The Directory of Comic Book and
Graphic Novel Publishers
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There are three sections: Publishers, Representation (8 pages of managers and attorneys — although it would be helpful to know if they knew they were listed or were open to queries), and Companies by Country (6 list pages). Each publisher lists some combination of name, address, phone, website, description (which reads as though it was either submitted by the company itself with no editing or copied from a website About Us), titles published, and contact name(s). Not all this data is available for each company, making for spotty coverage.

The promo material claims the book is an “invaluable addition to the bookshelf for any comic book writer, artist or creator looking to publish their work.” Anyone trying to use the book to find a publisher will likely be disappointed, since many of the companies I noted on a flip-through are self-publishers, firms created only to print and manage the work of their owner. Others haven’t published anything in years. (I got quite the nostalgia buzz, seeing some of these names I hadn’t thought about since the 90s, such as Tekno Comics or some of the smaller single-work pubs.) That’s how they get the claimed inclusion of “over 1000 companies”. It does include many international firms I was unfamiliar with.

I was unable to judge the print quality, since the publisher only provided a PDF for review. If I was considering a purchase, I’d be concerned about binding quality and durability, especially given the high price. I think the most likely purchaser for this kind of book is either a library or an entertainment company with an expense account looking for reference on an industry they don’t know the details of. I suspect those kinds of executives, looking to mine comics for more development source material, are the real audience. I have to wonder how helpful they find entries with only website and email addresses, though, especially if the website is on the now-defunct geocities.

Other interesting elements: No author is credited, just the publishing house. There is an update form at the back for the upcoming third edition (this seems intended to be a yearly effort) that says “THE DIRECTORY will feature specific properties in addition to a company’s free listing for an additional fee of $100 per property.” That’s another way to make some profit from this effort, I guess. Personally, I find submission fees for what is intended to be a reference work distasteful.

Modern Masters: Chris Sprouse
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I find Sprouse’s clean art lovely in its simplicity, and he works incredibly hard to achieve that appearance. As with the other Modern Masters books, the text is a lengthy interview in which the subject talks about his life and work, how he got into the field, key points in his career, and his love of comics. It’s accompanied by all kinds of art samples, including early and rare work, such as pieces for his high school paper and summer jobs. Plus, there are sketches, character designs, and page layouts.

They did a nice job actually connecting the images to what’s being talked about in the text. I’ve had problems with some of the company’s magazines before, talking about things that they never show, but that’s not the case here. I say “they” because I don’t know whether to credit authors, editor, or someone else, but whoever’s responsible, thank you. Nice caption job, too, providing full identification so I’m not guessing at what an image is or where it’s from.

I also appreciated “hearing” Sprouse address the struggles he’s had, his learning curve, and his issues with perfectionism and how it affects a work schedule. He comments briefly on many of his co-workers, but the part that really struck a chord with me was when he talks about emotional impact, how looking back at certain pages reminds him of major changes in his life going on when he drew them, and how difficult it can be to keep enthusiasm going after a while.

Sprouse also walks through the full creation of a page from Ocean before the book switches to pure art gallery, including a short color section of full-page images. I’d forgotten just how much I loved his work on Legionnaires, around the time I first began reading the series. I really enjoyed this volume, going over his career and understanding better what makes Chris Sprouse the talented artist he is.

Comics and Sequential Art
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The presentation is much sleeker and more modern, with a layout that looks like it was created by a professional art designer, instead of the high school research paper appearance of the original. There are easy-to-skim headings and pullquotes, in an attractive red highlight color, and captions placed with the images they refer to instead of hanging off the page edges like afterthoughts. The book welcomes the reader in immediately instead of seeming off-putting in its blocks of text, and the flat white paper shows off the images better than the slick gloss of the previous. (Note the coordinating color scheme: the gold-covered book has red highlights, the blue-covered has gold highlights, and the red-covered has blue.)

Eisner’s original Foreword is included, as is a new editor’s note by Denis Kitchen, who explains changes in the work and how decisions were made. Small updates have been made to the text, such as including the term “graphic novel” instead of “comic book” much of the time and acknowledging the greater prominence of the medium of comics than in Eisner’s era.

The book’s original structure as a series of class notes revised into essays is maintained, which means I still find Eisner’s text, at times, a bit stuffy and old-fashioned. For example, early on:

When one examines a comic book feature as a whole, the deployment of its unique elements takes on the characteristic of a language. … Modern readers can be expected to have an easy understanding of the image-word mix and the traditional deciphering of text.

Eisner’s emphasis on comics as language means he takes an order of lessons that doesn’t seem natural to me. He starts with text as image, showing how to letter in conjunction with the story’s mood, before moving to exaggerated images on their own, with no words. Talking about panel shapes and whether to use borders before storytelling or characterization doesn’t match my understanding of comic construction structure, but he’s the acclaimed cartoonist. He winds up tackling writing in the sixth of seven chapters, where he neatly disposes of the separation of tasks seen in corporate publishers as inferior to having a single writer/artist and prejudices the visuals as the most important element. “Writing” here is treated as mechanics, how to produce a script, instead of exploring questions of theme or other literary criteria. (That’s the next book.)

Simply studying the composition of his pages, reproduced beautifully here, while reading his notes on his intentions, provides for a class in itself. He’s clearly thought a lot about all of this, but at times this is more of a philosophical or pedagogical book than a how-to one. Perhaps I should say instead that it’s not always intended for the beginning creator but for a more advanced one, ready for help with pacing to establish passage of time, for example. To use a computer science simile, this is more like a book of algorithms, help on the best ways to accomplish a given task, than a starter book.

Graphic Storytelling and Visual Narrative
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New to this edition are short art samples by creators other than Eisner. A page by Jason is used to support a lesson on wordless storytelling, in addition to a seven-page pantomime Spirit story by Eisner, while a page of Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home illustrates emotional impact. Other artists included are R. Crumb, Jason Lutes, and Nick Bertozzi.

Also newly included is acknowledgment throughout that comics can be created and displayed digitally. The last two chapters, “Application: The Use of Sequential Art” and “Teaching and Learning Sequential Art for Comics in the Print and Digital Age”, have had the most updates. The former keeps Eisner’s differentiation between entertainment and instructional comics, but short sections on graphic novels and webcomics are either new or radically revised, while a brief history of Eisner’s work on instructional comics has been added. The last chapter adds sections on “Digital Art and the PC”, “Digital Delivery”, and related topics.

The second book (in order of creation) is Graphic Storytelling and Visual Narrative. It similarly contains the same Kitchen editor’s note, the Eisner Foreword and Introduction from the original book (1995), and the updated, impressive format and layout. While the first concentrates on craft, this one explores, as the title says, elements of storytelling. That is, structure, genre, creating emotional impact and involvement in the reader, pacing, plotting, art style, and unique challenges of writing for comics.

Eisner also argues for the use of symbolism and stereotype to quickly convey meaning through visual images. However, once again, this book is descriptive (here are different genres, this is what that means) instead of telling the reader how to do any of these things better. It’s clear that these books were written in a different time, one where talking about the medium had to be justified and explained instead of its value being acknowledged. The biggest change in this volume comes near the end, where a previous chapter on “Electronic Delivery”, covering video and CD Rom formats, has been replaced by the new, short “Comics and the Internet” and a page on technical setup for webcomics.

