Ship Breaker by Paolo Bacigalupi

Nailer's world is bleak. He lives on the Gulf Coast, working on a light crew that salvages metal from wrecked ships. It's difficult, demanding work, pays barely enough for Nailer to survive, but provides the best life he can hope for. Until, in the aftermath of a deadly storm, Nailer and his crew boss, Pima, find a freshly wrecked clipper ship.

The clipper ship holds more wealth than Nailer and Pima have ever seen before: silverware, china, gold rings still stuck on the swollen fingers of a girl. The rings won't come off, and, believing the girl dead, Nailer is about to cut her fingers off when the girl blinks. She is still alive, and as she gains strength, she tells them that people will be searching for her.

The girl leaned forward, her face lit by the fire, her features suddenly cold. "If you hurt me, my father will come here and wipe you and yours off the face of the earth and feed your guts to the dogs." She sat back. "It's your choice: Get rich helping me, or die poor." (p. 113)

But can Nailer trust Lucky Girl, as the girl with the gold rings was quickly named? And is she worth the risk? The clipper wreckage is a once-in-a-lifetime chance, while forgoing the wreckage and helping Lucky Girl will not only mean facing the dangers of Lucky Girl's secrets, but the wrath of Nailer's alcohol- and drug-addicted father, as well.

Fever Crumb

Philip Reeve's Fever Crumb is a book to sink into. For some of you, all I really need to say is "Prequel to the Mortal Engines Quartet" and you won't feel it's really necessary to read any more of this review. That would make you already a Philip Reeve fan. That would mean that you know that a Philip Reeve book is all about amazing world-building, creative vision, and characters as quirky and rounded as they come. A Philip Reeve book is a truly transporting experience. If you haven't yet read any of his work, I'd say Fever Crumb is a fine place to begin.

Fever Crumb takes place far in the future, a few centuries before the first book in The Hungry City Chronicles. Fever is a girl who was abandoned while she was still a baby, and raised by the Order of Engineers, scientists for whom logic is all. Years before this happened, Auric Godshawk, a powerful ruler and member of a strange social class known as the Scriven, was deposed during a violent uprising. Things haven't really been stable in London since that time. When she's nearly grown up, Fever is sent to work with an archaeologist named Kit Solent who believes that he may have found Godshawk's secret laboratory, where he hopes he may uncover amazing scientific secrets. At the same time, invaders are drawing closer to London's borders, and they have plans of their own for the city's future.

Where to start with why I loved this book? First off, there's an appealing Dickensian quality to it. I think it has something to do with the way that the atmosphere is alternately gritty and then suddenly funny, and how the characters are perfectly captured in their smallest gestures and interactions with other characters. You will feel like you are reading a real tale, a little bit old-fashioned in feel and grand in scope. And the world-building. One word: incredible. Every aspect of the London of Reeve's imagination is right there for you to picture and smell and hear. Reeve is one of those amazing authors who manages to convey attention to the smallest details (the Scriven's facial markings, the scent of a summer night), the kind of small details that make a world come to life for the reader, but at the same time, his big-picture world-building is remarkable and consistent. The story moves at such a pace but you never feel that you aren't getting a sharp, fully-realized picture of things. His inventiveness is apparently unending. One of my favourite examples of this? There are these spooky/fantastic paper assassins that feature at several points in the plot. Just when you thought the mail slot was safe.

Don't Be a Schmuck

Here’s the skinny on all you really need to know: The Goats is a great book. There, now go read it. But maybe you want to know what it’s about, and maybe after you hear what it’s about you’ll think twice about reading it. After all, that’s what I did when I was in high school. But it turns out, I was a schmuck who wouldn’t know how to find a good book if it hit me upside the head. Don’t be a schmuck.

The Great Works of Lynda Barry

It's always amazing to think that at one time Matt Groening and Lynda Barry could meet as equals. Just two people with massive talent and stories to tell that would go way beyond funny. Each totally dug the other's crazy comics and frequently told the world so.

Groening's "Hell" comics have, of course, been overshadowed by his great gift to the world: "The Simpsons." But the "Hell" comics are still kung-fu and they're still out there and if you haven't read them what are you waiting for?

Meanwhile, Lynda Barry has just kept on keeping on.*

Men don't read. A self-fulfilling prophecy?

I planned to review E. O. Wilson's excellent Anthill today, but instead, I want to point out an article Jason Pinter wrote for the Huffington Post late last month titled, "Why Men Don't Read: How Publishing is Alienating Half the Population".

