While still boasting an over-the-top approach, Jupiter’s Legacy mercifully seems a bit more toned down in its more extreme approach to the super-hero genre than Millar’s other more recent super-hero satire/deconstruction projects, such as Kick-Ass and Nemesis. There’s a lot more subtext to be found here, as Millar isn’t really telling a super-hero story. The intent is clearly of a cultural and socio-political commentary on the state of America in the 21st century. There’s an interesting balance of hope and cynicism to be found here that allows Jupiter’s Legacy to stand apart from other “Millarworld” fare. Mind you, while the themes and ideas are engaging and thought-provoking, what the storytelling boasts in the way of subtext, it lacks in terms of subtlety. But that’s OK… who’s expecting subtlety from a Millar script? Also coming as no surprise is the strength of Frank Quitely’s linework. Though I wish his character designs included a more diverse array of body types, he imbues the cast with powerful presences and intensity.

Following the stock market crash of 1929 that threatened to bring America to her knees, Sheldon Sampson and a group of loyal friends set out to find a mysterious island that couldn’t possibly exist but promised to hold the cure of all of society’s ills. They succeeded, and in the process, became gods walking the earth. Today, their super-heroic legacy is to be passed on to their children, but Sampson’s children and other young superhumans feel smothered by their parents’ reputations and achievements as they wallow in a culture of celebrity and privilege.

Quitely’s art in the opening scene — especially the glimpses of the seemingly magical island — put me in mind of John Cassaday’s stellar work on Warren Ellis’s Planetary. There’s an unmistakably mythic look to the figures and backdrops, and Quitely’s presentation of the island is perhaps most noteworthy for what it doesn’t show than what it does. The island looks like only part of the picture. I felt as though I was looking at a single vertebra from the spine of some behemoth of a creature.

The Planetary riff is also quite strong in the writing for that opening scene as well. The group of explorers, determined to forge ahead toward the unknown, reminded me of it, but the characters and premise also evoke other pop-culture references as Ellis did (albeit in a more indirect way here). The voyage toward an impossible island touches upon King Kong, and Sheldon’s imposing, dashing nature, clad in his exploration togs, brings with it a Doc Savage resonance. Now, Sheldon’s friends’ failure to show any measure of doubt stretches credibility beyond its limit; that no one (other than a skeptical boat captain) expresses any rational sentiment in the face of the completely irrational motive for their adventure is more than a little hard to swallow, but it’s a hurdle worth surpassing to get to the meat of the story.

It’s interesting to compare the designs Quitely’s come up with for the various super-heroes, both the classic Golden Age parents and the 21st century kids. The former boast simple, modest designs, iconic in their appearance, with bright colors. The younger superhumans boast more utilitarian, less striking looks, and the women are scantily clad. Their outfits are designed for titillation rather than inspiration. The one exception among the senior heroes is Walter, the dissatisfied, dissident voice among the original group of adventurers. His 21st century outfit is dark, basic and militaristic in appearance, reflecting the views he’s expressing about eliminating freedoms to ensure security.

I must also acknowledge the strength of the work of colorist Peter Doherty, who enhances Quitely’s line art wonderfully. It’s particularly apparent in the opening scene. The rough, dirty texture he adds to the walls in an overseas watering hole in the 1930s makes for an interesting contrast with the seemingly perfect skin tone of the American adventurers. And I love the haze he adds to the sea voyage, which adds to the tension and mystery of the characters’ quest.

Walter and Sheldon’s conversation in the latter part of the issue is a distorted reflection of the more hopeful and agreeable talk they have in the opening scene. They once shared a vision for a prosperous America, but over the years, they’ve clearly diverged, with the Utopian embracing a life of service to America and hope to achieve his goal while Walter eyes the use of power they’ve been given to force that ideal into reality. It’s a classic liberal/conservative conflict that clearly favors the former perspective and offers a pointed (and again, far from subtle) commentary on the state of America today. But on second thought, given recent events in the gun debate, one could view it in another light — that Walter represents an overbearing state trying to ensure safety through legislation while Sheldon sees the collateral damage of his approach a price worth paying for certain freedoms and principles. Sheldon’s and Walter’s powers also reflect their polarized relationship — one is an unstoppable physical powerhouse and the other a master of the mind.