Expressive Anatomy for Comics and Narrative
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Expressive Anatomy for Comics and Narrative is the newest book, expanded from a chapter in the first book. Eisner had been working on it before his passing in 2005, so Peter Poplaski, an Eisner collaborator, finished it, as explained in Kitchen’s Editor’s Note. To quote from Eisner’s Introduction:

… it is my belief that the function of human anatomy, with an emphasis on its role in the process of emotion and intent, has been sorely neglected by young artists learning the practices of comics and sequential art. This book aims to remedy that neglect by providing a basic guide of body grammar for the depiction of people as characters and their manipulation as actors in the service of a drama. …

This book begins with the mechanical construction of the human figure in common positions using common gestures. Then, examples of emotion and reaction drawn from personal observation are added.

After seeing so many story pages in previous books, it’s a bit of a switch to open this volume and see page after page of skeletons and musculature. Based on this material, Eisner prioritized gesture and posture to convey visual impact and emotion over text content. Much of the book is a gallery of samples, whether expressions to show feeling (often exaggerated, so they’d be understood by the reader without words) or anatomical diagrams. Additional chapters focus on other artists, including George Bridgeman’s anatomical building blocks; Charles Dana Gibson’s expressive cartoons; Jack Kirby’s forceful, powerful heroes; and Rudolph Topffer’s facial studies.

I would find these books best utilized as course texts, where a knowledgeable instructor could guide the new reader through some of the thornier passages and ensure they’re gaining as much as they can from the material. That would be especially helpful when it comes to Eisner’s justification of stereotypical features and images in the last book; I would think a fruitful discussion could result from examining his pages of “Jewish cast members” and “African-American and Hispanic ethnic character types” from his neighborhood books. However, even read on one’s own, there’s a reason these are considered foundations of comic education.

Shocking True Story
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Confidential started in the early 50s, and its stock-in-trade was publishing exposes, mostly about Hollywood, although it also covered politicians, socialites, and corporate dangers. Its track record for accuracy was surprisingly good, since it dug deep and paid well for the dirt, especially when it came to outing gay stars. Other popular topics were guys who paid prostitutes, closeted Communists, and interracial relationships, things that would grab the attention of readers of the time.

The best part of the book is that every chapter starts with part of a reprinted story, showing not only the subjects of the magazine’s fascination, but its unique voice and style. Confidential was quite popular — at its high point, it was *the* best-selling newsstand magazine, with almost 4 million copies sold per issue. They were able to keep going in part because they’d research the gossip, find out the true story, then only publish some of what they knew. Keeping a bit behind kept them from being sued so often, for fear of what additional information would come out.

The mag told tales it got from hookers and former lovers, and its stories could ruin careers. Even those members of the public who didn’t read it (or claimed they didn’t) heard the rumors, and those who weren’t big enough stars had nothing to protect them when the studios dropped them for being too hot to handle.

Then the magazine quit being quite so rigorous on its fact-checking, allowing stars to win lawsuits, including Liberace, who sued over a story that said he liked boys. He surprisingly won that one, because a couple of incident dates were wrong. Fired editor Howard Rushmore (who wound up killing his wife and himself) turning traitor against owner and publisher Robert Harrison didn’t help. When Rushmore revealed many of the magazine’s sources on the witness stand, Confidential’s network dried up.

But what really took down the magazine was concentrated action to censor them — they were prohibited from being sold in California due to “obscenity”, for example, and the movie studios were determined to shut Confidential down. Never mind that that left openings for more wannabes and imitators to do the same thing, with many similar publications flourishing after the original’s demise.

The studios thought they could get back to the days of movie mags that they totally controlled, those that ran puff pieces and played along so they could get access to stars who otherwise were inaccessible. Instead, Confidential had shown a whole lot of people that money could be made in reporting something closer to the truth, even if it put stars in a bad light, because that’s what the audience wanted. That revelation, and that audience desire, wasn’t going back in the box.

Author Henry E. Scott tries to weave the reprinted stories into chapters that tell the magazine and Harrison’s history, but he loses control of the structure halfway through, bringing up incidents that are never followed up on. I think he’s trying too hard to write like the old-school scandal sheet. The magazine’s history is fascinating, though, and the book’s a fun, if light, read.

Read a book excerpt and see many of the classic red-and-yellow covers online. If you want a comic version of the gossip world of the 50s, check out Scandalous.

And you should, because it’s an enthusiastic, encouraging workbook that takes you step by step through the creative process. Also, here’s an interview with Hart where he talks more about this and his other projects.

It’s Marvel’s 70th Anniversary, and DK is helping celebrate by publishing a bright, shiny, new Marvel Encyclopedia!

The 2009 hardcover update for the Marvel Encyclopedia adds about 50 new pages (to make a total of almost 400) to the previous 2006 edition, plus a new wraparound cover by Brandon Peterson. Most of the new pages have been added to the original entries of most of Marvel’s major characters (Spider-Man, Hulk, Wolverine, Avengers, Thor and, most obviously, Captain America, among others). There are also full-scale entries for recent major events: Annihilation, Civil War, Fifty State Initiative, World War Hulk, Secret Invasion, and the Multiverse (only 2 pages, not nearly enough), as well as a reworked “Marvel in the 2000s”. Plus, many other entries have been updated with either new artwork (usually costume upgrades) or minor text changes.

The Marvel Encyclopedia
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In all, there are at least 60 new entries. Many cover the members of the Young Avengers, Avengers: The Initiative, Young X-Men, and Agents of Atlas, as well as new teams, such as the Illuminati, Nextwave, The Order, and Omega Flight. Also added are breakout characters, including X-23, Daken, Skaar, Ares, and Anti-Venom. Some older characters like Doctor Faustus, Sin, Ultragirl, and Slapstick finally get entries due to recent important roles.

Some entries have only been slightly updated or not been updated at all, most notably Emma Frost, Speedball, Moonstone, Magik, Rick Jones, and Pepper Potts, who really needs an art update, as this shot is a bizarre 1960s swimsuit pose (although it is by Don Heck, and it’s always great to see some Heck art in a Marvel history project, as he is usually underrepresented). Nick Fury is back in action in a big way since Secret Invasion, but not much love for him here, nor any for his new team of Secret Warriors. Marvel made a pretty big deal about Loki now being a babe, but no mention of that anywhere here (or pictures either!). No entry for Norman Osborn, besides a mention about Secret Invasion in the Green Goblin entry? Plus, I’m curious about why a guy that stars in three current books — Deadpool — only rates a less than quarter-page entry.

Some characters now appear under new names. Bucky is now Winter Soldier; Warbird is now Ms. Marvel; and (sigh) Mary Jane Parker is now Mary Jane Watson. But my favorite — Tana Nile is now Nile, Tana. Who knew? The biggest mystery of all in this new volume (at least for me) is this: Why is Ultraforce (the former Malibu comics characters, bought by Marvel in 1994) just now getting an entry? Or at all, for that matter?

The text is mostly intact from the 2006 book, written by a team of writers including some current and past Marvel staffers, such as Tom Brevoort, Tom DeFalco, and Peter Sanderson. All of the updated material is written by Matt Forbeck. The introduction by Stan Lee is reprinted from the earlier edition.

As updates go, it’s kinda of a mixed bag. It’s certainly not the missed opportunity that the revised DC Encyclopedia was earlier this year, but there’s still the occasional typo or head-scratcher. There are a lot of entries about characters who haven’t been seen — or been important — in a long time here. I’m more of a text guy, so I found it frustrating that a lot of the additional pages were given over to full-page poster artwork, rather than updating the text or adding more characters. The big art pages also kind go against the grain of the original design of the Encyclopedia, which was not changed from the 2006 version. But then, DK books are best known for their oft-bombastic art and visuals, so in some ways this makes perfect sense for them.

