fault.) He even wraps up the Days of Future Past timeline, although I question the wisdom of doing it by having Excalibur team up with Marvel UK and Marvel’s UK characters. C’est la guerre, I suppose.

It’s always satisfying when a writer gives closure to a storyline he or she introduced. But that doesn’t necessarily make writer’s material good, and I have a hard time deciding whether the stories in v. 3 are good. I didn’t enjoy them that much, but that doesn’t mean much; I don’t care about the Warpies, all of whom might have well had “Disposable” tattooed on their backsides, and the Rachel / Phoenix relationship (and all that entails) never interested me either. That leaves Scott Lobdell’s forgettable two-part fill-in and the Days of Future Past story, and neither one hooks me either — the latter might be one that could interest me, but piling up loads of supporting characters I don’t recognize dampens the attraction.

So are they good? Yes, I think so, although I can’t know for sure. In my negative of review v. 2, I counted the haphazard whipsawing between plotters and the overall roster flux against the book. But that isn’t a problem in v. 2. The major and minor characters are given a little room to express themselves outside the needs of the plot, which steadily moves forward after Lobdell’s story. The stories put characters in genuine danger that readers of the time might have felt was genuine, and the book culminates with the deadliest X-story of all time, Days of Future Past. Yes, they’re good. But I can’t make that connection viscerally, as I didn’t enjoy the stories.

A few loose ends remain, of course, and their importance is magnified only by other writer’s unwillingness to deal with them. What will happen with Feron (disappeared three issues after Davis), Kylun (ditto), Micromax (double ditto), and Cerise (again, ditto)? They’ll be ignored, that’s what. Feron is the most glaring case, as he is a character with nowhere else to go, other than Excalibur. There are a few danglers remaining, of course, beyond the confusion of the Phoenix / Rachel interaction of v. 2 — no word on the missing / regenerating War Wolves from early issues of Excalibur, for example, but that’s not much of a loss.

Davis’s art is excellent, as always — fluid, beautiful, expressive. Reading v. 3 is a reminder of the days when, rightly or wrongly, the X-books automatically got all the best artists. Those days are gone now, but for those of us who remember those days, it’s a nice bit of nostalgia. This collection also includes the art from a few of the trading cards Davis did fearuting Excalibur characters. The reproduction does them no favors, but it’s a better page filler than most.

This is an Alan Davis volume, so I should warn you: The book should be released with a bright yellow sticker saying: “Caution: May contain traces of Scott Lobdell.” Since Lobdell’s presence hangs over most of Marvel ‘90s titles, this warning can be take the same way as those labels that warn you a product and peanuts were processed in the same plant. Lobdell was in the X-book offices throughout the ‘90s, and he had a hand — if only invisible, like with everything that crossed over into Onslaught — in almost all of them.

Lobdell’s contribution to this volume, #59-60, is a goofy (although not in a fun way) two-parter in which Shadowcat, Captain Britain, and Meggan head to Wakanda to shamelessly team up with Captain America, Iron Man (in War Machine armor), and Black Panther. Lobdell gets in some good lines, especially about the paucity of African superheroes, but the plot is much too sparse for two issues, and the heroes defeat the villain by just being annoying.

There’s something wrong with artist Scott Kolins’s cheesecake-y full-page shot of Shadowcat in a swimsuit, but I can’t put my finger on exactly what it is. It doesn’t help, though, that it’s the first page of the collection. Otherwise, his work is fine, with a few glitches of figure placement — Meggan looking like she must be standing up to her knees in mud, another character appearing to be standing on air when he should be falling or on a branch, etc. — and his work suffers when compared to Davis.

This volume wraps up Davis’s run on the title. Excalibur readers would have to wait a couple of years before Warren Ellis returned the book to relevance with #83, although his work is much different from the gentle humor team book that Claremont, Davis, and Lobdell (who, all joking aside, contributed more than a fifth of the first 75 issues) built over the years. This material is obviously a wrap-up, meant for fans who have been following the title for years. But it’s also done pretty well.

Rating: (3 of 5)

The Three Stages of Man: Stage Three: Wolverine First Class, v. 4: Gods, Ninjas, and Divas

Collects: X-Men and Power Pack #1 and Wolverine First Class #13-6 (2005, 2009)

Released: August 2009 (Marvel)

Format: 120 pages / color / $12.99 / ISBN: 9780785135357

What is this?: In this non-continuity book, Wolverine serves as mentor to young Kitty Pryde.

The culprits: Writer Peter David and artists Ronan Cliquet, Scott Koblish, and GuriHiru

Continuing from Stage One and Stage Two, I present:

Stage Three: The Old Man, represented by Wolverine First Class: Ninjas, Gods, and Divas.

There comes a point in every man’s life — a sad, soul-battering, inevitable moment — that proves that he is no longer the best at what he does and will most likely never be again. The man must learn to accept his lesser status or else find some other activity in which to find meaning. Youngsters will rise to the top, pushing out the old guard. Age will rob us all of our mental and physical abilities. The symphonies will begin sounding the same as your previous efforts or sound like everyone else’s. Machines will begin adding more and more of that damn technology you don’t understand or don’t want to take the time to futz with. Or changing cultural mores and the whims of corporate masters will change your entire raison d’ etre. As I said, it happens to all of us, if we live long enough.

For Wolverine, he gets to be a mentor to Kitty Pryde. This is a thankless task, as many fans (mostly from the ‘80s) would want a relationship with comic-dom’s mutant sweetheart that is more amorous and less skeevy. Still, someone has to do it, and when you’re no longer the best, you get stuck with such jobs.

Peter David writes these stories as he writes pretty much all his comics, with a humorous bent. This being an ostensibly all-ages title, he doesn’t layer on the angst or darkness, which is a welcome break. And he’s consistently funny, weaving running gags throughout the stories. His humor is gentle and not in the least cutting, with Wolverine giving Kitty the sort of ribbing a father or fond older brother would. It’s pleasant, it’s inoffensive, and it’s funny. What actually happens in this non-continuity book is irrelevant.