In many ways, Jupiter’s Legacy carries on similar themes and notions that were expounded in Mark Waid and Alex Ross’s Kingdom Come, in which the heroes of the Golden and Silver ages see their mission and ideals twisted and distorted by the modern generation of so-called “heroes.” Kingdom Come seemed more like a statement about the genre itself and how grim, violent elements led to creators and readers losing sight of what made super-heroes special. Jupiter’s Legacy seems to cast its critical eye more widely. Millar takes aim at a modern culture of celebrity and entitlement. Brandon and Chloe Sampson strike me as standins. They’re Lindsay Lohan and Charlie Sheen and Taylor Swift and Justin Bieber and all those Kardashians; what they offer isn’t so much talent but fodder for a celebrity-driven, 24-hour news cycle. Sheldon’s crew represents the Greatest Generation, whereas their children seem to be the Greediest Generation. 8/10

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This one-shot collects three short stories that ran in Dark Horse Presents #s 14-16, and apparently, I’ve been missing out since I stopped following that title. I stopped reading it regularly because like most anthologies, it tended to be a mixed bag. But apparently, the best features in DHP aren’t just good, they’re great, if these comedic strips are any indication. This over-the-top satire of the buddy-cop genre is peppered with sci-fi elements, making for an experience as surreal as it is silly. And yes, I mean that in a good way. The only truly disappointing thing about this weird and wonderful comic book is a hyphenated term on the cover: “one-shot.” I desperately hope this isn’t the last we see of these oddball, genre cop characters. The dialogue and juxtaposition of so many ludicrous, over-the-top story elements and designs are unrelentingly hilarious. This reprint comic is bound to fly under the radar for many readers, but it’s well worth the effort to seek out a copy. I owe my local comics retailer a big thank you for putting one in my hands.

One’s a sophisticated robot created in the 1970s designed for law enforcement that approaches his job with a by-the-book attitude (as one would expect from a programmed artificial intelligence). The other is an impulsive space cop whose addiction issues led to his demotion to the New York Police Department. They’re partners, and they fight crime. Well, not so much crime as living, breathing natural disasters that happen to be as tall as skyscrapers. They’re not exactly the kinds of cases Riggs and Murtaugh can deal with. They’re Uranus and T.A.Z.E.R., and they’re driving the city’s insurance rates through the roof.

Evan Shaner shares the sort of seemingly simple approach to comic art that’s been in vogue as of late, comparable to the styles of such artists as Paul Azaceta, David Aja, Gabriel Hardman and others. Typically, we see this sort of work on less zany fare, but it works incredibly well nevertheless. His monster designs are as inspired as the demented imagination that directed him to craft them. What really sells the comedy throughout the comic, though, are the characters’ facial expressions. Despite the weird and goofy tone of the concepts here, there’s an oddly realistic approach to much of the material. The protagonists’ anatomy and the cityscapes that serve as the backdrop for the giant-monster action are quite convincing.

This comic book reads like it was written by the bastard love child of K.M. DeGiffeis (not a real dude, but two real dudes — see the 1980s era of Justice League) and Matt Fraction (the one who wrote those Rex Mantooth and Casanova comics, not all that Marvel super-hero epic stuff). Nate Cosby’s humor here is both brainy and bawdy, clever and crude all at once. He tears apart action movies, science fiction and super-heroes all at once. Cosby had me hooked with his comedic writing with the second sentence on the first page: “He got drunk a bunch by putting beer in his mouth.” The odd composition of the sentence struck me as hilarious. “Putting beer in his mouth” seems both like the author was drunk when he wrote it and it conveys the extreme nature of the drunkenness to be featured in the story. It’s not that he drank a lot — he was just PUTTING BEER IN HIS MOUTH. It goes beyond drinking, beyond drunk. I absolutely love it.

