Tagged: small

REVIEW: “Big Questions” by Anders Nilsen

REVIEW: “Big Questions” by Anders Nilsen

If you’re plugged into the comics field at all, you’ve probably already heard of this: it’s the gigantic out-of-left-field book that all of the cool kids have been talking about for the last six months (call it 2011’s Bottomless Belly Button). Of course, the really cool kids have known about it for a while: Nilsen has been serializing Big Questions as a series of smaller comics for close to a decade now.

In a wide, open landscape — there’s a stand of trees by a river, and a single farmhouse, and even some caves underground, but what we see most of all is widely scattered single trees — live a flock of small birds, who are collectively our main characters. They’re fascinated by “the giant,” which they think is a massive metal bird, by the metal egg that it drops one day, and, later, after that egg is no more, by the grounded giant itself, and the man that comes out of it. That single farmhouse is also the home of an old woman and the idiot grandson she takes care of, but the humans in Big Questions are all seen from outside, like the other non-bird dangers, like the Owl and the Snake.

The birds question their lives, their cosmology, the purpose and ends of the world around them — these are the questions of the title. And they, despite their best attempts, don’t really understand what’s going on with the giant, the egg and the pilot, or with the grandmother and the idiot. Nilsen tells his story from the point of view of a dozen unreliable narrators, but has the clarity and precision of his drawings to show us both what’s really there and what the birds think is there.

Big Questions is a magnificent achievement: sweeping, even epic in its scope, with a heartbreaking sense of mortality and loss while maintaining a sense of mystery and spookiness. But it all begins with a few birds — drawn more simply than the style Nilsen developed later in this story — wondering about the purpose of their lives. It might not answer those big questions, since no book could, but it asks them well, and thinks about them deeply, and tells a worthy story around them.

Related articles

Martha Thomases: Prometheus and the Comic Bookworm

In a seasonal confluence, the movie Prometheus opens today, just as Book Expo America (BEA) ends. In 1979, I saw the first Alien at a screening in Los Angeles at the American Booksellers Association convention, the precursor to BEA.

ABA (as it was known) is the professional convention for the publishing industry. Publishers have booths with which to show their upcoming titles, and booksellers from all over the country come to see what will fill their shelves. It’s a grand event where books are glamorous, authors are rock stars, and librarians are courted. It’s changed over the years – they are even experimenting with letting consumers in this year – but it remains a celebration of ideas and literacy.

It was my first time at ABA, but the man who would be my husband was an old hand. He’d been going since 1963, when he was 12 years old. His father had taken a job with a small bookstore in Minneapolis, which had ambitions to grow and become a national chain. That bookstore was B. Dalton. As a result, my husband was used to attending, and accustomed to being fussed over by publishing houses that wanted to make a good impression on his dad.

By 1979, his dad had long since left B. Dalton, Minneapolis, the United States and the Northern Hemisphere, but John still knew his way around the convention floor. He showed me how to get free books, catalogs, and all sorts of other cool stuff.

One of the cool things we got was a pair of tickets to a movie screening. Alien. The same booth had a graphic novel adaptation by our pals Archie Goodwin and Walter Simonson (which seems to be on the fall list this year as well). I had never been to a movie screening before. I was really excited.

That night, I read the book. It scared me so much that I was unable to sleep. We were staying with my cousin in a tiny little cottage in Laurel Canyon, and every noise from outside sounded like a landing spaceship to me, not a coyote.

We left the convention with plenty of time to get to the theater for the movie. I had very particular ideas about the best place to sit (near the front, in the center of the row). I had to get there early enough so that I would have my choice of seats. I’m still like that. If you’re going to go to the movies with me, you had better be prepared to be at the theater half an hour before showtime.

Once the movie started, for the first 45 minutes or so, I was in heaven. I loved the way the future looked in the film. It was the first time I’d seen a spaceship that looked like people lived in it. There was dirt and grime. People put up New Yorker cartoons. The cast was great, and I especially loved John Hurt, whom I had only previously seen as Caligula in I, Claudius.

Boy, was I upset when his character was killed off.

You have to understand. I had read the book the night before. I knew what was going to happen. I knew the good guys were going to win at the end. And yet, I was still terrified. I was sitting in my seat, peaking through my fingers, knowing that I had about an hour left to sit in the theater and wait for the monster to jump out of dark places. Finally, I decided to go. I stepped over the many people sitting in my row (since I had to sit in the middle).