The artists are a mixed bag. All of them have trouble making Wolverine look old — and by old, I don’t mean ancient, I mean like he’s in his 30s. All three — Ronan Cliquet (#13-4), Scott Koblish (#15), and GuriHiru (#16 and the Power Pack issue) — make him look like he just dropped out of college. GuriHiru is the worst in this regard, as pretty much every adult looks college age. On the other hand, his Kitty and Siryn are excellent, so it balances out. (Someone should give GuriHiru Studios a title with an all-child or adolescent cast.) Koblish is my favorite of the three, as his work has a definite Art Adams influence that fits the Thor / Ulik fight perfectly. Cliquet gets a lot of action sequences and pulls them off well, but the lone Asian face in the story looks about as Japanese as Angelina Jolie.

Rating: (4 of 5)

Is there another stage of life that is yet to be revealed through our emissary, Wolverine? That remains to be seen. Wolverine: Enemy of the State would argue the next stage is self-parody, which I believe will have to be integrated into the clinical discussion at some future point in time. It remains to be seen, however.

The Three Stages of Man: Stage Two: Wolverine: Not Dead Yet

Collects: Wolverine #119-22 (1997-8)

Released: April 2009 (Marvel)

Format: 120 pages / color / $19.99 / ISBN: 9780785137665

What is this?: Wolverine must confront an old friend / threat from his past. Shocking, right?

The culprits: Writer Warren Ellis and artist Leinil Francis Yu

Continuing from the last post, we move on to the next stage in the three stages of man, as exemplified by Wolverine:

Stage Two: The Badass, as represented by Wolverine: Not Dead Yet.

After discovering who he is, it is time for man to be the best he that he can be at what he does, even if it isn’t pretty. If that means composing symphonies and choral works, so be it. If your burden is that you have an outstanding mechanical aptitude, it’s up to you to embrace, not shirk, that destiny. If, like Wolverine, killing a lot of people is what you do, then you need to do it, and do it as often as possible.

Striving to reach the pinnacle of your profession is not without its dangers. If you are one of the greatest composers of your time, a rival might try to drive you insane and then kill you with rheumatic fever. If you are a great mechanic, a rival might decide to crush or lop off your hands. And if you are one of the great killers of the world, well, another great killer might decide to end your life, especially if you left the man alive after trying to kill him.

I mean, it just stands to reason.

Yet another old acquaintance coming back into Logan’s life to kill him / get killed is a hoary trope that was getting old even when writer Warren Ellis and artist Leinil Francis Yu collaborated on this four-issue storyline in 1997. Somehow, though, Ellis makes this idea work. Wolverine is the X-Man best suited to Ellis’s approach, a low-power hero with a boost from weird science and haunted by a conspiracy. Ellis doesn’t touch upon either of those elements, but they are still in the background, in their way.

Not Dead Yet comes at an odd time in Wolverine’s history. After finishing the main story of the Operation: Zero Tolerance crossover in Wolverine, Larry Hama ended his 80+-issue run on the title. His last storyline was cut off in the middle — not that it looked very promising, to be honest — and suddenly the man who had defined what kind of stories the book would tell was gone. The luster gone from Hama, whose stories had been going downhill for a year or more, Marvel went for their newest badass, Ellis.

It wouldn’t be an Ellis story without a character from the British Isles; in this case, it’s McLeish, a Scottish killer from Logan’s past. In four issues, Ellis has to establish McLeish as a threat and disguise that most of the story is just faceless mooks trying to kill Wolverine. (Not faceless as in “wearing ninja masks,” but faceless as in “not very important” — an important distinction in a Wolverine story) Ellis does this masterfully, alternating between flashbacks to the charismatic but evil McLeish in Hong Kong and rapid action in the present. The middle issues are either fight scenes, with adamantium bullets and auto accidents, or McLeish ranting about killing. OK, there’s also a love interest who buys it, but that’s fine: Logan is also probably the best there is at getting former lovers killed,⁶¹ which we must agree isn’t very pretty.

Still, if Yu wasn’t an excellent with action scenes, then there’s no way this storyline works. Fortunately, Yu is up to the task, with action shots that seem to pop off the page. (A little bloodless, though.) Yu’s first American professional comic work was Wolverine #113, and I remember Usenet going crazy for him at the time. (I remember Usenet. I’m old.) His McLeish is threatening, despite not doing anything violent on the page, and slightly deranged without being cartoony.

My main complaint with this story is the price. Twenty dollars for four issues? Even if it is a hardback, that’s much too much. This Marvel Premiere Edition adds almost an issue’s worth of Yu’s other Wolverine covers, which does help — but it doesn’t help that much.

Rating: (4 of 5)

Next: Stage Three: Wolverine First Class: Ninjas, Gods, and Divas (forthcoming)

The Three Stages of Man: Stage One: Weapon X

Collects: Weapon X stories from Marvel Comics Presents #72-84 (1991)

Released: 1994 (Marvel)

Format: 226 pages / color / $16.99 / ISBN: 9780785137269

What is this?: Logan gets adamantium bonded to his skeleton by the Weapon X project, the first step down the road that leads to Wolverine.

The culprits: Barry Windsor-Smith

Willy Shakespeare might have been a great writer and all that, but his “seven ages of man” stuff doesn’t really hold water. I mean, I’ve never been a soldier, justice, or pantaloon, and I don’t know too many people who fit those roles. (A few soldiers, a few lawyers, but I’ve never met a person who was also a pair of pants.) No, the Great Shakes had an ear for what sounded good, but he wasn’t about to let the truth get in the way of a good story.

Therefore, I would like to suggest my own examination of the path of human life, using the greatest fictional character ever, Wolverine. Therefore, I give you, The Three Stages of Wolverine:

Stage One: The Enigma, represented by Wolverine: Weapon X.

In this stage, man must begin to grapple with important questions of our times: who am I? Am I a moral being? Am I a being of instinct? Are my sensory observations real, or are they merely being fed to me through clunky ‘80s computer technology powered by batteries large enough to give Arnold Schwarzenegger a hernia? Can I take control of my life, or am I doomed to constantly be manipulated by vast international conspiracies of megalomaniacs and supervillains? Although everyone must examine these questions for themselves, Logan answers them, according to his own peculiar circumstances, in Weapon X.

The late ‘80s / early ‘90s was the era in which a straightforward story such as, “Who decided it would be such a great idea to turn a mutant into ‘the ultimate killing machine’ and then never do anything with him?” was so important it couldn’t be answered — well, it couldn’t be answered in Marvel Comics Presents, in which this material originally appeared. So, the Enigma. Writer / artist Barry Windsor-Smith shows how Logan became Wolverine, transforming from a burned-out and falling apart government agent into the feral, adamantium-laced killing machine that is Wolverine. Ultimately, Logan doesn’t learn much about himself in this one, other than he’s a man, not an animal (important), which is good, because Logan is hell on wild animals (not important). But I suppose it would have started him on the path of self-revelation if it hadn’t been for those pesky memory implants.

