billyjepma's reviews
624 reviews

I’m really enjoying how properly *out there* Ewing is going with this. It’s a very meta comic, poking fun at the comics industry with playful satire that also has serious teeth when it wants to leave a mark. Some of it does feel a little heavy-handed, but it works, especially since Ewing’s delivery throughout this run has been very arch. I’m hoping the various threads and tones he’s using come together eventually, but even if they don’t, I’m down for the ride if it can keep up this level of higher-concept comic book-ing.

Does exactly what it says on the cover, which is all I hoped and wanted from it. Crichton is just so good at this stuff—he takes scientific principles and theories, converts them into vehicles for his sandbox-style imagination, and does so while explaining the science in ways that make the reader feel included in the inevitable epiphanies. As a Crichton book, though, it does suffer from some shallow characterizations, especially when it comes to the handful of women in the cast of characters. It's never outright offensive, but the stereotypes are unfortunate. 

If you can let the time-travel shenanigans do their thing and go along for the ride, though, there's great fun to be had. Crichton's prose is as solid as ever and strikes an ideal balance between description and momentum. There's rarely a dull moment to speak of. Even though the characters are immensely forgettable, they're just likable enough to get the job done, especially when Crichton leans into the inherent silliness of his "fish out of water" premise. You can see where the story is going from the jump, but the secret to Crichton's success has never been the unpredictability of his plotting. Instead, it's his knack for turning familiar genre trappings into fun "summer blockbusters" that makes him one of those authors I'm always happy to pick up. This was a great start to my summer reading! 

Against all odds, this is one of the two Narnia books I’ve never actually read, despite having grown up with the others and hearing from more than a few people that this one’s their favorite of the series. But hey, I get it now! This delivers on all the whimsical promises of adventure the series is known for, and does so with a focus less on plot or stakes and more on the sheer enjoyment, discovery, and transformation that comes from undergoing a great journey. Lewis’ descriptions of that journey might rank amongst his very best, too, and I loved how eagerly he seized every opportunity to introduce an exciting new idea or setting to his growing world. I also loved how openly he detests Eustace for much of the first act. It led to some excellent bits of comedy and made his eventual transformation all the more moving and effective. 

That said, I do find it a little odd how Eustace essentially vanishes from the story after completing his character arc. After operating as the closest thing the book has to a protagonist for most of the first half (and a little more), Lewis seems to forget he’s still around, which is somewhat of a bummer considering how different the group dynamic would’ve felt if the new and improved Eustace had been more of an active presence. I feel similarly about parts of the plot, which has a general habit of getting distracted by side quests. But that’s a significantly less pressing critique since the book seems built as a near-anthology of mini-quests within a grander quest, and that structure pays off far more often and with far more success than otherwise. I don’t think it’ll replace my favorite(s) in the series, but it absolutely flew to the upper echelon. It was the perfect audiobook to listen to while going on various trips with my spouse this month. 

This is much in the lane I think the series thrives in—light, breezy superheroing. Taylor’s script uses a straightforward story—Nightwing and the Titans have to protect a little girl from her father’s mistakes—that, despite involving a literal demon from hell, acts as a comfortable backdrop for the perfect blend of charming, well-meaning heroism that Taylor has perfected in Nightwing. The character beats are sincere, the resolution has just enough dramatic oomph to trigger the desired endorphins, and I had a great time with it all. 

Even the first artists subbing for Redondo—who shows up at the end with an entire issue told from a first-person perspective—are great and fit the more fantastical edges of this story nicely. And Redondo’s return with another “gimmick” is a welcome one, too. Drawing from a first-person perspective is a novel idea, and the execution is as impressive as you expect. Gorgeously vibrant colors from Adriano Lucas, stellar momentum, and a ton of personality in every panel—this art team is really something special. 

It’s still as fun a read as ever, but the plotting is equally as loose, too. Normally, Taylor’s heavy-handed optimism and charming characterizations are exciting and refreshing enough to outweigh the general flatness of the storytelling. But when the plot tries to reach a climactic moment like this one does, it struggles to capture any real momentum or stakes. 

Honestly, the landmark 100th issue included here is probably the weak link of the bunch for precisely that reason. Despite having a lovely scene between Dick and Bruce, the bulk of the issue features a rotating cast of artists—all with a history drawing Nightwing, which is a nice gesture—whose various styles don’t mesh together very well. It’s not a deal breaker since more comics than ever do this, but it’s always a little jarring, especially when the comic is trying to be dramatic or suspenseful. Again, it’s not bad, but it is distracting.

I’m growing a little tired of the Heartless side of things, too. Despite receiving some decent backstory in the Annual—and a nicely twisted parallel to Nightwing’s origin story—he remains a generic villain who I don’t find that interesting or intimidating. I’m ready for Taylor to either move on and find a new antagonist for Dick to deal with or, maybe better yet, forgo a villain entirely and lean into the comic’s playful slice-of-life style, which has always been and continues to be its strongest suit. 

