Well, a good chunk of the state was hit with a snowstorm last night and today, leaving the roads pretty treacherous. Which meant that my original plans for the day went out the window. On the plus side, I was able to put a dent on some of the reading that's been piling up and that included the first five issues of Proof and the first trade paperback of Perhapanauts. Both titles follow vaguely along behind Hellboy with the notion of the paranormal investigating the paranormal.

The lead character of Proof is a Bigfoot that goes by the assumed name of John "Proof" Prufrock. He's joined up with these paranormal investigators in the hopes that he'll stumble across more of his own kind. His partner, Ginger Brown, is a former FBI agent and their first case is tackling a Chupacabra that disguises itself in the skins of its victims. The latest recruit to the team is Elvis Chesnut, a former sheriff whose mother was killed by said Chupacabra.

Perhapanauts concerns a team consisting of a telepath, a ghost, a Bigfoot, a Chupacabra, and a man who evidently can slip between dimensions at will. Their first mission concerns a Chimera that seems to have popped up in a Massachusetts factory. Both the Bigfoot (called simply "Big") and the Chupacabra ("Choopie") have been zapped with an evolvo-ray, and are pretty savvy to new-fangled technologies.

Superficially, there are few note-worthy differences between the two. Proof himself is the only paranormal creature undertaking missions, while the Perhapanauts crew is primarily supernatural. Further, they also have access to more advanced technologies like jet packs and time machines. Proof and Ginger are limited to technology that you might find in today's FBI.

There's a fundamental divergence in the two series concepts that I think is worth pointing out as well. Perhapanauts seems to take the basis that all of the old legends are essentially true. (That Big and Choopie are team members are only the result of their being hit with the evolvo-ray.) Proof does more to challenge the legends and assumes that some aspects of the myths were taken out of context or exaggerated. Interestingly, it's Perhapanauts with the lighter tone even though it stays more true to the nastiness inherent in the old tales of monsters and blood-suckers. This is also highlighted in the differing artistic styles -- Proof is filled with more solid blacks, heavier lines, and a darker color palette.

I liked the adventure aspect of Perhapanauts. It definitely has a lot of action and visceral excitement that might make it a good segue book if you're looking to move away from traditional superhero fare. That said, I actually liked Proof better because it did more interesting things with the storytelling itself. Several issues actually had different, but intersecting, stories and there's a fair amount done with non-linear storytelling. And where Perhapanauts has more characters with a lot of quick identification, but that quickness is because of some reliance on stereotypes. I expect that those stereotypes will fall to the wayside in further stories, but Proof seems to take a different approach by making the fewer characters more unique up front. I'll continue to read Perhapanauts to see the characters evolve out of their stereotypes, but I'll continue Proof to see who I've already met.

Both books are worth taking a look at. While a quick summary might suggest the two of them are very similar, I think each takes the basic idea in a very different direction and provides very different reading experiences. And that the comic market today can support both books as well as Hellboy (at least so far) is a step in the right direction.

It should come as little surprise that I'm a fan of Jack Kirby. I grew up on his creations, and I'm thrilled today that I can contribute in any small way to his legacy. So it should also come as little surprise that I've been eagerly awaiting Mark Evanier's Kirby: King of Comics since he announced it some time ago. (As I recall, he unofficially started it at Jack's funeral when Roz Kirby asked, "So when are you going to start writing Jack's biography?" To which Mark replied, "Well, now, I guess.") Of course, the danger with such a long lead time is that it can build up one's expectations to a level that's too high to realistically achieve. Fortunately, Mark's generally pretty self-deprecating and usually works overtime to ensure that no one ever expects more from him than they might expect from a sixth grader.

In any event, I got my copy of Kirby: King of Comics this week, promptly ripped off the cellophane and started flipping through the large volume. The first thing that pops out is, not surprisingly, Jack's artwork. The book is filled with pencil sketches, inked production art, and reproductions of his printed work. Not to mention a number of photos. But each piece of art often takes up an entire page, making Jack's dynamic page and panel layouts explode past the very borders of the paper itself! People have long talked about how Jack's characters were too big for the confines of a comic book panel, and here shows that they're frequently too big for a comic book too! Each page of art comes across something like a Roy Lichtenstein painting... only more impressive.