Weapon X is surprisingly seminal despite its lack of revelations and slight plot, the former dictated editorially and the latter by the eight-page format of stories in MCP. We have the Professor employing disgraced doctor Abraham Cornelius; while starting up their experimentation facility, they hire Carol Hines to run operations. After they abduct Logan, they implant the adamantium onto the bones, and they begin to brainwash him into being a killing machine. And then he kills stuff, in both reality (mostly animals) and in virtual / hallucinatory realm (everyone). The Professor inadvertently reveals he’s answering to someone, someone powerful, but that’s about all we learn.

Despite the eight-page per story format, we do get a good bit of development on Hines and Cornelius. They aren’t shadowy villains; they are scientists down on their luck. Cornelius has legal problems in the U.S. Hines worked for NASA at one point. How do they rationalize the horrible thing they are doing to another human being? It’s an interesting question, and Windsor-Smith does explore the idea, but the lack of a true payoff to the story keeps that angle from being fully fleshed out.

Unsurprisingly, Windsor-Smith’s art is what sticks with the reader. Several panels are iconic, known to just about every comic reader of the last twenty years: the full-page shot of Weapon X atop a pile of soldiers, slicing up more; Weapon X in the snow clad only in batteries and the control helmet / VR gear; shots of Logan in the adamantium tank. The art nouveau elements from his Conan work are gone or muted; the work is bloody, brutal, and dynamic, but it still looks unlike other artists before or after. (Although his characters have a tendency to have eyes like Little Orphan Annie.)

Rating: (4 of 5)

Next: Stage Two: Wolverine: Not Dead Yet

Stage Three: Wolverine First Class: Ninjas, Gods, and Divas (forthcoming)

X-Men: Onslaught: The Complete Epic, v. 3

Collects: X-Men #55, Uncanny X-Men #336, Cable #35, X-Force #58, X-Man #19, Incredible Hulk #445, Iron Man #332, Avengers #402, Thor #502, Wolverine #105 (1996)

Released: August 2008 (Marvel)

Format: 248 pages / color / $29.99 / ISBN: 9780785128250

What is this?: The penultimate volume of the Onslaught story, a “Mutants Gone Wild” cautionary tale.

The culprits: Too many to name, not enough to blame

Completism is a hell of a drug.

It’s one nearly every comic-book fan has felt the pull of. There are steps, gradations, but they’re all rationalizations and symptoms that don’t lead to an understanding of why completism has such a firm hold on our souls. It’s common to all sorts of collecting, and when you cross collecting with serial literature … well, like I said: a hell of a drug, although not without its highs.

We live in a Golden Age for completists, a time when we can go out and buy trade paperbacks of storylines that would be too Godawful or tedious to collect issue by issue but are relatively painless to swallow in one gulp — as long as we hold our noses. For us Gen Xers, it’s truly wonderful, with Marvel releasing compilations of ‘90s stories that seemed too horrible to contemplate at the beginning of the decade; the House of Ideas has released the hell out of the Clone Saga and has kept the Onslaught “Saga” in print, so all that remains is for someone at Marvel to find the unmitigated gall (or suffer the crushing brain damage) to complete the trifecta of crap by releasing a collection of The Crossing.

*ahem* Anyway. X-Men: Onslaught: The Complete Epic, Book 3, is indisputably part of the Onslaught crossover, which is indisputably an X-Men story. Well, you could dispute that, since it did end v. 1 of Fantastic Four, Avengers, Thor, and Iron Man (the last issues of the latter three are collected here), but the number of ancillary X-titles is convincing. What is disputable is whether anyone should buy it.

Despite the reputation of the Onslaught crossover, I’m not saying this book is bad. No, far from it; there’s nothing of the offensive stench of, say, Ghost Rider: Danny Ketch Classic, v. 1, or Captain America & the Falcon, v. 1: Two Americas. The skill involved in the individual issues is even better than Gambit Classic, although admittedly that’s setting the bar low.

Still, I’d advise reading any of those books before Onslaught, v. 3. Why? Because they are interesting in their awfulness. Nothing happens in the 248 pages of Onslaught, v. 3. Well, nothing happens except Onslaught loses Professor X as a prisoner and gains X-Man, which is more of a rearrangement of Scrabble tiles than a plot development. Oh, and Teen Tony Iron Man makes very ‘90s headpieces out of vibranium. But that’s really it, unless you like crowd control, attacks that achieve nothing but also lose nothing, illusory telepathic landscapes, and mutant mutant angst angst. And I suppose if you like catchphrases, Onslaught screams, “Behold my mighty hand!” several times, but as a catchphrase that ranks just below “Around the survivors a perimeter create.”

The blame for this doughnut hole of a collection has to be placed on the editors — four different editors, according to the title page: Mark Gruenwald (Iron Man and Avengers), Bobbie Chase (Hulk and Thor), Mark Powers (Cable), and Jaye Gardner (X-Man). Interestingly, Bob Harras — Marvel’s editor in chief and chief X-titles editor at the time — is listed in the credits of the remaining titles’ individual issues, but he isn’t credited on the title page. Which is a shame, because the buck has to stop with him, as both a book editor and editor in chief … I mean, who else can you blame for this an entire collection devoted to marking time, waiting for something or other — Iron Man and his party hats, I guess.

But much as I’m loathe to do it, maybe Gruenwald has to share some of the blame. While he has Terry Kavanagh and Joe Bennett actually contributing to the plot in Iron Man, Mark Waid and Mike Deodato are filling space in Avengers #402 — the last issue of Avengers, v. 1 — with a pointless fight. It’s bad enough the Avengers are going to bite it in an X-Men one-shot (fifteen-year-old spoilers!), but there’s nothing here that hints at the momentousness of the plot or the title’s history. This was when renumbering meant something! Marvel was licensing the Avenger titles to non-Marvel creators! There had to be a better way for the title to go out.