My husband had too much self-respect to leave. He later told me he did his best to hide under his seat.

And now, Prometheus is supposed to explain the story of what happened before Alien. It’s directed by Ridley Scott, whose eye for detail makes his films always worth watching. It was the film my husband was most looking forward to seeing this summer.

The trailers scare me.

I like to think of myself as a good feminist. I don’t need a man to give my life meaning, to pay my rent or open my pickle jars. And I don’t expect a man to protect me from movie monsters.

But I’m afraid to go to this movie by myself. Either I’ll find the courage, or take the cat.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman defends the modern comic book some more.

Dennis O’Neil: Are Comic Books… Invulnerable?

Call comics “the little issues that could?” Or maybe the “phoenix of mediatown?”

At least twice in my long – ye gods! – long association with the form, I thought they were going down. Not all the way down: I thought, sure, comics will survive, the way poetry and harpsichord music has survived, as entertainment for aficionados, the loyal few who are willing to make a sacrifice or two to keep something they love alive. But as something vaguely resembling a mass medium? Huh uh.

Comics’ first decline began in the late40s-early 50s, after a lot of self-righteous souls and maybe a few who were just plain ambitious condemned the funnybooks as either amusement for the mentally challenged or the devil’s pulp, luring the nation’s youth into wicked thoughts and, Lordy, Lordy, who knew what kind of naughty behavior? Dozens of publishers bit the big one and those that survived barely survived.

Then… something happened. I’m not sure exactly what. Part of it was that the country became aware and accepting of popular culture and, in the Kennedy era, maybe a little less anal, and part of it was that our two giants, Julius Schwartz and Stan Lee, reinvented superheroes and those characters were pretty much identified with the medium that begot them.

In the mid-seventies, when general interest magazines were virtually extinct – wha’d I do with my latest issue of Collier’s, anyway? – and it was becoming harder and harder for a kid to get his monthly Batman (Spider-Man, Herbie the Fat Fury, et. al.) because the small stores and newsstands where a kid could find his favorites were also becoming extinct, that crazy New Jerseyite Phil Seuling and a few like-minded visionaries created the direct market and suddenly comics had what Colliers and the other slicks and the pulp fiction magazines didn’t have: a place to sell the stuff. The direct market was a direct descendant of fan activities – the clubs, the conventions – and so, takes a bow, fans. You did your bit.

About a decade later, comics’ suffered an artificial boom when innocents with disposable income were led to believe that comics were investment: buy a hundred copies of Spawn #1 and put yourself through college! Well, no. It took the world about four years to realize that while Action Comics #1 could fetch over a hundred K at auction, it was mostly because there weren’t many copies left on the planet. It wasn’t hard to find a copy or two of the first Spawn. The boom was bust and some publishers vanished and the survivors suffered, having swollen to a size that accommodated the boom’s demand and was too big and too costly for the bust.

When I walked out of an editor’s office for the last time, a dozen years ago, I wondered if I wasn’t feeling the deck list beneath my feet. But, no. The news is that comics are again on an upswing, moving into the digital age, learning from past mistakes, benefitting from enormously popular film adaptations.

Okay, sooner or later comics publishing will end. But so will you and so will I.

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases, Bookie

 

FORTIER TAKES ON ‘THE LONE RANGER-VENDETTA!’