You know the cover to Captain America Comics #1, right? With Cap leaping across the room and knocking Hitler's lights out? I have never seen it look as awe-inspiring as I have in this book.

"But, Sean," you might say, "I've seen Jack's artwork before. Unless I really want to scrutinize his work, why should I get this book?"

A fine question, which I shall answer by way of anecdote.

I first became aware of Jack Kirby through his creation: the Fantastic Four. As I began reading about the FF every month, I slowly learned about how they were created back in 1961. And as I realized how huge of an impact Jack had on the development of the characters and their world, I began reading more about him. At some point, my interest shifted from the characters to the creator. I began to recognize that, no matter how much I learned about the FF, their adventures were decidedly finite and quantifiable. They had appeared in precisely so many comic book stories, and that was it. Jack, on the other hand, was a real person who seemed to have a pretty interesting life himself. And while his life here on Earth was finite, it seemed that there was much more that could be learned about him.

Now, you've read a Jack Kirby comic book before, haven't you? And, even if you didn't like his illustration style, I think you'd be lying to yourself if you didn't admit that the story was powerful and crackling with energy. Jack couldn't draw people standing around talking without imbuing them with limitless verve. The reason he could do that is because that's what his life was like.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I'm not suggesting he put on tights and shot laser beams out of his eyes or anything. But his life was a never-ending battle for truth and justice. When he felt slighted or wronged, he fought for his rights, regardless of how much the odds were stacked against him. He was physically a small man and carried around a kind heart, but if you attacked him or his family, you could bet you'd have your keister shoved into the nearest garbage can before you knew what hit you.

Art imitates Life, as they say.

Back to your question, then. The actual biography of Jack Kirby, as written by Mark Evanier, reads like a Jack Kirby comic book. You read through a Kirby comic, and your head is filled with grand characters and powerful imagery going through the most amazing adventures. And even when there's some down time in the story, you can still tell that the engine's revving in the background, waiting for someone to let loose the brakes. That's how Mark's bio of Jack reads. It comes across almost more as an adventure novel than a biography, with great characters and snappy dialogue.

Don't mistake my meaning there. Mark never really makes light of the more serious aspects of Jack's life, but the book reads like a biography of Jack should read. It's almost larger than life, and gives the man the respect often only reserved for the likes of Winston Churchill or John Kennedy. It's only appropriate that Jack's biography take on the tone of the serialized stories he spent so much of his life creating, and I only mean to pay Mark the highest of compliments by comparing this book to one of Jack's comics.

Some of the details and anecdotes were new to me, so I expect most people will find the information itself interesting and original. Between the incredible pages of art, the incredible characters and great story, it's hard not rate this extremely highly. Jack Kirby was the lead character of his own comic book and, while no one could even hope of capturing the true grandeur of his life, Mark does a stellar job.
No one did comics quite like Jack. And no one did them better. In light of Jack not having drawn his own story in comic book form, Kirby: King of Comics is as close as anyone could hope for.

Of course, now Mark's got me that much more eager for the "real", more-information-than-you-can-hope-for, only-dyed-in-the-wool-Kirbyphiles-apply, monster biography of Jack that Mark has talked about doing more specifically for the comic fan market!

Viper Comics is hosting a t-shirt design contest over at Sketch86. (And there ends the comic book connection.) A design that I submitted -- seen at right -- is one of the finalists and I'd like to ask YOU to surf over and vote for it. Why? Because it'd be kind of cool.

(I know. I know. Totally shameless. But, hey, it's my blog after all!)

The Wednesday lunch hour found me, as usual, perusing my Local Comic Shop. I picked up the handful of new books I was looking for, and found a cheap copy of Rick Spears' Dead West in a discount bin. The shop owner, taking a quick break from the usual chaos of New Comic Day, pulls out a decent-sized cardboard box and places it on the counter.

"Hey, Sean! You might be interested in some of this."

"What's that?"