To be fair, Bill Messner-Loebs and Deodato do better with Thor. It’s cute they think there’s a purpose to continuing their subplots, like the Enchantress’s amnesia and captivity and Odin’s loss of his divinity and mind, and insisting Red Norvell is important. But there’s a sense of the title’s history included in the final issue. Thor runs into Jane Foster, Don Blake’s first love, and he remembers his history and an early adventure with his foster brother; the frogs from Thor’s days as the Frog of Thunder stop by. Messner-Loebs even has Hela, in a truly ridiculous Asgardian outfit, offer to make Thor her king if he wishes to avoid his death the following day. It gives the issue import and a sense of doom as it rolls into the inevitable, and I appreciate that. I think it could have been done better, by laying on the prophecy and references to Ragnarok, but the effort is there, and it’s more than we see in the other two dying Avengers titles.

I’m not going to single out any other individual writing or art, except to say that I have always disliked Angel Medina’s overly cartoony and grotesque work on Hulk There’s just too little to say about these issues; they fit together, I can see the skill there, but they’re not saying anything. Instead, I’m going to make two points that probably would be better in a footnote:

• First, it would be a rarity to see all those high issue numbers in a trade paperback collecting comics from the last decade. Sure, Marvel’s big on reinstalling the old numbering, but Marvel switches to new #1s so often it’s uncommon to have many comics with their original numbering at the same time.
  
• Secondly, there is some confusion on the Internet as to what is collected in Onslaught, v. 3. The Amazon listing includes Punisher (v. God knows what) #11, (Peter Parker:) Spider-Man #72, Fantastic Four #416, and Green Goblin #12; it leaves out the issues of X-Men, Uncanny X-Men, Cable, X-Force, and Thor. Even the impressive Unofficial Handbook of Marvel Comics Creators has it wrong; it makes the same mistake as the Amazon listing plus it adds Amazing Spider-Man #415.

In any event: This is one boring book. The plot goes nowhere. Art from Joe Madureira, Andy Kubert, and Deodato is not going to change that at all. I think you’d be better off jumping from the awful Onslaught, v. 1, to v. 4. You’re not going to miss anything important. But that’s not why people buy this book — they buy it because the drug that is completism has them in its claws.

In this case, though, completism is very much like a sleeping pill.

Rating: Zzz … (You can read that as either I was too bored by this book to rate it or that I graded it Triple-Z. Either one is fine by me.)

Omega the Unknown

Collects: Omega the Unknown v. 2 #1-10 (2008)

Released: September 2008 (Marvel)

Format: 256 pages / color / $29.99 / ISBN: 9780785130529

What is this?: A remake of the ‘70s series, complete with the same mysterious robot-fighting alien, orphan boy raised by robots, and weird images.
The culprits: Writers Jonathan Lethem and Karl Rusnak and artist Farel Dalrymple

I have no idea what to make of Omega the Unknown. I really don’t.

The original Omega the Unknown from the ‘70s lasted for ten issues. The concept was co-created by Steve Gerber, and Gerber in the ‘70s was one of the more manic and impressive idea men comics had to offer. Really, when it came to creativity, Gerber picked up where Jack Kirby left off. Both men, when they were at their peak, were wildly inventive; unfortunately for Gerber, his ideas never caught on the way Kirby’s did.

Howard the Duck is of course Gerber’s most famous creation, but Omega is probably (a distant) second to Howard and his supporting cast. Omega is known for being a riddle, a series with a lot of intriguing mysteries and clues but no resolution; the story was completed by another writer in the pages of the Defenders, and man, I don’t know any more disappointing way for a story to fizzle out. In short, there was a mute alien who fought crime on earth while wearing an omega-shaped headband and firing blasts that left omega-shaped scars on his hands; he had some undefined connection to a young boy, also able to fire blasts from his hands, who had been homeschooled by his robot parents until they died while taking him to live in the city. Looking back on my review of the original series, Gerber and co-writer Mary Skrenes (and artist Jim Mooney) created a series that combined Gerber’s stark, bleak worldview with the Marvel Universe. Jonathan Lethem, writer of the newer Omega, says in an afterword that Gerber’s Omega was a “metatextual self-deconstruction of the super-hero genre,” a sort of precursor to Watchmen. Perhaps so, but the Marvel Universe intrusions shot the effect Gerber was aiming for to hell and gone.

In Lethem and co-writer Karl Rusnak’s Omega, the story begins much the same; Lethem admits to “slavishly” following some elements of the first issue, such as the scene with the young protagonist (renamed “Alex”) talking to the head of his robot mother after the car crash. In fact, other than substituting a corrupt, publicity-seeking “hero” called the Mink for the Marvel Universe trappings, the first three or so issues don’t significantly change Gerber and Skrenes’s story. When things start deviating from the 30-year-old tale, it’s to make Omega into a story about villainous nanotechnology vs. dysfunctional heroes. It’s hard to see how Omega and Alex are supposed to stop this robotic conspiracy, although of course they are successful. They just don’t seem to put in as much work on it as the villains do.

Omega distinguishes itself from its predecessor by its odd touches: the amputated hand that grows legs and becomes human sized, sneaking around the city; Omega’s gustatory predilection for birds, be they chickens or eagles; the Mink’s entire persona, corrupt and cowardly and vainglorious and amoral; Verth the Overthinker, a cut-rate Watcher. There are dozens of these ideas, and most of them deserve better than serving as ornaments for a rehash of an interesting but terrifically flawed Bronze Age series. They could have been intriguing parts of a new series. Instead, they’re bolted onto a remake that is part ‘70s Gerber, part 21st century Lethem. They’re both modernist takes on superheroics, but they’re miles apart on the details, and when the stories are put together like this, it’s like watching a half Ford Taurus, half Mercedes M class drive down the road. Both are popular cars, but no one wants a Forcedes Maurus.

The modern Omega is a better story because it is allowed to be its own story; it doesn’t have cameos by the Hulk or Electro, and it won’t be finished up years later in the Defenders by another writer. That said, what made the original Omega an interesting — and occasionally maddeningly fascinating — story was the newness and originality of the ideas. Remaking Omega to give coherence to the entire story is like unto remaking the TV series Lost just because you didn’t like the last two seasons. It’s not like the new Omega gives all the answers either: neither Alex’s robotic parents nor Omega’s power outages are ever explained, and Omega gives his origin in a wordless, crudely drawn comic that leaves considerable latitude for interpretation. The story is left open at the end as well; whereas the original Omegas, young and old, were killed in the Defenders, this story ends with them out of the conflict, while the nano-robots haven’t stopped. The struggle continues, with the heroes seemingly disinterested or unable to help humanity.