The Marvel Encyclopedia
Limited Edition
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With the strides made in the last few years with Marvel’s own Official Handbook of the Marvel Universe project, I find myself less interested in this DK book, as it has far less detail than the OHotMU. But the latter is primarily designed for hard-core Marvel comic book fans — and has the obsessive (some might say annoying) detail to prove it — which means the DK book is actually the best deal for a more general Marvel fan, one that’s just starting out or maybe be getting into the comics by way of the Marvel films.

Finally, I love DK’s press release for the book, which describes Ego the Living Planet as “bizarre and obscure”. I don’t think “obscure” is quite the right word for a being as big as a planet — especially if Ego himself snuck up behind you and tapped you on the shoulder to indicate his annoyance for being called
“obscure”.

There’s also a limited edition with slipcase available, printed on high-quality art paper and including two prints, one of which is signed by artist Brandon (“Brando”) Peterson. Both of the prints are of the cover to the book — one is of the full wraparound cover (including flaps) and the other is a detailed close-up of the front cover artwork. (The publisher provided a review copy of the standard edition.)

The Manga Artist’s Workbook
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The book is bound with a top spiral, and the content — repackaged from Hart’s Manga for the Beginner: Everything You Need to Start Drawing Right Away — is presented in such a way that the reader is encouraged to try the lessons immediately. The wrap-around cover keeps everything neat and together. The whole thing was designed by Melissa Chang, who deserves a lot of praise.

When the workbook is open, the lesson is on the top page, with room to draw on the bottom page. The reader is asked to copy or trace or embellish partially started images as a way of getting them drawing and putting the instruction into practice.

The material of the lessons focuses on creating stereotypical manga characters — teen girl head from various perspectives, for example, and several pages on big, sparkling eyes — and the reader isn’t going to learn to draw until they fill up a few more sketchbooks all on their own, although there are a few blank pages included here for more free-form exploration. But as a starting point, this is a really neat idea, having samples, tracing paper, and sketch paper all bound into one.

(The publisher provided a review copy.)

One Con Glory is the story of Julie, a geek journalist covering a huge comic/sci-fi convention. She’s bitter and jaded, with few friends, and those she hangs out with are likewise media types, nerdy enough to fit in but feeling set apart by their glimpse behind the curtain. The title comes from Julie’s love of Glory Gilmore, a lesser-known superhero team member and inspiration for a rare action figure being auctioned off at the show.

The story is realistic (in terms of characterization, anyway — the plot’s got more than a little wish fulfillment in it, which is what makes it fun) and the cast will be recognizable to anyone who’s attended a few large cons. I enjoyed the story of Julie’s coming-of-age/acceptance of herself through a convention romance with a TV star. I did have a few quibbles — the level of profanity surprised me, now that I’m becoming more prudish in my old age, for example. More significantly, I regretted not seeing more of Julie and her love interest, just the two of them. Most of their interactions described in the book are either in public or consist of sparring with each other. I wanted to see the two accept their romance together in private. A little more sweetness together, a little less hostility.

That’s just me wanting to put focus on something different from the author’s choice, though. The book is still worth reading and thinking about. You can buy it from Alert Nerd Press or read an online excerpt.

Superheroes and Beyond
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You’d be wrong, although the publicity isn’t shy about riding those coattails, trying to tie this book to “the blockbuster success of comics-inspired movies, like the Spiderman [sic], Batman, and Iron Man series”. Like the promotional material, the images in this book are all labeled as stereotypes, including:

• Savage Starship Commander
• Sci-Fi Alien Queen
• Classic Crime-Fighting Superhero
• Crime-Fighter Gal
• Mecha Bad Guy
• Evil Warrior Queen
• Vampire Chick
• Big Buddy

They’re even trying to make the reader feel super-powered by buying the book. From the introduction:

You can draw the way you’ve always wanted to…. [T]his will give you the edge you need…. [This book] will help you to crush the competition…. There’s a must-know chapter on drawing the sexy gals (the action heroines) of comics–because, as any comic book editor will tell you, beautiful girls are what sell comics…. The power of the universe is in your hands.

Note that (erroneous) bit about the “sexy gals”? That’s far from the only “only for the guys” statement of sexism in the book. Throughout, the guys are emphasized as “tough”, while the women are only seen as eye candy. “What she lacks in brute strength, the female crime-fighter makes up for in guile and feistiness,” Hart tells us. “Often, she’s jealous of the superhero’s fame and accomplishments.” Or, this, from the chapter on drawing the basic head:

“And worry lines? She doesn’t have ‘em. Angular cheekbones? Only if she’s a supervillain…. The eyeliner treatment is always emphasized to an extreme and gives her glamour.”

Men’s eyes are piercing, women are sultry and “come hither”. I got tired of reading adjectives like “delicate”, “soft and supple”, “exotic”, and “seductive and alluring” when it came to drawing women. I thought this was an art book, not a romance novel. Did you know that a woman’s profile in repose in a superhero comic should “look like she’s almost blowing a kiss”? A guy with only that one thing on his mind should NOT be writing how-to art books for teens — one might get the wrong impression about what he’s trying to teach the young.

Then there’s the actual art, which can be poor. The sexy “gal with a gun” labeled “Natural-Born Killer” doesn’t seem to have any knees or ankles, although her legs are bare. Her grasp on her semi-automatic rifle is insubstantial and her sway-back looks painful. The Warrior Queen has a head smaller than her buttocks and a torso that twists so you can see both breasts and her butt at the same time. (Which means she’s either a yoga master or her spine is a Slinky.)

I couldn’t even force myself through the chapter on “Drawing Sexy Gals”. This collection of stereotypes reads like it fell through a time warp from a couple of decades ago. I’ve picked on the sexist elements because that’s a particular pet peeve, but the treatment of the material throughout is distinctly unflattering to the superhero genre, full of cliches. (The publisher provided a review copy, and gracious, I wish they hadn’t.)

Imagine being immersed in a long, meandering conversation with someone that speaks their mind openly on any and everything. Further imagine that you look at your watch and discovered you’ve been captivated by this person for several hours, and it’s only been the two of you the whole time. That’s what it’s like to read Hayao Miyazaki’s Starting Point: 1979-1996. It’s one of most delightful, enlightening, and at times surprisingly confessional books I’ve read in a great while.

Starting Point: 1979-1996
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Starting Point is a collection of Miyazaki’s writings and interviews. There is a nice bonus in the center of the book, an eight-page, full-color manga on the history of in-flight dining done for Winds, Japan Airlines’ magazine. This is followed by nine black-and-white pages from Miyazaki’s notebooks. (The last three are untranslated so you can see the quality of Miyazaki’s penmanship.) The foreword is by John Lasseter, one of the founders of Pixar and friend of Miyazaki. The afterword is by Isao Takahata, long-time collaborator of Miyazaki and co-founder of Studio Ghibli.

Over the course of the book, the reader is able to develop a well-rounded picture of Miyazaki, both the man and the animator. In high school, Miyazaki originally wanted to be a gekiga manga artist (49). (Gekiga is a style of realistically drawn manga. The stories are often gritty, dark portrayals of modern life.) However, the Japanese animated movie Hakujaden (The Tale of the White Serpent) literally changed his life.

It made me realize that, behind a facade of cynical pronouncements, in actuality I really was in love with the pure, earnest world of film, even if it were only another cheap melodrama. I was no longer able to deny the fact that there was another me — a me that yearned desperately to affirm the world rather than negate it. (70)

Miyazaki went off to college where, surprisingly, he majored in political economics. While in college he was also part of the Children Literature Study Group (311).