"It's an old customer's file. We'd been holding books for him for a while but he seems to have disappeared. He never comes in any more, and we haven't been able to get a hold of him. I told him that I'd keep pulling his books for six months and his time's up now. He was getting some off-beat stuff you might be interested in if you want to pull anything out of here."

The box in question had maybe 200-300 fairly new comics from the past several months. There was a good mix of indie publishers, plus a handful of marvel books. I rifled through the box's contents and pulled out any titles that looked interesting. Once I had a stack of six or eight titles, running from one to six issues each, I looked through those books a little more carefully.

Sure enough, there were two titles that, on closer inspection, looked pretty cool -- one of which I had never even heard of before.

The owner was appreciative of being able to get rid of what otherwise would be fairly dead weight and gave me an extra 5% discount. It just struck me as an interesting and novel way to deal with what must be a recurring problem at comic shops across the U.S.

I picked this meme up from Henry Jenkins...

1. Look up page 123 in the nearest book
2. Look for the fifth sentence
3. Then post the three sentences that follow that fifth sentence on page 123.

With that, the nearest book to me at the moment is Comics & Culture: Analytical and Theoretical Approaches to Comics. The sentences in question are from "the good duck artist" Carl Barks, corresponding with Donald Ault:

I admit, though, that after years have passed and my original "vision" has faded from my memory, I see my paintings and drawings much as you do -- as being exactly like I must have intended them to be.

What did I imagine my characters were doing between the panels? For the first time I realize how deep and complex the creating of comic book stories really is.

The next nearest book is Jumpstart Your Marketing Brain by Doug Hall...

Focus your advertising message on providing relevant yet unexpected news about your brand. Mindless humor, video gimmicks, outrageous shock, and esoteric philosophy is for Hollywood movies, not capitalist advertising.

Great advertising is easy.

The overall messages here (at least as I see it)? If you remain true to yourself and your convictions, you and your work will be respected and live on. The seemingly most simple work is often the deepest, most complex, and most profound. Keep It Simple, Stupid.

Of course, now I want to see this bad boy of a meme tackled by Jim Roeg, David Gallaher, Richard Bensam, and (of course) anybody else who wants to give this a shot.

I was recently alerted to the musical talents of the late Wesley Willis (who you can read more about here). The short summary is that he was something of a cult phenomenon from the Chicago area and churned out hundreds of songs with simple, but memorable, lyrics and melodies. As this is a comic-related blog, though, I'd like to bring one song in particular to your attention:
I Whipped Spider-Man's Ass (2.1 Mb MP3)

And, really... who wouldn't want to whip Spidey's ass these days?

I stopped by a not-exactly-local comic shop the other day and found myself picking up a number of oddities that my own LCS did not have. But as I was browsing, an older woman came into the store and asked the clerk for some assistance. I overheard most of the ensuing conversation and she peppered the clerk with questions, and helped her sort through the racks of new comics and back issue bins.

She started off with some questions about Countdown. Basic questions, really -- what the story was about and that kind of thing. Clearly she had heard something about the series in a passing conversation or possibly a news report, and it had piqued her interest. After hearing the short explanation, she proceeded to inquire whether or not that shop had all of the 40-some issues published so far. She and the clerk proceeded to rifle through the back issue bins, pulling out every issue of the series for her.

This went on for a little while and, not surprisingly, 52 came up as they continued talking. She then proceeded to ask about purchasing all of those issues as well. In the period of maybe 15 minutes, she'd racked up a tab of over $250 without getting anything particularly valuable.

The woman was evidently 67, and had been a fan of many of the DC superheroes back in the 1950s and 60s, but hadn't bought any new comics in many years. I never did hear where exactly she heard about Countdown but the idea intrigued her enough to find a comic book shop and dive back into the hobby headfirst. She also set up a pull list to ensure that she got the remaining issues of Countdown (as well as have a repository for the handful of back issues the store did not have on hand) and actually offered to leave her credit card information on file.

If she wasn't so involved with the clerk while I was there, I'd have been sorely tempted to quiz her to find out just what in the world prompted her into the shop that day. I mean, isn't this EXACTLY the type of thing publishers want to happen, but have yet to figure out a way to regularly capitalize on?