The article recounts the difficulty and blank stares Pinter faced when, working for Grand Central Publishing, he pitched an autobiography by professional wrestler Chris Jericho to the editorial board.

Like many boys, I grew up watching pro wrestling. I knew that Jericho was not only a huge star, but a genuinely smart, charismatic guy who had some incredible stories to tell. In an attempt to convince the editorial board, I brought in Chris's videos, action figures, CDs, anything I could think of to prove to a skeptical room that this guy was a big deal and his book would work. Nobody was buying my pitch. Nobody had heard of Jericho. . . If you've worked in publishing, you've heard the tired old maxim: Men Don't Read. Try to acquire or sell a book aimed predominantly at men, and odds are you'll be told Men Don't Read. This story is not an isolated incident. And while the book I'm discussing is not everybody's piece of cake, is is a microcosm of what I believe is a huge problem within the industry.

I, Zombie #1

It's just a single, introductory-priced issue as a I write this, and not a collected GN yet (larger question: Are there really such things as "single issues" of comics now, or are they essentially individually released chapters of longer books, since the graphic novelization/collection is nearly inevitable in most cases; and if so, will it affect the way "prose" books are someday released? I gotta teach a seminar in this kind of prognostication two days after I post this!), but there's a just-out-of-YA ethos permeating this new Vertigo release, that it's worth a quick yack here on GLW...

Written by award winning SF-writer Chris Roberson, and illustrated by Michael Allred, the book is set in Eugene, Oregon, and initially involves a certain Gwen, a young single woman with a lively social circle of other Emerald state hipsters. Does she know them in spite of her work as a grave digger, or because of it? Therein lies the twist.

That hipster-y social circle is in fact comprised of ghosts, werewolves, vampires, and other night creatures who may or may not care that they're living in the shadow of Nike shoes, old growth logging, and Ken Kesey's legacy. These are your new, post-Twilight Oregonians, and indeed, Roberson seems ready to set us up for a broad satire not only of things cultural, but of the "branding" and marketing of monsters, as well.

Did I mention that Gwen is a zombie, by the way? She needs to eat a brain of month to retain an outward sheen of "normalcy," but the only problem is, she's left with that new brain's memories. And thus driven to settle scores with old, well, ghosts. Though I mean that metaphorically, this time. Sort of.

In any case, it's lots of fun -- perhaps just in time for summer -- and Apple has not sued for the small "i" font-scheme on the first issue cover -- yet -- so grab your soon-to-be-collectible copy now, before they do!

(A shorter version of this review appeared in Nexus Graphica)

Stuck on Earth by David Klass

People often surmise how earthlings would be perceived by an alien race that has little context into our strange world. David Klass experiments with this thought in Stuck on Earth.

Tom Fiber is a nerdy 14-year old who will be passively watching the new school year after an alien takes over his brain. The alien, Ketchvar, is a snail type creature who is evaluating whether humans should be eradicated or left on their own. Meanwhile, a space ship is hovering above earth ready to use its Death Ray on the planet. As Ketchvar makes his report, he can ask Tom for advice, which is a great storytelling device. Otherwise, the alien is on his own as he goes through the normal ups and downs as an American teenager.

Ketchvar thinks his mission will be easy and quick, but little did he realize how tangling with bullies, Tom's family and the beautiful next girl will take a toll on him. This is a really funny book and while it is quite predictable it is still an enjoyable read. There are some great peripheral characters and an environmental sub-plot that all work well with Klass' light and humorous writing style. And I have to mention that one of the funniest kissing scenes ever is also in Stuck on Earth.

Fans of other humorous coming-of-age stories like Carter Finally Gets It by Brent Crawford will enjoy this as well.