In 1963, he was hired by Toei Animation as an in-between animator (the entry-level job for animation companies). He found the daily grind of television animation becoming unbearable. He was ready to return to his former dream of becoming a manga artist, when a Russian animated film reignited his passion. “Had I not one day seen Snedronnigen (The Snow Queen) during a film screening hosted by the company labor union, I honestly doubt that I would have continued working as an animator.” (71)

In 1978, Miyazaki would make his directorial debut with the television series Future Boy Conan (yet to be released in the US). In 1979, Miyazaki directed his first feature film, Lupin III: The Castle of Cagliostro. In 1985, Studio Ghibli was founded. And the rest, as they say, is history.

Miyazaki has a great deal of faith in the unlimited potential of animation as a storytelling medium. In this sense he reminds me of Tezuka, who believed that manga had unlimited potential and was an art form on par with novels, short stories, and theater. I find Miyazaki’s passion for cartoons compelling and share his belief that the only limits to cartoons are the imaginations of animators.

In other words, I am talking about doing something with animation that can’t be done with manga magazines, children’s literature, or even live-action films. I’m talking about building a truly unique imaginary world, tossing in characters I like, and then creating a complete drama using them. Simply put, this is what animation is to me. (17)

He has equally high hopes for what his films will accomplish.

To my way of thinking, creating animation means creating a fictional world. That world soothes the spirit of those who are disheartened and exhausted from dealing with the sharp edges of reality, or suffering from a nearsighted distortion of their emotions. When the audience is watching animation, they are apt to feel light and cheerful or purified and refreshed. (25)

But if we can free ourselves from the various complexes we have and the tangled relationships we are in to live a freer, more open world, we might be able to become strong and heroic. I think everyone entertains thoughts of becoming more beautiful, or more gentle, or of having a more meaningful existence. (306)

His high ambitions for animation have made him a harsh critic of much of the animation he sees. “I frankly despise the truncated word ‘anime’ because it only symbolizes the current desolation of our industry.” (72)

But I’d like to see effort put into filmmaking sufficient to withstand the bare-knuckled criticism that I’m providing here. Cartoons have certain weaknesses that we normally don’t notice, and a type of laxity arises precisely because the films are treated as mere cartoons. (118)

His most vehement criticism is leveled at television animation.

“Producing an animation series merely to fill time slots in the broadcast schedule is like generating cultural pollution.” (186)

TV cartoon shows were all just a bunch of slapdash, amateurish, uninspired, derivative creations. We used to say among ourselves that making them was like working with still-open wounds. (279)

Is it any wonder that one he was given the freedom to make animated films, he never returned to television again?

I was also amazed some of the personal confessions that show up in this book. A touching reflection on his relationship with his father and his perceived failings as a parent, “I tried to be a good father, but in the end I wasn’t a very good parent.” (204) His flaws as a first-time director, “The schedule slipped and I caused a lot of trouble for the staff and the production company. This was entirely due to my failing, as I can only work following my intuition and feelings.” (66) Even his personal shortcomings, “I’m a careless sort of person, so I am often quick to say bad things about people.” (211)

My favorite sections of the book are where he discusses Future Boy Conan and each of his films in detail. We learn Miyazaki didn’t intend for the ending of Nausicaa of the Valley of the Wind to have the religious overtones that it did. But once the film headed in that direction he couldn’t steer it otherwise. (393) Further, we find out Kiki’s Delivery Service was actually made for young women heading to Tokyo to find their first job and make a place for themselves in this world. (262, 378) Porco Rosso was made, “…for tired, middle-aged men whose brain cells have turned to tofu.” (267) There are so many more interesting facts about the production and themes in each of his major works.

So many great quotes can be pulled from this book. There are tons of fascinating ideas that could fuel extended discussions among its readers. Not to mention, lots of behind-the-scenes glimpses of the reality of making animated TV shows and feature films. There is such a wealth of information, no review can truly hope to touch on everything contained within the pages of this book.

I honestly believe that every anime fan needs to read Miyazaki’s Starting Point: 1979-1996. It’s a chance to see deeply inside the anime industry, as well as an opportunity to intimately know one of anime’s greatest directors. I highly recommend Takahata’s afterward as a loving, but brutally honest, portrayal that only a real friend could write. This is also a must-read for American animation fans. It offers a different perspective on cartoons, and how they should be made, than we generally hear in the US. Simply put, this is too significant a book to let simply pass you by. (The publisher provided a review copy.)

Bonus Feature: I showed Johanna what my copy of Starting Point looked like when I was reading it and she thought it would be fun to take a picture of it share with you. So here are my photos. I annotated each photo in an attempt to justify/explain my process.

The Art of the Disney Princess
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I didn’t expect The Art of the Disney Princess to be my kind of thing until KC encouraged me to take a closer look. It’s a beautiful collection of re-imaginings of these Disney characters in all kinds of media and portrayals. The imagination and power and wonder of these female archetypes really come through, and the notes by some of the included artists about their choices add insight.

It’s not all sweetness and light, either. Some of the selections are thought-provoking, as the back of Sleeping Beauty’s head, nothing but a swirl of blonde hair; a mecha-dressed Snow White who looks like she’s about to pilot a fighter; or even weirder, a robot version of Ariel with a switch marked “sing”. On another page, manga-inspired, iconically simple versions reduce the girls to bobbleheads distinguished only by hair and dress colors.

The favorites are here, of course — Cinderella, Aurora (Sleeping Beauty), Belle, Ariel. Jasmine and Mulan are shown in pieces that evoke their cultures, while Snow White’s apple is also a popular symbol. Color plays a prominent role, with unexpected brights providing new context. Other pages draw firmly from the past with evocations of classic work or strong design elements. A set of pieces based on Alphonse Maria Mucha were my favorites. In addition to the usual painted work, there’s lots of “digital media” and the occasional photograph or mixed media. Very pretty, very inspiring.

The Disney Treasures
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My favorite purchase was The Disney Treasures, one of those hardcover scrapbooks with replica memorabilia included, like The DC Vault or The Marvel Vault.

Almost every page of this history has some paper reproduction, whether correspondence, sketches, comics, promo material, the original Disneyland souvenir map and tickets, or samples of licensed food product labels. The book covers cartoons, movies, characters, TV, and the parks. A spread on how Disney produced a lot of insignia for military divisions during the war was particularly interesting to me, since I’d never heard about that part of the company history before. The package also includes a CD of audio rarities, such as 50s radio ads and park dedication speeches. It’s obviously a happy, shallow (due to its short length) company history, but it provides a different take on some familiar stories.

While I’m talking about Disney-related books, we found The Unofficial Guide to Walt Disney World a great help in planning the trip. It’s biggest flaw is its thickness; the size makes it unwieldy to carry with you, so read it ahead of time and make notes on the material that interests you. The ride and restaurant recommendations were great in helping us figure out what to spend our time on.

We’d enjoyed reading Mouse Tales and its sequel, which tell employee behind-the-scenes stories of Disneyland, so we were interested in the Realityland followup, which focuses on Walt Disney World. Unfortunately, it wasn’t nearly as good. The first half of the book is all about the fake shell companies that allowed Disney to buy 27,000 Florida acres and the business, construction, and legal struggles in creating WDW.

After that, it gets morose, with stories of deaths and serious injuries at the park, followed by the deals and decisions that went into EPCOT. While some of the startup stories are amusing, there’s too much on executive changes, stock values, local government conflicts, and other dry business topics. A book on the decision-making at Disney after Walt isn’t a bad thing, but it’s not what I thought I was getting. I found the later chapter on the formation of the Studios, in competition with Universal, the most interesting, although it’s very short in comparison with the rest of the book.

Overall, you’re left with the prevalent feeling “it was better then”, even when it comes to comparing the newer parks (like Animal Kingdom) against the original plans. A depressing tome. Much better to stick with the pretty pictures.