ALL PULP REVIEWS- Reviews by Ron Fortier
THE LONE RANGER
VENDETTA
By Howard Hopkins
Moonstone Books
124 pages
It is somehow appropriate that the very first title in Moonstone Book’s new line of small paperback novellas would be the late Howard Hopkins, “The Lone Ranger – Vendetta.” Howard, who passed away unexpectedly last winter at the age of 49, though a versatile writer in all genres, was primarily known for his western novels under the penname of Lance Howard. Thus when Moonstone acquired the rights to produce new prose adventures of the famous Masked Man and his Indian companion Tonto, it would be to Hopkins they would turn first.
“The Lone Ranger – Vendetta,” is Howard at his finest, at ease narrating a fictional adventure of the old west that is still deeply rooted in the authentic aspects of that setting. Hopkins knew western lore, culture and lingo.  His delving into the Native American spiritualism that motivates the Ranger’s companion is brilliant and adds as yet another layer to a character many of us have known most of our lives. Hopkins also has no difficulty accepting this hero’s old fashion moral code about never taking a life, of always wanting to serve justice and never capitulating to his own personal desires for vengeance which is the theme of this short novella.
From out of the Ranger’s tortured past comes as yet another monster in human form seeking to wreak pain and suffering on our hero and all those he holds dear.  This time the villain is none other than the widow of Butch Cavendish, the outlaw who ambushed the six Texas Rangers in Brian’s Gap and in the process created one of the most iconic legends ever to come out of the old west.  Unbeknown to the Ranger and Tonto, Cavendish had been married and now this female murderer launches an insidious plan to find, capture and kill the Lone Ranger. But before she does so, she and her gang of cutthroats invade the town of Coopersville and proceed to butcher its citizenry.
All too quickly the Lone Ranger discovers for himself that female species is often deadlier than the male. But to stop her will he have to sacrifice his life and at long last fill the empty grave that await him in Brian’s Gap? “The Lone Ranger – Vendetta,” is a fast paced, thought provoking action western that looks beneath the man named John Reid and his history, revealing a heart big as the west and just as noble.  That it would mark the final chapter in a gifted writer’s stellar career is truly fitting, as Howard Hopkins the man was as large a talent as the hero he loved so much.
This is a book to own and treasure for all western fans; young and old.  Thanks Howard, and until we meet again, happy trails.

Original Comic Art and Digital Comics: The Common Bond

A stroll around a comic convention is a lot different today than it used to be when it comes to experiencing original comic art which for me, as a young aspiring comic artist, was the highlight of any show. I would always immediately venture directly towards artist alley where pros and amateurs alike would form a welcoming community of comic art practitioners. To me it seemed less like an opportunity for the creators to market their work and more of a joyous reunion of folks with a common bond: The love of comics and a need to create them.

Maybe it is just a product of comic conventions no longer being the casual events they used to be, held in basement ballrooms of fading city hotels with the most sophisticated displays being a hand lettered card stock sign hung on a pipe and drape background.  Professional comic artists were not viewed as the superstars they are today. They were heroes that we related to more like a favorite uncle who always new how to appeal to our inner child. Their art touched us in a personal way that established a relationship that was respected between them and their fans.

Those were the days when you did not wait in line to meet your favorite creator. At best you gathered around their table and shared as a group, listening to their stories, watching them sketch, and learning from their teachings which, though small casual tidbits of technique, were gems of insight into the magical world of creating comics.


Stacked high on their tables would be pages of original art that could be thumbed through and purchased  for prices as low as ten or fifteen bucks! The opportunity to scan through those pages was a chance to stare into a window of a professional comics bullpen. Each page told a production story that was highlighted by the scents of bristol board and india ink often commingling with odors of white-out and rubber cement.

To be able to view those pages and see script notes in a corner, blue lines behind lettering, pen strokes appearing as a texture on the surface and brush strokes laying a deep wash in large shaded areas with a barely visible “x” etched in pencil beneath was a hands-on lesson in every page.

I always got a kick out of seeing revisions. Panels or words would be cut out with an x-acto and replaced with art that was cut to fit perfectly into the hole and secured from behind with a strip of masking tape. Splash pages had photostat logos pasted on leaving a trail of ever yellowing rubber cement beneath.

Every page was art, yet each was also just a mechanical, a production board from which final films would be photographed on large upright “stat” cameras. Each was a path of history, chronicling the creation of the page through the hands of the writer, penciler, letterer, inker, editor and production hand. Void of color, the line art resonated with a power of its own lending a new found appreciation for comics in black and white that would empower the independent comic publishers of the day.

It is still possible to marvel at original art at conventions but the atmosphere is so much more hurried that it is difficult to be absorbed into each piece. Those “uncles” are slowly passing away leaving a void where once was a nurturing wisdom behind the craft of each page. In its place is a new energy that is equally intoxicating, a new brand of comic artist with an entrepreneurial spirit hawking their own works.

It is  thrilling to see the new, unlimited variety of comics, invigorating to see the community widening to include a wave of talented women that was always sadly lacking in that bygone era. What is missing is the original art, replaced by an ernest need to sell small print runs and assorted related merchandise or to direct readers to a growing web-comic. The art exists, but digitally, and can be panned easily on an iPad evoking a sterile creative process free of the sensory stimulators that fueled a personal romance with comic production in my formative years.