Art comes from Farel Dalrymple, whose style is more indy than Marvel or DC. Dalrymple eschews the slick look of modern comics (or even Silver or Bronze Age comics) art for a sketchy style that homes in on the necessary details. Despite the art’s lack of polish, Dalrymple is a better storyteller than most, and he does a better job with facial expressions than many artists who will be considered for Amazing Spider-Man or Superman. He shows some range, too: the crude comic Omega draws to show his own origin is a different style than the Silver-Agey Mink comic Omega is forced to read or the rest of the book.

Should you read this? I really don’t know. I think most comics readers should read an Omega story, and I feel bad recommending Gerber and Skrenes’s messy, discombobulated, all-mystery-and-no-resulution Omega to Lethem and Rusnak’s streamlined and coherent Omega. But creation is a messy process, and with all its flaws, the original is still a more remarkable accomplishment.

Rating: (2.5 of 5)

Essential Killraven, v. 1

Collects: Amazing Adventures #18-39, Marvel Team-Up #45, Marvel Graphic Novel #7, and Killraven #1 (1973-6, 1983, 2001)

Released: July 2005 (Marvel)

Format: 504 pages / black and white / $16.99 / ISBN: 9780785117773

What is this?: A former gladiator and his companions fight against the Martians who have enslaved Earth.

The culprits: Writer Don McGregor and others and artists P. Craig Russell, Herb Trimpe, and others

The setup for Killraven is one of those sci-fi concepts Marvel came up with in the ‘70s that didn’t survive beyond the Bronze Age. Created by writer Roy Thomas and artist Neal Adams, it has a simple hook: the Martians, after losing the original War of the Worlds, won the rematch in 2001 and subjugated humanity, and only an ex-gladiator named Killraven and his band of Freemen oppose them.

If you’ve ever seen Thundarr the Barbarian — and if you haven’t, I pity you — Essential Killraven, v. 1, might be a little familiar. Killraven fights the Martians (wizards for Thundarr) and lots of monsters. He visits American cities that, despite being ruins, have one distinguishing feature from the pre-war days. Humans have been shaped into weird forms and given superpowers. And then there are the aliens who eat babies …

Wait. That last one wasn’t on TV. And that’s where writer Don McGregor, who took over with Amazing Adventures #21, makes Killraven something other than a needless continuation of a sci-fi classic. His stories have babies eaten as delicacies, forced breeding, and humans tortured, warped, and killed for no real reason. Yes, the casualty rate for Killraven’s band of Freemen is absurdly low, but even they are touched by loss, and why are you complaining? This was a comic book meant for kids, and they’re talking about eating babies because they’re yummy.

The major flaw in Killraven is that the setup lends itself to a lot of repetition. The Freemen head to a new town, fight the weird menace, and then find themselves in a new place at the beginning of the next issue. McGregor does his best to play with that, especially at the end, when he has Freeman Old Skull tell the others his origin story (#37) or has the group run into a fairy-like creature named Mourning Prey in a butterfly-filled Florida swamp (#39), an issue that has the slight tinge of a fever dream about it. But he can’t disguise that repetition, and his comic-booky “man who lives for only one day and must mate” plot (#35) certainly gives that issue the feel of just another Marvel book, despite its trappings. (Bill Mantlo’s fill-in on #33 and his Marvel Team-Up Killraven story only compound the feeling.) Still, McGregor is good for some surprises; when Carmilla Frost joins the Freemen, for instance, it’s Killraven’s friend M’Shulla, not Killraven, who gets the girl.

Additionally, there’s something completely endearing about a comic in which the hero gets so lost that while heading to Yellowstone National Park to find his brother that he travels instead from Indianapolis to Michigan to Chicago to Tennessee to Georgia to Florida. Killraven has no sense of direction, and it appears his cohorts have no desire (or ability) to correct him. To be fair to Killraven, he can’t exactly ask the mutants, collaborators, monsters, and Martians directions on the way, and everyone else they meet is even more clueless than they are. Even more entertaining is that Yellowstone is obviously a trap, and the Martians get so impatient they move the trap to where Killraven is wandering (Cape Canaveral) and don’t bother to disguise it at all. The amusing cherry on top of it all is that Killraven doesn’t question meeting his brother thousands of miles from where each is supposed to be at all. “My brother’s supposed to be in Yellowstone and just runs into me in Florida? Sure, why not?”

That happens in Marvel Graphic Novel #7, and without that issue, this wouldn’t be half as good a book. Without the MGN, Killraven is a meandering story in which McGregor takes his heroes across the eastern U.S. Sure, that gets better as the book goes on, but the story just sort of peters out in Amazing Adventures #39 when the Freemen encounter Mourning Prey. But MGN #7 puts paid to the big motivation for the Freemen’s journey: finding Killraven’s brother. It doesn’t go very well for the characters, but it does end the plot, something that needed to be done.

The obvious way to end the series in MGN #7 would have been with Killraven and the Freemen fighting back against the Martians, leading a revolution. Unfortunately, while that might be a definitive ending, that sort of ending is rarely satisfying: not enough buildup, too many characters, too improbable a plot, or a hundred other problems. Instead, McGregor and artist P. Craig Russell give the readers one reveal, but they do so in a plot much like previous stories. Oh, their ally for the story is more developed and relatable than most of those in the Amazing Adventures run, but it tonally fits with the rest of the story. McGregor even develops Carmilla and M’Shulla’s relationship, as if he expected to write more stories Killraven. (According to McGregor in this interview with Richard Arndt, 50 or so pages of Killraven: Final Lies, Final Truths, Final Battles was written in the late ‘80s, but it was scuttled when Russell couldn’t get assurances it would be published in Marvel’s best format.)

And the art …

Much like Bill Sienkiewicz and Moon Knight, Russell’s art is the biggest selling point for Killraven, and the MGN is where Russell gets the opportunity to show off the most. It’s unfortunate that the size of the art had to be reduced for the Essential’s page dimensions, and for some reason the art isn’t reproduced in the pure black-and-white pencils and inks the rest of the book features. But even the slight muddying can’t hide Russell’s skill or maturation; he was excellent in issues #27-32 and 34-9, but in the years between Amazing Adventures and MGN #7, he’s become something else. The art is polished, fluid, and expressive. His figures all have a litheness about them — even some who shouldn’t, like Old Skull — but his monsters are bizarre, horrific, and most important alien.