Shoujo Art Studio
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In the West, we’ve come to view shoujo as a way of talking about certain styles of manga and anime — those concerned with relationships and character development — but in Japan, it just means aimed at girls. This means there are no limits to what it can depict, or what you can choose to write and draw about.

Unfortunately, the content of the rest of the book doesn’t really support that statement. The book is really selling templates. The included CD contains character line art, page layouts, word balloons, speedlines, tones, backgrounds, and accessories. You use the art, and you can build manga without drawing much yourself. It’s a print version of something like Tokyopop Manga Creator. Again, from the introduction:

We have done most of the hard work for you… It’s as simple as selecting the look you want, assembling the sections of line art you like, and then transplanting your finished creations into one of the provided page layouts.

“Creation” seems a bit optimistic, given how little actual work the “creator” is doing, but maybe that’s how the word has been redefined in today’s cut-and-paste remix world.

The book is well-designed and easy-to-read, with brightly colored page backgrounds and lots of short text paragraphs with headers to help you find information, but the content is slight. The first 67 pages show you how to use the CD files to create digital manga, which is a huge topic for that short space, especially when (for example) two pages is given over to explaining that you need a mouse, the internet, a printer, and maybe a scanner.

The CD files are in PSD (Photoshop) format, so you’ll need some version of that program. You turn various layers on and off to give the characters different expressions or poses and resize them for closeups. There’s no information on writing — creating an interesting story, figuring out character motivations, or the like — only assembling pre-provided elements to build pages. Although there are 16 pages on coloring, including basic color theory.

The second half of the book is a catalog of the images available on the CD. I’m reminded of the 70s toy Fashion Plates, where you could “design high-fashion outfits” by mixing and matching raised templates and then doing charcoal rubbings. It wasn’t particularly creative then, and it’s not any more so now that it uses a computer instead of plastic plates.

After reading this instruction set, I’m also not sure what makes it specifically “shoujo”, unless it’s an emphasis on typical schoolgirl love stories. In contrast to the optimistic opening, all of the examples use that kind of premise and character look.

I’m fascinated by the book design — I don’t know why they made the CD such a prominent part of the cover, but it does reinforce for the customer that it’s included and its importance. Maybe they wanted the reader to be sure to see the line “Read the enclosed License Agreement before using any image on this disc.” Surprisingly, by my reading, the license does allow you to use the provided material for commercial efforts (so long as it’s not pornographic or obscene); you just can’t redistribute the libraries.

(A complimentary copy for this review was provided by the publisher.)

Otaku: Japan’s Database Animals
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Published in Japan in 2001, Otaku: Japan’s Database Animals became a bestseller. Hiroki Azuma reshaped both academic studies of otaku culture and how otaku understood themselves. The book is finally available in English, allowing American fans and scholars access to this highly influential work.

Otaku is the term used for devoted Japanese fans of anime, manga, and video games. The otaku culture in Japan is similar to the comic book fan culture in the U.S. Otaku are not simply consumers but collectors and enthusiasts. They purchase related merchandise items like figures, posters, jewelry, clothing, etc. They publish fan magazines, set up internet sites dedicated to their favorite series, and write fan fiction. In 2007, the otaku market represented approximately 1.7 billion dollars in sales (p. xv).

Let me begin with a minor translation quibble. In this book, Western and Japanese persons are mentioned. For the Japanese names, the translators have preserved the Japanese order of family name first, given name second. This makes for awkward reading, especially when Western and Japanese names appear in the same paragraph or worse, the same sentence. I can’t find any place in the book where the translators make this clear to the reader. Given this is a translated work, it would be wise to stick with Western name order for all persons to avoid any confusion.

Obviously, such a short review can’t explore or convey the complex arguments that Azuma lays out in his book. So I’ll focus on the central theme by looking at what Azuma means by database and animal. Specifically, Azuma shows how the current generation (born 1980 and after) consumer patterns embody the postmodern worldview (pp. 6,7).

Postmodern Fan Culture

The characteristic of postmodernity most important to Azuma is the loss of grand narratives (pp. 26-29). The hallmark of modernity was the belief that the deep structure of reality could be described in one coherent theory/philosophy. Examples of these grand narratives include Christianity, rationality, humanism, or nationalism. Postmodern criticism has shown either a given narrative is fundamentally flawed in itself, or it doesn’t have the explanatory power or scope that its advocates claimed. Instead, postmodernity has shown that the deep structure of reality is fragmentary and can’t be reduced to one unified theory. At best, we can form small narratives that give us a perspective on a portion of that deeper layer. Azuma prefers to call the fragmentary deep layer of reality the database of reality.

Let’s relate this back to otaku culture. Here, I’ll use examples more familiar to a U.S. audience. An example of modern fan culture would be that based around Star Wars. This was a series that took place within a universe with an elaborately developed backstory. The movies, books, and characters all participate and have a place in this grand narrative. So when we look at Luke Skywalker, we see him as part of a greater whole.

Postmodern fan culture is best seen through the original Aeon Flux series. Those who remember the original five shorts from MTV’s Liquid Television will remember each short ending with Aeon’s violent death. The next short would pick up as if Aeon had survived. The focus in this series is not some epic drama, but on the character Aeon and her current mission. We aren’t given many details about the world she lives in. There was no grand narrative to the original series, just the small narratives of each episode.

Human vs. Animal Culture

The second major concept in Azuma’s book is how this loss of grand narrative affects the nature of who we are. Under modernity, the fundamental characteristic of being human is a desire and quest for meaning. Humans can’t take reality as is; they believe there is something more to the world we live in. By contrast, animals don’t desire deeper meaning. The only thing an animal seeks is to have its needs met. The move from modernity to postmodernity means that homo sapiens are throwing off the artifice of humanness and returning to our animal roots (pg. 67).

Azuma postulates that contemporary otaku culture is thoroughly postmodern in nature. Consumers are no longer looking for grand narratives; they simply want characters that satisfy their criteria of traits. Companies no longer start with a story and then develop characters to fit the story. Instead, you now have a consumer database of desired characteristics (pp. 39-44). Companies cull from this database the appropriate number of traits to form a character, then build a story for the character and develop related merchandise. Some companies, like Pinky Street or Hot Wheels, don’t even bother with story. They simply develop character/product lines that will appeal to otaku needs.

Let’s return to our examples from above. A Star Wars fan purchases merchandise as a way to participate in the grand narrative of that universe. You can’t own the Star Wars story, but you can buy a book or figure and in that way own something representative of the epic story. Here, you are being a human consumer. It’s the Star Wars narrative that motivates your purchase and gives meaning to the products you own.

However, you can only purchase Aeon Flux products as an animal. There’s no grand narrative that motivates you; it’s the character herself. Aeon has traits that you find attractive. Perhaps you admire her beauty, the fact she’s a spy, or her proficiency with weapons. You might then go on to buy similar characters, like other female spy characters or other brunette women proficient with guns. You’re purchasing figures/products because of a desire for characters of a certain type regardless of what series they appear in or if they are even part of a series.

Japanese Consumerism

Finally, Azuma sees otaku culture as being reflective of Japanese consumerism in general. Because of the unique nature of otaku culture, it’s easier to analyze their consumption patterns and the ideology behind those trends. Once you’ve extracted the philosophical model, then you can apply it to other subcultures and general Japanese culture.

What makes Azuma’s argument so persuasive is his knowledge of otaku culture. He understands otaku history. Furthermore, he has an expansive knowledge of anime shows, manga series, video games, and popular characters. He weaves into his argument illustrations drawn from such diverse knowledge. His analyses of Saber Marionette J (pp. 22,23), Di Gi Charat (pp. 39-47), the art of Takashi Murakmi (pp. 63-66), and novel games (pp. 75-86) are amazing. It feels like Azuma’s argument is built on thoughtful observation of and participation in otaku culture and not him trying to force otaku culture into a pre-existing philosophical mold. It’s a brilliant demonstration of how even ‘low culture’ has depth and layers.