This took me on a ride, but not the one that either it or I expected. While the science behind the premise is in-depth and appropriately unsettling—the detailed anatomy and gore made this a tricky one to listen to while cooking dinner, tbh—and the actual problem-solving involved in Jay's attempts at survival is quite good, there's not enough here to sustain a novel. I'm not usually one to complain about "padding," but this book suffers from an excess of repetitive emotional beats and jarring flashbacks that feel tacked onto what could've and should've been a leaner novella.

It didn't take long for me to feel that padding, either. The flashbacks are haphazardly placed and often defuse the tension created by the gnarly survival narrative. They also lack the emotional depth required to enrich the story, which makes the flashbacks and dramatic scaffolding they're trying for feel tacked on at best. The symbolism and metaphors Krause draws aren't bad, but they're overwrought to the point of exhaustion. If the connections weren't repeatedly spelled out in exacting detail, I might've been more able and willing to get on board. But you don't get points for beating me over the head with a metaphor, regardless of how effective it might or might not be, especially when the goal of the metaphor is as frustrating as the tired trope of "maybe my abusive parent wasn't all bad, after all."

Let's talk about the abusive parent angle, too, because I have beef. My patience for a "redemption" arc is very thin when it comes to this brand of parent-child relationship, so this book had an uphill struggle right out of the gate. But when your protagonist's father is as cruel as Mitt, you've already lost me. Krause's attempts at making him sympathetic are admirable, and some of them even struck a nerve, but Mitt is too vile a character for me to want to care about. I don't even like Jay as a protagonist, either! He's more shallow than not, and, as much as I hate to say it, he comes off as whiny. It doesn't help that the audiobook's narrator plays up Jay's youth, emphasizing the more annoying aspects of the characterization. There's little depth in the characters, either; all their backstory and drama are so predictable and one-note that they end up feeling more performative than anything.

The book isn't all bad, and I really wanted to like it, too, which is why it became increasingly frustrating to realize that I just didn't. 

This was great; an almost-but-not-quite classic Superman story, at least for me, but still consistently great. Priest and Pagulayan understand that Superman is at his best and most interesting not when he has to fight a powerful enemy, but get out of an impossible situation. When your character is as powerful as a god, it’s not enough to give them a punching bag—if you want real drama, give them a problem only they can solve. While part of me wishes the story in this book was a little tighter in some areas, as Priest introduces quite a few threads that don’t all hit as hard as others, each new element has a purpose and effectively pokes at different parts of Superman’s psyche. The supporting cast is equally as strong, and I like how Priest writes Lois and Luthor. The latter doesn’t come into the story until the latter half, and his presence doesn’t always feel necessary, but he acts as a terrific foil for Lois’ role in the plot, and Priest clearly understands what makes him such a compelling, chilling villain. Some of the other supporting characters are less impressive but no less interesting in the roles they play in Superman’s story. It’s a story of terrific ideas executed really well, and even when the plot gets shaky, there’s enough going on that works to keep it from collapsing. 

Carlo Pagulayan’s artwork is also great, succeeding in the spectacle just as well as the characterizations and expressions. The substitute artists that come in occasionally, especially in the final issues, are fine, but the change in style doesn’t have much narrative purpose and isn’t as seamless as I’d like. It’s unfortunate that the road to the conclusion—where the plot is at its densest and most slippery—is ever-so-slightly affected by artwork that disrupts the momentum. 

But yeah, I liked this a lot. It’s a story occupying a similar space to Tom King’s Up in the Sky, which is exactly where I want my Superman stories to be. The storytelling doesn’t quite stick all its landings, but the emotional, thematic, and dramatic underpinnings are strong enough to make the journey worthwhile. I’ll definitely be adding the collected edition to my shelf. 

A solid read—it takes a tried-and-true premise and uses it to add some more shading to the Nameless. There’s not a lot of substance, but Mann’s characterizations are economical and capably get the job done, maybe more than the assignment required, honestly. It’s not all that memorable, but I enjoyed it for what it is. 

The artwork might be the star, too. Mello’s style works well for the YA vibes, and the colors from Efremova and Righi give the pages a vibrancy I absolutely vibed with. The Marvel Star Wars runs have had middling to bad artwork for years now, so I can’t overstate how refreshing it is to see a Star Wars comic with even a shred of style and personality in the artwork.

I’ve had this book on my shelf for years, and while I can’t say that it floored me—it doesn’t quite have enough depth to stick with you, I don’t think—it has such a heart of gold that I couldn’t help but be won over by the end. The tone is all over the place, admittedly, and the first half of the book is laid out in a way I found hard to get into. But once things came together around that halfway point, I was quickly and thoroughly swept up in the unique brand of whimsy, history, and commentary that Gidwitz’s tender storytelling has to offer.