Russell wasn’t the first artist on the title. Adams did the first half of the first issue and was followed by one and a half issue by Howard Chaykin; both do good, if brief, work, but we have Adams to blame for the horrible, horrible costume designs. (What the hell did they think the future would be like back then? This is one Essential I was glad had no color, fearing that a ‘70s palette on those ridiculous costumes would sear my eyes.) Although a mismatch of genres, Gene Colan did his usual atmospheric work on one issue (#26). Herb Trimpe (#20-4 and 33) and Rich Buckler (#25) round out the art duties, both doing solid work. Trimpe’s work is similar to the art he produced for the Hulk; Buckler’s work is interesting, more subtle and clear than the other artists.

The book concludes with the Killraven one-shot written and drawn by Joe Lindsor. To call it missable is an understatement of grand proportions; if I had paid for the single issue when it came out in 2001, I would have wanted my money back. There’s nothing in the issue for Killraven fans, except that it advances the timeline without incident by a half year or so. The actual plot, in which Killraven counsels a hippy chick who woke from a cryogenic tube and then promptly wants to go back to sleep when she sees what a hellhole 2020 is, is so light I was afraid it might blow off the page. It was included to fill out the page count, I imagine, but 20 blank pages might have been a better choice.

Essential Killraven is often silly (it is a product of the ‘70s), frequently repetitive, and occasionally stupid (as when McGregor tries to convince us “mud brother” is a term of endearment that Killraven has given M’Shulla instead of the racial slur it so obviously seems to be). But Killraven is worth a glance for some of the details and the P. Craig Russell art.

Rating: (3 of 5)

Spider-Man: The Clone Saga Epic, Book 2

Collects: Amazing Spider-Man #395-9, Spectacular Spider-Man #218-21, Spider-Man #54-6, Web of Spider-Man #120-2, Spider-Man: Funeral for an Octopus #1-3, Spider-Man Unlimited #8 (1994-5)

Released: May 2010 (Marvel)

Format: 480 pages / color / $34.99 / ISBN: 9780785143512

What is this?: The Clone Saga’s second installment, in which the story of a Spider-Boy and his clone begins to ramp up.

The culprits: Writers J.M. DeMatteis, Tom DeFalco, Howard Mackie, Tom Brevoort, Todd DeZago, and others and artists Mark Bagley, Sal Buscema, Tom Lyle, Steven Butler, Stewart Johnson, and others

When I reviewed Spider-Man: The Complete Clone Saga Epic, Book 1, I found it occasionally dull but not as dire as the Clone Saga’s reputation would have me believe. Evidently, this is the kind of evaluation that gets me to pick up subsequent volumes of a series.

So … Spider-Man: The Complete Clone Saga Epic, Book 2. We all know the Clone Saga gets bad, eventually … but when? It’s not in Book 2, which is a surprisingly fun read.

Yes, I said “fun.” It’s not a classic, and if you were looking for a Spider-Man story, there are a couple dozen others I would recommend first. But I can’t deny I found the book interesting and sometimes exciting, despite the plot being spoiled long ago.

In Book 2, you can almost see the writers ticking off the boxes as they complete the tasks editors set for them. Wrap up unresolved plots, with Mary Jane and her family and Peter finally defeating his stubborn case of asshattery. Establish Kaine as a bad mamajamma, even if they have to kill some established villains to do so. Show that Peter and Ben Reilly, his clone, can exist in the same storytelling universe with unique roles. Prepare readers that this time, yes, May might actually die. Most importantly, start to lay groundwork for new plots, such as the proliferation and identity of clones and Mary Jane’s medical condition. And yeah, if you can get across a new, non-clone villain like Stunner, good on you.

And the writers — J.M. DeMatteis for Amazing, Tom DeFalco (with some help from Todd DeZago) on Spectacular, Howard Mackie for Spider-Man, and Terry Kavanagh, DeMatteis, and DeZago on Web — do just that. The stories aren’t perfect, but they hit the important points of the overall plot without boring readers too much. And even if some plots drag on too long — Peter trying to beat the Vulture’s poison, DeMatteis trying to end Peter’s idiotic “The Spider” personality by drowning the page in captions — it’s important to remember how collaborative the issues in this book are. Book 2 has 19 issues, and all but four — Spider-Man Unlimited and Funeral for an Octopus #1-3 — are linked in four crossovers (“Web of Death,” “Web of Life,” “Smoke and Mirrors,” and “Back from the Edge”). Think about it: this represents about a quarter of a year’s issues for some titles, and none of their writers get to complete a story without sending it through another writer first. It’s a miracle anyone was able to complete a decent story at all. Spider-title editor Danny Fingeroth deserves a lot of credit for keeping things under control.

The stories get better as the farther the book gets from “The Spider” and DeMatteis’s deconstruction of Peter’s mind at the time (it’s a plot that seems tailor-made for DeMatteis, except that it’s not very good). Peter gets poisoned, which touches off all sorts of wacky hijinks: teaming up with the “new” Daredevil, going to Heaven, having Dr. Octopus aid him. I’m not sure the latter was a good development — Otto’s reasoning is a little clichéd — but at least it’s a different take on the character, one that couldn’t be done now.

My favorite story was Funeral for an Octopus, a miniseries that hearkens back to the Fingeroth-written Deadly Foes of Spider-Man and Lethal Foes of Spider-Man minis from the early ‘90s. Those comics concentrated on Spidey vs. a large number of foes, each of whom had his own motivations for taking part; Funeral, written by Tom Brevoort, has a similar plot. Yes, it’s used to get across how tough the mysterious (and horribly costumed) Kaine is, but on the other hand, one of the Sinister Six does outwit the thug, so that’s something. Plus, at this stage, I don’t mind Kaine getting a push as long as the body count doesn’t get too ridiculous; in Book 2, the death toll is confined to a throwaway villain who really never got started and a major villain (no extra points for guessing who).