Otaku: Japan’s Database Animals is a thought-provoking book. It’s dense at parts because of the complexity of the thought and not because the use of academic jargon. Azuma’s prose is lively and meant to reflect the writing more typical of journalists than scholars. The translators have done an excellent of preserving these qualities of the original.

Application to U.S. Superhero Fans

What amazed me was how relevant Azuma’s discussion is to modern US superhero fans. In fact, you can argue that DC and Marvel pioneered postmodern consumerism. The way both companies have handled their characters over the decades have conditioned fans to follow a character through changing writers, artists, storylines, powers, origin stories, and universe crises. It’s not uncommon to hear fans discuss their love for a character but their dislike for a particular story arc or the way the current creative team is handling the character.

DC has gone even one step further in that there are multiple coexisting narratives or continuities for a character. For example, look at Batman. There are at least four continuities that a fan can choose to follow. First, there is the narrative found in the comic books. Second, there is the continuity of the animated series from the 1990s. Third, the storyline of the live action films. Finally, the narrative of the current animated series. So a fan of Batman can now choose which continuity they find the most likeable and follow that narrative to the exclusion of the others. You can’t get a more perfect example of Azuma’s database animal consumerism where the character is what matters most, not the narrative.

For those looking to understand otaku culture or Japanese scholarship of otaku culture, this is a must read. Given the similarities between otaku culture and U.S. comic book fan culture, it also offers fresh insight there, too. It’s not a easy read, but it’s worth the effort. I would like to see University of Minnesota Press follow up with more of Azuma’s works. My hope is that American comic scholars will read and react to this book in their writings. Having this book in English provides a great opportunity for cross-cultural communication among scholars to promote a deeper, more nuanced understanding of fan culture universally.

(A complimentary copy for this review was provided by the publisher.)

Originally published by TwoMorrows in 2002 (and quickly sold out), Michael Eury’s incredibly thorough Captain Action: The Original Super-Hero Action Figure has recently returned to press — now in hardcover, notably updated, in color on glossy paper!

Captain Action:
The Original Super-Hero Action Figure
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Originally introduced in 1966 as a spin-off of the Batman craze, Captain Action was the first action figure, able to assume the identities of 13 well-known superheroes (assuming you bought the special add-on outfits and accessories). Later, in 1968, the character — without the ability to become other heroes — was developed into comic book form by DC Comics. Both of these were short-lived initially, but Captain Action rapidly became the cult toy for several generations of collectors and fans, leading to recent revivals of both comic and toy. This book offers the complete history of the toy and its development and an examination of the character in comic books.

This new hardcover book is quite spiffy, with virtually all of the previously black-and-white photographs and artwork now in glossy full color — much improved over the slightly muddy reproduction of the color sections in the original book. This new printing also improves on the overall production quality of the book, as the pages now pop and shine, and previously overlooked details (like the watermarked background art) are much more legible. Many of the original photographs have been reshot for color (and more dynamic poses!), and plenty of new photos added of original product releases and packaging. New information covers technical drawings and designs of previously unknown and unproduced toys like Weapon Firing Captain Magic and Talking Caption Action. In fact, there’s so much new stuff (there are now over 200 toy photos), a few illustrations from the first edition — mostly comic book illos of some of the heroes that Captain Action turned into — had to be dropped or turned into watermarks for this new edition. Trust me, you won’t even notice they’re gone.

There’s still plenty of great artwork here, much of it originally unpublished designs and package artwork by the great Murphy Anderson, who also writes the Foreword of the book. There’s also much information on Captain Action in comic books, first at DC Comics in 1968 by Jim Shooter, Wally Wood, and Gil Kane (which is thoroughly discussed in my favorite chapter of the book), then with up-to-the-minute coverage of the current Captain Action revival in a brand new chapter. Also included is information on Captain Action peripherals — mostly vehicles and weapons — and the little known (at least by me) “Super Queens” line featuring Wonder Woman, Batgirl, Supergirl, and Mera.

There’s also an Afterword by longtime Captain Action foe Dr. Evil which I just read… and am now compelled to demand that TwoMorrows also publish an equally beautiful book devoted exclusively to Dr. Evil! Bwah Hah Hah!

(A complimentary copy for this review was provided by Dr. Evil.)

Apparently lost in the flood of Wolverine product that accompanied the theatrical release of the Wolverine film last May, The Wolverine Files is actually a pretty fine overview of Wolverine and his long and twisted history, and it is much better written than many of the similar books released around that time.

The Wolverine Files
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Creatively written by longtime comics pro Mike W. Barr (Camelot 3000, Batman and the Outsiders, The Maze Agency), The Wolverine Files is presented as the official S.H.I.E.L.D. dossier on Wolverine, with documents and interview transcriptions (frequently redacted). That allows Barr the opportunity to write in a number of different character “voices”, including Natasha Romanova (Black Widow), Dr. Walter Langkowski (Sasquatch of Alpha Flight), Dr. Hank McCoy (The Beast), several notable S.H.I.E.L.D. agents (including Clay Quartermain, Jimmy Woo, and Jasper Sitwell), and various CIA or S.W.O.R.D. witnesses to the more important events of Logan’s very long life. A number of different media — including classified documents, handwritten notes, and blueprints and diagrams — are included. And the files are heavily illustrated with artwork and reprinted panels from the original comics to hammer home the points made in the text.

The Files are broken down into broad categories: Origins (eyewitness accounts of the early life of James Howlett and of the Weapon X program), History (remarkable accounts of Wolverine sightings at key points over the last century), Territories (Canada, Madripoor, Tokyo, and others), Allies (various team memberships and relationships with Captain America, The Hulk, and Ka-Zar), The Women in His Life (including Jean Gray, Kitty Pryde, Jubliation Lee, Silver Fox, Lady Mariko Yashida, and more), Enemies (Sabertooth, Magneto, Ogun, Silver Samurai, Viper, and others), as well as small sections on Wolverine’s adventures in Time and Space and Alternate Realities.

The Files are enhanced by comments throughout by Nick Fury himself. Fury, a longtime associate of Wolverine (since WW II), knows exactly when his agents are BS-ing him about Logan’s history, and he ain’t shy in telling ‘em so! My only — infinitesimal — nitpick about Fury’s presence here is that over in the current MU, he hasn’t been involved with S.H.I.E.L.D. for a number of years. I don’t care — he’s my favorite Marvel character!

The production quality of the book is very high and the graphics especially are well chosen and large. The design of the book is pretty bland, but it does look like a file, so at least it’s accurate. A bound-in string-closed file is filled with “secret” stuff — including reproductions of a signed Dave Cockrum sketch of Nightcrawler, Wolverine, and Colossus; a Wolverine sketch by Tim Townsend; X-Men Vol. 2 #100 and #112 cover sketches by Cockrum; a signed Wolverine sketch by Cockrum; and early costume sketches by John Romita. These are quite cool and help to explain the cover price of the book.

Much less impressive is the slipcover for the hardcover book. Despite its great design and die-cut claw marks, the slipcase is one of the flimsiest I’ve ever seen. It offers very little in the way of protection for the book, and it has to be carefully handled or it will tear because of the huge die-cuts. Despite this, The Wolverine Files is still a fine overview of one of the most popular (and complicated) characters in comics, and worth seeking out. (Or as a great easy-to-find item for your Christmas want list!)

(A complimentary copy for this review was provided by the publisher.)