As I sit here at my keyboard, I’m suddenly realizing that I am now one of those “uncles” I came to embrace. Not that I could hold a candle to any of them but I have an opportunity to share from my experiences, as they did, only from the venue of this blog instead of a convention table. The new generation of comic creator, who creates digitally, shares too, through all kinds of forums and social networks on the internet.  An aspiring comic creator no longer has to wait, as I did, for an annual comic convention to experience the knowledge of a comic pro, they can watch a tutorial on Youtube or follow a comment thread on Facebook!

Yes, I miss the sensory experience of the creative process of comics. Yes, I wonder if creators are losing an opportunity to cash in by not having physical comic art to sell.  But it is not worth pining over any of my attachment to these relics while I am witnessing the future of comics as it blossoms before my eyes. The community of comic artists is no longer small and relegated to a musty convention hall. It is vast and continues to grow. It exists at our fingertips any time we wish to access it.

Today’s comic artists are creating much more than original art. They are creating the future of the medium. Support them any way you can if you love comics. Go read their web comics. Buy their print on demand books. Order their merchandise. Join them on forums and share ideas. Learn from them and teach others. We are all part of the same comics community that began in those old convention halls. Embrace that past and build the future.

Bill Cucinotta and I, here at CO2 Comics, are committed to both and are excited to be part of this growing comics community of artists with a keen eye on the future. No matter how comics are made we intend to maintain that common bond we always had with those comic creators in artist alley: The love of comics and a need to create them.

Celebrating Thirty Years of Comics History!

Gerry Giovinco


REVIEW: Fallen Skies Season One

fallingskies_s1_blu-300x442-1474255Everywhere you look, dystopia stories abound. Suzanne Collins’ The Hunger Games became the movie event of the spring while the most talking about new NBC series is J.J. Abrams’ Revolution. Little surprise then that basic cable’s ratings darling in 2011 was TNT’s Falling Skies. With the show’s second season debuting June 17, the first season has been released on DVD from Warner Home Entertainment. The premise is not necessarily an original one: aliens have arrived and have largely conquered Earth while small bands of resistance fighters struggle to free humanity. What the aliens want remains a mystery.

The series, which has been in development since 2009, was conceived by Bob Rodat, writer of Saving Private Ryan, and has been produced by Steven Spielberg, who enhanced many of Rodat’s notions. The showrunner for season one is my old pal Mark Verheiden (who handled a different dystopia on Battlestar Galactica), who brought his own point of view to the project. Verheiden’s sure hand made the ten episode first season quite entertaining and he’ll be missed when he moves to consulting producer (at least he wrote the two hour season opener for a smooth transition).

A history professor turned soldier, Tom Mason, is the series’ protagonist and is well played by Noah Wylie, mixing his knowledge with some grit while putting his two sons ahead of all else.  He is part of a regiment, the Second Massachusetts (near Concord, get it?), periodically receiving intelligence from nearby groups and sporadically getting news from armed forces elsewhere in America. The enemy, known as “Skitters”, are insectoid and reside in mammoth craft looming over key cities around the world. Using mechanical soldiers dubbed “mechs”, they maintain martial law and kill adults who oppose them, taking the children. (more…)

Dennis O’Neil: Comic Book Career Day

I leaned across the desk and shook his hand.

“Congratulations, young man,” I said. “You scored in the ninety seventh percentile on the comic book writing aptitude exam and so you’re my new Batman writer. I’ll need twenty-two pages by the end of the week.”

He smiled and left my office. A moment later, I glanced through the open door and saw him waiting for the elevator, straightening his tie. From forty feet away I could admire the gleam on his shoes.

Okay, it didn’t happen that way, or any way like that. It couldn’t, because there is no aptitude exam for aspiring comics writers. There is, as a matter of woeful fact, no defined career path, and if there were one, it would probably be changing about now.

But the god of full disclosure, if such there be, compels me to admit that, matter of fact, once there was a test for comics writing wannabes and I took it and I passed and that explains my life from about age 25 on. Roy Thomas, who had recently joined Stan Lee at Marvel Comics, sent the test to me at the office of the small newspaper where I was working and pissing people off. It consisted of four pages drawn by, I’m pretty sure, Jack Kirby, a piece of a comic book that was lacking words. The task was to add word balloons and maybe captions. Well, wouldn’t you have done it? Simple, easy, kind of fun. I typed something or other and sent it to Roy and late one evening a week or so later, he called offering me a job. I got into my battered station wagon and started trekking east…

I can’t say that I began a career in comics because I don’t consider what I’ve done a “career.” That term – career – implies planning and goals and maybe a timetable.  None of that for me, thank you. It was catch-as-catch-can, a series of jobs, meeting the right people at the right time, screwing up, being given second chances, getting fired, getting hired, finally settling into a position that was everything a butcher’s kid from north St. Louis could ask for and retiring still young enough to get angry at politicians.