Leaping Iambic Pentameter In a Single Bound

Any guess where the idea of the heroic adventure story had its foundations laid in recognizable form for the first time? Probably poetry wouldn't be your first guess, but -- while mythology introduced numerous elements -- the first true heroic adventure narrative was in the form of epic poems. Every comic you read, every summer blockbuster you see, owes a direct debt to Homer's Iliad and Odyssey. So, in a deft move of cutting out the middle man, All-Action Classics have adapted Homer's Odyssey (by Mucci and Caldwell) with the pulse-pounding adventure intact and combined it with the crackling energy and imagery of a Samurai Jack cartoon. It's all here: Odysseus's battle with the giant cyclops, his breathless course between the vast whirlpool Charybdis and the tentacled monster Scylla, and his clobbering of oafish suitors with their eyes on his land and his wife. What might take you by surprise though, is the underlying characteristics of the tale and how they differ from the values and virtues of today's heroic adventure. Odysseus's quest was nothing more than desperate journey to get home to his family; his greatest battles were against temptation; his greatest strength was his faith in the gods who watched over humans like they were children and often played with them like pawns; and though he was a great veteran of the Trojan War, his greatest weapon was guile. This one proves both a great adventure and a fascinating glimpse into the dogma of a bygone era. And there's no need to stop there. Have a look at All-Action Classics' first adaptation, Bram Stoker's Dracula (by Mucci, Halliar and Caldwell). Same faithful but energetic re-telling, same vibrant, modernized graphic sensibility, but fittingly atmospheric with its Gothic castle, its monstrous count and the desperate hunt through shadowed subterranean passages.

Now, speaking of heroism old and new: there's an awful lot of super-hero comics out there, and plenty do fun, exciting stuff with classic characters and situations. But it sometimes comes to the point where you feel like everything's been done, everything's been tried . . . and then someone comes along with a new twist, a fresh way to look at the tried and true metaphors. Such a book is Forty-Five (by Ewington), which is a crackling original in both its conception and its execution. A journalist who is about to be the father of a baby with the Super-S gene (the gene that gives humans super-powers) and sets out to interview forty-five super-powered people at various stages of their lives. Add to this ingenious hook the work of forty-five very talented artists who each contributed a splash page to go with a character/interview and you've got a whole new way to explore these powerful ideas. Character, narrative, emotion and a beautifully constructed fantasy world emerge from this combination of interview and art, and it reminds you that no matter how many times you may have seen something, there's always room in the collective imagination for something new. Apparently, you can tell a good super-hero story without poetry, as well.

Questioning Authority

While visiting Bosnia-Herzegovina in June, 1914, the heir to the Austrian Empire and his wife were assassinated. Kaiser Wilhelm of Germany urged his Austrian ally, Franz Josef, to attack Serbia.

Jim Murphy begins his book, Truce: The Day the Soldiers Stopped Fighting, by showing how World War I began even though "...there was no evidence that the Serbian government had been involved in the assassinations."
"On July 28, the Austrian army marched to Serbia's border and set up its artillery. As this was taking place, Kaiser Wilhelm picked up the full text of Serbia's reply to Austria's ultimatum. Incredibly, he hadn't bothered to study it before, preferring to let his advisors read and interpret it for him. What he read astonished him so much that he hastily scribbled in the margin of the Serbian reply: 'A great moral victory for Vienna; but with it every reason for war is removed... On the strength of this I should never have ordered mobilization.'

"Wilhelm then shot off an urgent message to his foreign diplomat in Austria in an effort to avert war. But it was too late. Austrian artillery began shelling Serbian troops on July 29, setting other armies in Europe into rapid motion."

Gregory Bateson argues convincingly, In Steps to an Ecology of Mind (pages 469-477), that the Treaty of Versailles, which ended World War I, "led fairly directly and inevitably into World War II." Neither world war should have happened. Just like Iraq.

On the Road, Accidentally

It's odd sometimes how a book can grow on you over time, especially when it didn't initially seem to be one of those "big impact" books.  But the more I think about The Last Great Getaway of the Water Balloon Boys the more I like it. 

"If I'm going to tell you how I killed this kid, I can't start on the day it happened.  It won't make any sense, and you'll just think I was some psycho teenage boy with glue for brains."  With an opening like that the book can go one of two routes, either down the road of troubled sensationalism or not-my-fault apologia.  Instead, what we get is closer to a sort of road movie, like something that might have been made by Monte Hellman or Wim Wenders. 

Straight-A Charlie, about to get beat up at school for the offense of inviting the bully's girl to prom, is rescued by his ex-best friend Jake in the principal's stolen '67 Mustang.  After a couple local detours to visit some dead-end friends of Jake'e, the boys find themselves on the road to bring Charlie to reconcile his relationship with his divorced father several states away.  Along the way they dump the car and hitch a ride with a suicidal girl who they attempt to rescue.  A few more detours, a few more slip-ups caused by Jake's devil-may-care attitude, and the boys finally make it to Denver where things don't go as Charlie had hoped for.  And then there's the kid who gets shot...