It’s hard to believe, but Bill Watterson’s remarkable Calvin and Hobbes has been missing from the funny pages of your local newspaper for almost 15 years now. The cartoon duo’s last public appearance was in 2005, with the release of the 26-pound The Complete Calvin and Hobbes — the heaviest book to ever hit the New York Times bestseller list. The last public appearance of the strip’s creator, Bill Watterson, is a little bit harder to pin down. After years of furious, mostly behind-the-scenes battles with his syndicate, product licensors, the occasional cartoonist peer, and ultimately with fame itself, the exhausted Watterson decided to take his ball — as well as his spikey-haired six-year-old and his stuffed tiger — and quietly go home. Calvin and Hobbes ended on December 31, 1995. And the world has been a little less magical since.

Looking for Calvin and Hobbes
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In making this choice, Watterson has become one of the most talked-about recluses of the contemporary art world, this generation’s J.D. Salinger. And you know what, he has every right to do so.

In Looking for Calvin and Hobbes, a new book about Watterson by Nevin Martell, the author wastes no time in his stated premise. He’s out to track down the reclusive Watterson and get the ultimate interview. It sounds like he’s stalking some rare species of tiger (Hobbes?) for a bad cable reality show. The mock-cliffhanger ending of the introduction — “Will I get the ultimate interview?” — comes off as a crass writing trick to propel the reader through the book, as if it is some sort of mystery to be solved.

There’s no mystery. Watterson is obviously pretty much done with his public life — and if he isn’t, he’s calling the shots about when and where he’ll be appearing next, if at all. Any proposed “search” for him creeps into the realm of stalkerazzi. Additionally, Martell breaks the cardinal rule of all good “reporters”: he ends up being part of his own story. Parts of the narrative are devoted to his hopes and dreams of speaking with Watterson or what steps he takes to track him down.

But it’s not as if the book is totally without merit. If you can get past his “quest”, Martell has done some incredible research into Watterson’s early life and his entry into the admittedly frustrating world of syndicated comic strips, including his failed attempts at political cartooning. Plus, Martell has scored a remarkable number of interviews with the people who know Watterson best: family and friends, former co-workers and editors, and — most interesting of all — Watterson’s fellow comic strip artists, both peers and younger artists inspired by Watterson.

Not all of these testimonials are generous. Watterson rankled a lot of the old guard of comic strip professionals, perhaps deliberately, in his often blunt comments about why comic strips are dying. But Watterson had his champions as well, most notably Berkeley Breathed (Bloom County, Opus) and Lynn Johnston (For Better or for Worse), who may have provided the very personal reason for why Watterson ultimately decided to fold Calvin and Hobbes. Other notable commentators include Brad Bird, Dave Berry, Harvey Pekar, Patton Oswalt, Jeff Smith, and Jonathan Lethem. Many of these insights are just as compelling, or telling, about Watterson as what might be disclosed by the creator himself.

Also fascinating are the stories told by former “soldiers” from the comic strip syndicates. Watterson saved much of his contempt for the syndicates and their greed and lack of foresight, so he can’t have always been a pleasant person to work with, but most of the the former editors and executives (many now retired) who speak here are very candid about situations which most likely vexed Watterson. Former United Features Syndicate staffers Sarah Gillespie and Dave Hendlin tell some horrifying anecdotes about corporate focus groups and marketing directives which ultimately drove Watterson away from United to Universal Press Syndicate. At Universal, Lee Salem became Watterson’s editor (and ultimately the president of the syndicate), and he provides some essential background into Watterson’s working habits and relationship to the syndicate.

One other major shortcoming of the book is not Martell’s fault, although he inadvertently exacerbates the problem with his excellent descriptions of Watterson’s artwork. The problem? No artwork is included (or at least not in the galley that I’m reviewing from). I can sort of understand why there is no Calvin and Hobbes artwork here, and frankly, I’d be surprised if anyone reading this book doesn’t already have at least one collection of the strip on their bookshelf that they can quickly reference.

But Martell spends a substantial chunk of the book discussing Watterson’s early struggles to land a syndicated strip. He describes in detail the editorial cartoons, spot newspaper illustrations, yearbook and other high school drawings, and many other early examples of Watterson’s development as an artist. Why is none of this here? (Fortunately, five minutes on Google will get you to much of this early work, including Watterson’s occasional reviews, transcripts of his speeches, and other ephemera).

The cover of the book, with the just-allowable slivers of Calvin’s foot and Hobbes’ tail, screams “Unauthorized!” and therefore also plays into the tabloid-y feel of the project — which is very unfortunate. Because deep down, this really is a wonderful, warm, and informative book that manages to capture just the right amount of magic about the creator and his creation. It also accomplishes one other very important thing — anyone who reads it will be compelled to pull their Calvin and Hobbes collections off the shelves and spend a lovely, happy weekend re-reading them.

The whole thing about writing a book about an artist without any of his artwork in it reminds me of the well-traveled and impossible-to-attribute quote about rock music, “Talking about music is like dancing about architecture.” That’s something I hope that Martell would appreciate, being a rock writer himself. (And BTW, I think Frank Zappa probably said it first. Or Martin Mull.) Looking for Calvin and Hobbes by Nevin Martell is a 256-page hardcover that will be available in October from Continuum. (A complimentary preview galley for this review was provided by the publisher.)

The DC Comics Guide to
Digitally Drawing Comics
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I was previously unfamiliar with Freddie E Williams II, probably because he only began working for DC in 2006, and I cut back on my superhero reading around then. His best-known credits are Robin, The Flash, and Final Crisis Aftermath: Run. He works entirely digitally, providing him the expertise for this book.

The book aims to teach an artist how to create a comic page completely on computer. Such a process is promised to provide quality work faster, since touch-ups, corrections, and delivery (among other factors) take less time. Williams explains a full digital workflow, from start to finish, after introductory chapters on how he got started and pros and cons of the method. Pros: it’s easier to experiment, flexibility in tweaking, no physical scanning, cleaner pages, and reusing backgrounds. Cons: cost of equipment (although he also talks about saving by not having to buy pencils, pens, and other tools), the risk of data loss, and lack of original art to sell. To counteract the last, Williams has taken to hand-inking some pages (he selects the most dynamic and desirable) as a final step. He provides what he calls “hybrid workflows” like this to encourage artists who want to incorporate computers into their process without going all the way.

Williams has worked digitally for most of his professional career, so I’d be interested in hearing some artists who have done more work “by hand” comment on this section. I’m surprised there aren’t more cons — for instance, his pro titled “You can resize and tweak forever” seems like it would also be a downside in the wrong hands. And we can all think of times when artists have gotten carried away with their digital tools to create silly-looking pages, as with the overuse of lens flare. I suppose you can’t really blame the tools for that, though, since there are also artists who get carried away with traditional methods, like cross-hatching.

The book assumes use of Photoshop with a Wacom tablet, and the tools and techniques are expressed in terms of menus and palettes for that particular application. The meat of the material is contained in these core chapters:

• Digital and Hybrid Workflows — The all-digital flow features roughs, wireframes, and inks done on computer, while the others use printouts and hand techniques at various parts of the process. Includes a step-by-step exercise.
• The Master Page — Creating a template that matches your publisher’s requirements. Williams also saves script pages, sketch ideas, and reference images in his Photoshop files as separate layers.
• Time-Saving Libraries — Organizing reference material, stencils of superhero logos (which can be automatically put into the proper perspective), buildings and backgrounds, brushes and textures, and recording actions (macros).
• Digital Roughs — Page layouts and initial setups.
• Wireframes — Building the page structure by layering characters (using a “cardboard cutout” technique) and backgrounds to refine compositions.
• Pencil Hybrid Workflow — In case of working with a separate inker, or if the art is going “direct to color” without traditional inking, the artist creates printed breakdowns that are penciled over.
• Inks — How to “digitally replicate the look of some traditional inking techniques”, whether inking over wireframes, finished pencils, or hand inking.