The final crossover, though, shows some of the cracks that would eventually cause the whole “epic saga” to crumble. In “Smoke and Mirrors,” Spider-Man and the Scarlet Spider fight the Jackal, who has been resurrected via cloning. The Jackal is served by two of Peter’s altered clones, who strangely look nothing like Peter. For the second and third issues of the three-part crossover, all the Jackal does is hint and lie and tell the two Spiders that each is a clone — or maybe the other is a clone? neither? — while Scrier and Kaine watch. (Somehow, I don’t think Spider-baiting is a spectator sport that will ever catch on, regardless of the crowd it drew this time.) The Jackal does show them what happens to clones in the end (they degenerate into dust quickly), and he puts on a Goth leather trench coat with enough chains to satisfy Ghost Rider, but three issues is a little too much for this. Given that the Clone Saga’s mind-numbing number of clones and the claim that Peter was the clone were major reasons fans soured on this storyline, the Jackal’s wild claims and the hint that there is another clone in the offing (and the presence of Scrier) have to be considered major missteps.

Since Book 2 collects five different Spider-titles, you can take your pick on what flavor of artist you like. Mark Bagley, who drew Amazing at the time, is probably the best-known today; his lithe, athletic Spider-Man is outstanding, although his women tend to be overendowed (staying just short of cheesecake) and his facial expressions uniform. Sal Buscema, the regular artist for Spectacular, is my favorite, but this isn’t his best work; it’s near the end of his career, and his art lacks the tightness it once had (especially when inked by Bill Sienkiewicz). His Kaine looks especially stupid as well, although that’s partially because Kaine’s costume is stupid to begin with. Tom Lyle, the regular Spider-Man artist, is excellent: he’s the best in Book 2 at conveying emotion (and faces in general), although his action shots aren’t as lively as Bagley’s. Stephen Butler (Web) and Stewart Johnson (Funeral) do similarly good work without much of the ‘90s excesses.

I enjoyed Book 2 quite a bit. I mean that statement without qualifications or temporization. That being said, I think this book is probably the high point for the “epic saga.”

Rating: (3.5 of 5)

Chronicles of King Conan, v. 1: The Witch of the Mists and Other Stories

Collects: King Conan #1-5 (1980-1)

Released: August 2010 (Dark Horse)

Format: 192 pages / color / $18.99 / ISBN: 9781593074777

What is this?: Conan the barbarian is now the older Conan the king.

The culprits: Writer Roy Thomas and artist John Buscema

As we grow older, we learn things about ourselves. That we have an unexpected talent for cooking, perhaps, or that we’re never going to make it as a major-league shortstop, or if nothing else, that our abilities peak at some point during our youth, and only hard work will keep them from deteriorating in an alarming fashion. It’s a hard lesson to learn but a necessary one as we make the transition from youth to maturity.

In The Chronicles of King Conan, v. 1: The Witch of the Mists and Other Stories, however, writer Roy Thomas informs us that Conan never has to learn that lesson. He will always be at the top of his game, and he never truly reaches that mental maturity. Readers have been following Conan for 80 years — about 50 by the time the issues collected in King Conan came out — and in that time, the barbarian hero has changed little. You might expect that becoming king, with the responsibilities that entails, would change mighty Conan.

You would be wrong. Conan the King is the exact same character as Conan the Barbarian. True, Conan has an army behind him, and he has a son, but it has remarkably little effect on his behavior. And Thomas should know; forty years after Conan the Barbarian #1, v. 1, and Thomas is still the definitive Conan comic book writer.

King Conan begins with Conan’s son, Prince Conn, being kidnapped by a Hyperborean witch; King Conan decides to rescue his son alone. Fine; I understand that. But after the rescue and a battle in Zingara, Conan decides to take the fight and his army to Stygia, where Thoth-Amon, the architect of the kidnapping and unrest in Zingara, is hiding. That makes a modicum of sense, although Conan has always shown that a lone hero is better than an army when it comes to defeating wizards and monsters.

But Conan goes himself, and he takes along his heir, Conn. This, of course, is idiotic, as a non-dynastic king like Conan should return home to find his throne occupied and his wife (at best) exiled. Instead, Conan follows Thoth-Amon to the ends of the earth, heading farther and farther from his kingdom, each mile being one more he’ll have to travel on the way back. This is the way of the American action hero, I realize, to take care of such things by himself, but it’s not one of that archetype’s more endearing attributes. There is no cunning to this Conan, and less intelligence. He has no real plan, blundering farther and farther south and endangering his son and his men. I think the idea is that Conan is a pre-historic Alexander, putting the world under his boot, but there’s nothing to support that idea other than Conan’s continuing but illogical success and an inexhaustible supply of willing soldiers.

Conan, as a king, should be confronted with different problems than when he was an adventurer. But there’s no statecraft here or even large-scale battles, no intrigues or imperial entanglements. For some reason, no one engages his army or presents any challenge to them other than their intended adversaries; the countries he invades to fight these wizards don’t protest at all. Why should they? It’s Conan! There are a surfeit of wizards to kill, strange places to visit, usurpers to depose, and monsters to fight — just like before. Such a static world for a character like Conan.

Part of the problem is Thomas’s mania for adapting stories. Issues #1-4 are adapted from stories by L. Sprague de Camp and Lin Carter: “The Witch of the Mists,” “The Black Sphinx of Nebthu,” “Red Moon of Zembabwei,” and “Shadows in the Skull,” which were originally published in the ‘70s and collected in Conan of Aquilonia. Issue #5 starts retelling 1957’s Conan the Avenger, by Björn Nyberg and de Camp, in flashback. It seems odd that Thomas would let other authors choose his opening arc, especially an arc so problematic as those in Conan the Aquilonia. That’s not to say Thomas slavishly followed the original stories or that adapting stories is a bad idea; for instance, Thomas’s creation of Red Sonja was a result of adapting a non-Conan story by Robert E. Howard, “The Shadow of the Vulture.” And I understand that those four stories had the setup that Thomas wanted to start with. But I think using those stories at a later point would have been a better idea.

There are two redeeming points to King Conan. One is the book shows the maturation of Conn. His father is an impossible role model to live up to, but he tries anyway. He kills his first man in this book, and he gets a glimpse of true evil in Thoth-Amon. If Conan had sent Conn on a military campaign while Conan stayed at home, to get the boy some seasoning, this might have been a fascinating story, although it would have made it into Conan: The Next Generation. (Not that I would have minded.) The idea of telling the story of this prince maturing into a man is a good one; it’s just not what the book is about.