So I am not the guy you come to for advice on how to become the next Neil Gaiman or Frank Miller or pick your personal favorite comic book success story. I didn’t do what those guys did and maybe I couldn’t do what those guys did. But will that stop me from pontificating on the subject? Who you talking to?

Ergo: next week I’ll share with you the paltry few strategies I employed when my various editorial gigs required me to hire staff members or freelance creative types.

The thrills just keep coming…

FRIDAY: Martha Thomases is Whedon Out Women

 

John Ostrander: Narrative Selection

We’re all storytellers. It’s the common currency of our social interactions. We use story to explain, to amuse, to communicate and a host of other tasks in our daily lives. Some of us get to make our living telling stories. Some of us are better at it than others.

The problem with some people who tell stories verbally (and I have been guilty of this from time to time) is that we tend to lose our audience. That’s because we forget to check in with those who are listening. If the eyes of the listener are glazed ever so slightly, you’ve lost them. It’s harder to tell when this happens when you’re writing a story but it can happen there, too, and often does.

A big question is – how much do we need to tell to communicate the story? Actually, I should say how little do we need? What’s the minimum? What is really necessary? What is necessary to know and what is necessary to tell?

I have what I call the iceberg theory. The bulk of an iceberg exists under the waterline; only about ten percent of it shows above it. That other ninety percent is necessary, however, for the top ten percent to show. That’s plenty enough to sink an “unsinkable ship.” The same is true with character and story: you have to know a lot about the characters, the setting, the background of the plot and so on but only a small part of it can or should be used. You’ll sometimes have an author (and, yes, this is another thing of which I have been guilty of from time to time) who, having done all this research, wants to use it. Guaranteed fatal error; the audiences eyes glaze and they’re lost.

Or the author may want a certain scene or bit of dialogue in the story because, you know, it’s so swell and makes them look really clever. Those bits need to be cut out unless they are moving the plot, the characters, or the theme forward. It’s called “kill your darlings.” Elmore Leonard said that when he goes back over a draft he removes anything that sounds like writing. He’s pretty successful and that’s good advice.

A lot of the time, whether in story or in real life, I think we over-explain. We don’t want to be misunderstood and there’s lots of good reasons for that; we see all too many examples of people not only misunderstanding but willfully misunderstanding. Witness the current presidential election season. However, it’s fatal in storytelling.

Some rules I try to follow in my storytelling: 1) Assume the reader’s/listener’s intelligence and goodwill. Assume they want to be told a good joke or read a good story. 2) What is the minimum they need to know to understand the premise? Usually less than you might think. 3) When in doubt, cut it out. If you’re not sure a line/character/scene is really working, try taking it out and see if everything still makes sense. If it does, then delete the junk permanently. 4) Fewer words are better. Leave your audience wanting more instead of wishing you were done already.

What you choose to tell is what makes it your story. Another person might choose different elements to tell the same story. It’s why different people can tell different versions of the same joke.

Remember, glaze is fine on a doughnut; not so much in your audience’s eyes.

Hmmmmm. Doughnuts!

MONDAY: Mindy Newell, R.N., CNOR, C.G.

 

‘ALL’S FAIR IN WAR’ WHEN FORTIER TAKES ON DOMINO LADY!