I can’t really judge the specifics of the book’s techniques, since my Photoshop knowledge stops after crop and resize. But the approaches presented here struck me as professional and reasonable. They’ll certainly spur good habits in an artist who wants help organizing their work and process in a repeatable system. An accomplished illustrator will likely make their own modifications to the workflows and instructions presented here, but it seems a fine starting point. Typical of the books in this series, an assembly-line workflow is assumed, with Williams receiving a script from someone else, passing off his pages to different colorists and letterers, and working under the supervision of an editor, who provides direction, approves work, and makes some artistic decisions, like cover designs.

The book will be released on September 1. A complimentary copy for this review was provided by the publisher.

The Best of Simon and Kirby
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Grouped by genre — heroes, science fiction, war and adventure, romance, crime, western, horror, and sick humor — each section has an introductory essay by Kirby expert Mark Evanier. The book’s introduction is by Joe Simon himself, breezily covering the team’s history and many firsts.

The oversized hardcover is a pleasure to read due to the excellent reproduction and coloring on thick matte paper. Some of the work is rough — panel layouts that require arrows to show what to read next, dialogue balloons in the wrong order, bizarrely misshapen heads — but the energy and imagination and fast-paced action are there from the beginning.

Aside from reprints of stories from such titles as Captain America #1, Adventure Comics #75 (the Sandman vs. the Norse god Thor), Fighting American #2, and Blue Bolt #4, there’s also the debut of Stuntman, a promising title with circus and Hollywood settings killed by lack of distribution and too much competition. The stories date from 1940 to 1960, a wide-ranging overview. Most interesting to me were the lesser-seen war and romance ones. The book kept my interest all the way through, and this is perhaps the first time I’ve truly appreciated the skill of Kirby’s artwork.

Here’s some preview pages. This is promised to be only the first volume in The Official Simon and Kirby Library. Future volumes will be genre-specific: romance, horror, crime, and superheroes. (A complimentary copy for this review was provided by the publisher.)

This textbook is arranged in 15 lessons that promise to teach the reader “the foundations of visual storytelling”. And you know, given the authors, I believe them. Matt Madden previously created the amazing 99 Ways to Tell a Story, as well as the graphic novel Odds Off. Jessica Abel’s works include La Perdida and Life Sucks, and together, they have taught years’ worth of comic courses, gaining important practical experience in what works instructionally. (And because they’re artists, they can also draw themselves into the book.)

Drawing Words & Writing Pictures
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The book is designed so that it can be used either in a classroom or for independent study (as so often happens — comics have reached a point where some formal study is available, but the majority of practitioners are still self-taught). And the authors are careful to treat comics as an art form, not a genre, so that the book applies to aspiring artists whether they want to create superheroes, manga, independent/art comics, or webcomics.

The 15-lesson structure mimics a 15-week college course of 3 to 6 hours a class, and the companion website has teaching guides (including ways to select material to fit courses of different lengths), examples of student work, lists of supplies needed per chapter, and links and downloadable extras. The material covers both technical skills (such as lettering) and writing considerations (story structure, developing characters).

Chapters include activities (to be done in class or a group), homework (done individually between sessions/chapters), and recommendations for further reading. Sidebars present tips, information on art supplies, definitions, and other background material. It’s a very well-laid out book — although with a strange fondness for orange, the only color in the otherwise black-and-white book — that demonstrates how much thought went into this project. It’s horizontal, for example, so no matter where in the book you are, it will stay open to the page you want without having to hold it with one hand.

As expected, the first chapter covers definitions and terminology. They don’t get bogged down in “what is comics?”, but it’s important that they get students on the same page in considering “comics” a medium, not a genre or a format, as well as establishing common structural terms. (And I appreciated the sidebar called “Can’t draw?” I think even those who want to only write comics should read and learn from this book as well.)

Actual creation begins with one-panel work: sensible for a time-limited class setting, but one of the most difficult for communication. (If you want to show action and reaction, more panels makes it easier.) I applaud them challenging their students this way — they’re starting with the basic blocks of combining words and images to understand how the two together make magic.

Other chapters cover, in addition to expected topics like penciling (which focuses on figure drawing and tools and mechanics, not illustration), thumbnails, panel transitions, page design and layout, world-building and observation, inking (2 chapters, one each for pen and brush), and scanning. The lettering chapter makes a strong case for hand lettering as an essential skill and better for comics aesthetically (especially if done in both upper- and lower-case). I also appreciated the short mentions of topics such as “how to use a photocopier” and “correct posture” and “stretches”. Appendices cover supplies, how to critique, story-generating ideas, how to do a comic book report, and making minicomics.

Because they’re structuring lessons in ways unexpected, the student will learn much more than they realize. Instead of merely the usual functional breakdown — writing, drawing, inking, etc. — this book is based on principles, progressing from juxtaposition to sequence, timing, and so on. It’s a much more fundamental approach that will result in a fuller understanding of the medium, not just craft construction.

The book itself is an easy read, written in the tone of a coach instead of a schoolteacher. (While that profession is under-valued and admirable, the associations are uncomfortable.) The text is conversational, with personality, yet the content is the most important part. You can get through it quickly, picking up lots of information along the way, but you’re not going to truly benefit from it unless you commit to working with it, engaging in the exercises and actually creating comics. Unfortunately, if you’re following it on your own, you’re going to miss out on the critiques that are a major follow-on part to the homework and activity sections.

This is the first book about making comics that is truly a textbook. It’s not just about how to draw, but how to create and design stories. It incorporates both theory and practice. It moves, step-by-step, from the basics to more advanced lessons, until at the end, the student has made their own minicomic. A second volume is in the works, planned to cover such advanced topics as how to create a graphic novel, publishing, and distribution.

There is an excerpt available at the publisher’s website. The two authors were interviewed online about their aims for the book and their backgrounds. Here’s another review by a working artist and teacher. Last year, an online group formed to do a kind of independent study based on the book, but they seemed to have petered out after chapter 5. (A complimentary copy for this review was provided by the publisher.)

The Comics Before 1945 (hardcover)
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Each decade from 1900 through the forties gets a chapter, consisting of an introduction that sets the historical stage, both culturally and in terms of significant comic strip changes; a series of one-page biographical profiles of key artists from that period, followed by examples of their work; and samples of other key strips of the period, often grouped thematically. There are also short pieces on cultural issues, such as the use of racial caricature and changing roles for female characters (praised for being both “hardworking and attractive”; although there are no female artists profiled in the book, there is a short section mentioning some of the best-known names in the 40s chapter introduction).

The decade overviews are written as surveys, briefly mentioning as much as possible in a dry, reporter-like “just the facts” style. As the book progresses, strips change from goofy comedy drawn in ways that look incredibly immature to our eyes to cliffhanger-driven adventure tales with fine illustration and graphically developed styles.

The biggest problem with the book is the same that mars any such survey volume: the desire for more. One or two strips from classic runs are hardly enough to understand why they’re so revered, but the only way to solve that would be to make it a DVD instead of a book, and reading comic strips on a screen would be even further removed from the original experience. Many of the better-known later period adventure strips are becoming available in comprehensive reprint volumes from other publishers, though.

I still don’t understand why Krazy Kat is so beloved, but I got to see Blondie back when she was a flapper and Dagwood a millionaire’s son. I look forward to seeing the companion volume, The Comics Since 1945, where I’ll be more familiar with the strips it contains.