The second highlight is John Buscema’s art. Thomas is Conan’s definitive writer, and Buscema is one of the two most celebrated Conan artists. His Conan is much the same as it was in Conan the Barbarian — he has crow’s feet, and his hair is grayer, but he’s still strong as ever. His Conn is more realistic, strong for a teenager but obviously not Conan. Since the material is much the same as Conan the Barbarian, he gets to draw monsters and wizards and … well, not many scantily clad women, but there are some. Fans of Buscema’s Conan work will likely not be disappointed.

But they won’t be surprised, either. And that’s the problem with King Conan. Despite the change in premise, there is little to discover that you can’t find in Dark Horse’s Chronicles of Conan series.

Rating: (1.5 of 5)

Tradepaperbacking in the '90s

Re-reading Deadpool #26 (March 1999), I noticed a footnote by editor Matt Idelson referring to the previous arc: “A somewhat condensed retelling of issues 23-25, to be trade paperbacked in ten years.”

Which wasn’t quite true. It took almost twelve years before Deadpool Classic, v. 4 reprinted those issues. I wonder what the delay was?

Will Supervillains Be on the Final?

Collects: OGN

Released: April 2011 (Del Rey)

Format: 192 pages / black and white / $10.99 / ISBN: 9780345516565

What is this?: Teenage girl goes to high school for superheroes, feeling outclassed, while machinations go on in the background.

The culprits: Writer Naomi Novik and artist Yishan Li

I usually don’t review original graphic novels — not out of any prejudice but because so few of them are released by Marvel and DC. I don’t generally review books published by companies other than Marvel, DC, Dark Horse, or Image. And I almost never read manga, whether translated from the Japanese or originally in the English language.

So Will Supervillains Be on the Final? is an unusual choice for me. If I hadn't received a free copy from Suvudu,⁵⁹ I wouldn’t have read the book. Oh, I’d heard of it, and I was slightly intrigued at the concept — new student in a superhero school — but my stylistic preferences (read: no manga, please) and being a bit of a Marvel zombie meant I wasn’t going to make the effort to read it. But then again, free book. So here we are.

This original English language manga is written by Naomi Novik, the author behind the popular Temeraire books. I haven’t read any of that series, so I had no prejudices toward Novik coming into this — except for the usual fear of prose writers being unable to adapt to the graphic format. But that’s not a problem here. Novik has no trouble with the pacing for this book, the first in the Liberty Vocational series, and the dialogue and action feel as natural as if Novik had been in comics for a while. (Well, most of the dialogue; there are times when a lack of contractions makes the dialogue seem like it has been translated.)

Supervillains follows Leah Taymore, a girl who has just enrolled at a very young age in Liberty Vocational, a school for superheroes-in-training. Although quite powerful, she doesn’t have fine control of her matter transmutation powers, nor does she have the judgment to use them properly. Of course, this gets her into trouble, and it doesn’t help that someone is actively trying to get her to use her powers rashly. This being a book set in a high school, there are the requisite crushes, pining, and embarrassing emotional moments. Standard stuff, really; some of the humiliation Leah undergoes is imaginative, although the first incident hinges on circumstances that could easily have been unwittingly avoided.

There are other characters — the best friend, the crush, the strict teacher / principle / headmaster, etc. — that you’re going to find in any high school story, graphic or not, American or English or Japanese or, for all I know, Samoan or Malagasy. But the characters that stand out are Alexander Bane, a supervillain who is teaching at Liberty under the name Alexander Locke,⁶⁰ and his secret son, Jeremy. In his backstory, Bane wasn’t very successful as a typical confrontational supervillain, but at Liberty, he’s excellent. With the help of his son, he engineers catastrophes, and on his own, he masterfully manipulates the emotions of his former archenemy (now Liberty councilor), Calvin Washington, and asks the headmaster on a date. He’s smooth, cheerful, and clearly up to something “for the greater good” — and he’s not averse to putting hundreds or thousands of people in harm’s way while doing it. Jeremy, as a typical teenager, is of course less than enthusiastic about some of the things he’s doing, but he’s effective at it.

(Paul, Leah’s romantic interest, has an interesting power, which seems to be producing completely mundane objects that are exactly what is needed for a certain situation: a ladder to get a cat out of a tree, plumber’s compound to stop a leak, a rowboat in a flood, etc. I’m not sure I’ve seen this power before, so I’m impressed by its inclusion. It’s a power I would want to have in real life, and how useful it is in superheroics would be interesting to see.)

Yuzana, Leah’s best friend, is an empath, and that power gives Novik (or the characters) all sort of problems. An empath reads the emotions of others but isn’t a telepath, which Yuzana helpfully exposits; however, Yuzana is accused of eavesdropping when she uses her powers casually (like a telepath is), and there are times when it seems she’s picking up on thoughts rather than emotions. Either Yuzana is extremely good at linking emotions to specific thoughts, or Novik isn’t quite getting across what empathy does in the world of Liberty Vocational.

The art is by Yishan Li. I really don’t have much to say about her art style, other than it is obviously in a manga style, complete with the frequent exaggerated, cartoony emotional moments that go with the style. Her line is a bit heavier than most manga I have seen, and I appreciate that; however, I don’t really like manga art, especially since my brain seems inadequate in picking up details that its occasionally minimal style is supposed to convey. For instance, the only difference I could see between Paul and Jeremy was their hair color, which isn’t always evident. On the other hand, I really liked the few scenes with Calvin Washington, whose dreadlock style somehow worked well.

But that’s just my preference; de gustibus non est disputandum, after all, and it does tell the story. More worrying, however, is the copyright to the art. The indicia attributes the art to Li but assigns the copyright for the art to “Temeraire LLC.” If you were paying attention, you remember that that was the name of Novik’s best-known series, and it’s improbable that Li has any ownership stake in Temeraire LLC. This makes Li’s work, most likely, work for hire. I don’t really blink about Marvel or DC owning almost all of what they publish because, well, it’s always been that way, and in a gigantic shared universe spanning more than half a century, it’s the easiest way to sort things out legally. But one creative type shafting another out of ownership … that doesn’t sit right with me.

There’s nothing offensive or egregiously wrong with Will Supervillains Be on the Final? Unfortunately, the compelling bits are a little thin as well. Alexander Bane is the one reason I would keep reading this series, and I don’t think that’s enough to get me to come back.

Unless someone wants to send me another free copy. Suvudu? Del Rey? Anyone?

Rating: (3 of 5)