ALL’S FAIR IN WAR
A Domino Lady Audio-Book
Written by Rich Harvey
Directed by Lance Roger Axt
Engineered by Piper Payne
Recorded at Broken Radio Studios, San Francisco, CA
Post Production by The AudioComics Company
One of the truly wonderful and totally unexpected results of the new renaissance in pulp fiction has been the resurgence renewed interest in old time radio dramas.  And what better subject matter for these new audio outfits then the classic pulp heroes of the 1930s and 40s.  Several companies have started producing audio books from the original pulp magazines and now for the very first time pulp fans can “listen” to the adventures of the Spider, Secret Agent X and many others.
Of course as all pulp fans know, there were very few lady avengers and the clear cut leader of that small group was writer Lars Anderson’s Domino Lady.  Now Audio Comics out of San Francisco, directed by Lance Roger Axt, has produced a truly marvelous original Domino Lady radio drama written by Rich Harvey and acted by a truly inspired cast.
In San Diego for the new Pacific Coast Exposition, Ellen Patrick, daughter of the former State Attorney General, is only too willing to contribute financially to the mega event which will bring much needed revenue to the popular seacoast community.  When someone breaks into the aptly named Crime Does Not Pay pavilion and walks off with a unique one million bill printed by the Federal Reserve, it spells disaster for Mayor Benbough and his planning committee. Unless the bill can be recovered, the insurance company will demand restitution from the city and in the process bankrupt it.
Once again, the beautiful and audacious Miss Patrick dons her gown, cape and as the  Domino Mask slips into the fair grounds to do her own investigation.  She is nearly captured by her former paramour, private eye Roge McKane, on duty as the exposition’s chief of security.  The inter-change between these two is pure sauciness with double-entendres flying left and right and had this listener laughing aloud.
ALL’S FAIR IN WAR is a superb audio treat with great writing, perfect acting; especially by Karen Stillwell as Ellen Patrick/Domino Lady and Peter Carini as McKane.  The blues/jazz soundtrack is also a gem and easily sets the story’s atmosphere.  If we have one complaint is that this is only the opening chapter in the series and ends much too soon, leaving us wanting a whole lot more.  Axt and Audio Comics have produced a top-notch audio recording that is pure pulp goodness.  We recommend you order you copy now.  You thank us later.
Cast & Crew –
Karen Stilwell as Ellen Patrick/The Domino Lady
Peter Carini as Roge McKane
Mandy Brown as Dottie Jaster
Peter Papadopoulos as Dan Carley
Kevin Donnelly as “Moxie”
Bill Chessman as Samuel Benton
Lance Roger Axt as Mayor Benbough and your Narrator
Christine Marshall as your Announcer
Additional roles portrayed by the members of the Pulp Adventures Acting Company
www.audiocomicscompany.com is the URL for purchasing direct: also, we will have links to where All’s Fair in Warcan be purchased via iTunes, Amazon Mp3, Zune, Rhapsody, Nokia, and eMusic starting next week (or I should say, when it’s up on  iTunes, Amazon Mp3, Zune, Rhapsody, Nokia, and eMusic). Thanks!
www.audiocomics.wordpress.com

Martha Thomases: Pekar’s Cleveland

The Avengers opens today. As near as I can tell from the Internets, I’m the last person in the world to see it. The New York Daily News reviewed it on Monday, since apparently everyone in the city has the option of going to a screening.

I hope to catch it this weekend, like a rube from the sticks.

Which brings me to the graphic story that has me most excited right now. Harvey Pekar’s Cleveland. Written by Harvey with fantastic art by Joseph Memnant, was just published by ZIP in collaboration with Top Shelf.

Cleveland, Ohio is a large, midwestern city, and, like many large midwestern cities, is a shadow of its former self. Unlike Chicago, it is not the City of Big Shoulders, nor is it the Hog Butcher of the World. It’s not like San Francisco, Miami or New York, a portal to the international scene. Cleveland is kind of schlubby, most famous these days for the fact that the Cuyahoga River caught fire… over a dozen times.

To me, Cleveland was the Big City. Growing up in Youngstown (about an hour and a half away), Cleveland to me was a place that was big where my town was small: the airport, the art museum, the library, the department stores. My father’s work took him more often to Pittsburgh (also about an hour and a half away), and he liked the Pirates and the Steelers. My mother liked the shopping better in Pittsburgh.

For me, there was no comparison. Cleveland was the city where Superman was born. Cleveland was the more rock’n’roll town, and had the best radio stations to prove it.

Pekar loved Cleveland for some of these reasons, and more. It’s his hometown, where he grew up and worked and married. He revels in the seemingly contradictory traditions of progressive politics, union membership, and racism.

The mix of history and personal reminiscence is both seamless and magical. Reading this book, you feel Cleveland as a place, not just a spot on a map, but a city where people live and work, dream and comfort each other. You root for the mass-transit system and the used book stores.

I was lucky enough to meet Harvey a few times, although never in Cleveland. I don’t have that chance anymore. Still, there’s a chance we might be able to keep more than his spirit in the city he loved. If you haven’t chipped in on this project, think about it. I’m told they could use more money.

SATURDAY: Marc Alan Fishman

 

Categories

Archives

Everything you need to make great comics!

comicmix-pro-300x69-2

Nucleus X

Bookshop Zaks