The smartest thing Cosby does with the property is limit the length of the stories. Yeah, he would have been limited in part by the format of Dark Horse Presents, but this is the sort of material that works well in short form in that anthology format. The extreme nature of the characters, plots and comedy seems to work well in small doses. Buddy Cops works as a drive-by hooting. 9/10

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I don’t have any particular affection for the Red Circle super-hero characters. I have few examples of past iterations of these characters and comics in my collection, though there’s no denying the long life and staying power of the properties. Writer Ian Flynn (and an editorial committee, judging from the credit given to a “Red Circle braintrust” here) has opted to take a legacy approach to the Crusaders, distinguishing more familiar incarnations of the heroes as a Golden/Silver Age generation and introducing a new group of young heroes who find themselves forced to carry on their parents’/mentors’ mission. Flynn is hardly breaking new ground here, but fans of such heroic legacy stories (once the domain of DC’s Justice Society stories, before its New 52 relaunch) might enjoy what they find here. The overly conventional and familiar tone of the plot and characters, though, combined with a conflict between the visual tone of the storytelling and slightly harsh elements in the plot, left me with kind of a middling feeling, not only once I was finished reading the book but as I made my way from page to page, chapter to chapter.

The members of the Mighty Crusaders gather for a long-overdue reunion, bringing their kids and protégés (who are unaware of their elders’ heroic identities and powers) along for a day of good food and company. Not surprisingly, an old enemy, long thought to be dead, chooses this moment to attack, wiping out the colorful champions. Saved by the quick thinking of the Shield, the kids learn their folks were the original Mighty Crusaders, and the Shield and his allies take steps to ensure the youths can pick up the heroic mantles to become the New Crusaders.

Despite the participation of two pencillers in this collection of the first six issues of the series, there’s a fairly uniform style throughout the volume, and that might be thanks to the efforts of the single inker, longtime comics pro Gary Martin. The overall style here clearly exhibits a strong manga influence, though at times I was reminded a great deal of the former house style for animation adaptations of DC properties, as established by Bruce Timm. There’s a bright, light tone that dominates the book, and for a title that features new, energetic incarnations of old super-hero concepts, it’s a solid approach for the art.

The problem is that the plot doesn’t follow that example (or the art doesn’t follow the plot’s, I suppose). Flynn seems to adapt a slightly grim-n-gritty approach to the storytelling, killing off an entire generation of super-heroes to make way for the new one. He even resorts to the “shocking death” gimmick later in the book, taking out one of the teen heroes. Save for that “surprise,” the lighter tone of the designs and visuals almost blind the reader to the fact that murder and massacre are peppered through this story. It’s almost routine, and it just doesn’t seem like a good fit for these characters and the look that’s established.

Speaking of those looks, I did enjoy the designs for the various new heroes. I’m not who’s responsible for them — the art extras in the back of this book are limited to a gallery of covers and variants for the original issues — but some are striking. Fly-Girl’s is particularly eye-catching (without sexualizing her), and the decision to complete discard the original look for the Comet when developing the new one was a wise choice as well.

I feel compelled to point out a particular pet peeve about this book that’s unrelated to the quality of the storytelling: the price — or to be more specific, the Canadian price. Despite the fact this was published and printed at a time when the Canadian dollar is actually stronger than its American counterpart, the Canadian price for this volume is listed as being $3 more than the American price. While I don’t imagine Canucks make up a particularly large portion of the publisher’s target demographic, the disconnect between the pricing and reality seems like a rather lazy, old-school approach to the book marketplace.

In terms of the writing, what Flynn does best here is establish a sense of history and continuity here. One needn’t be familiar with these characters to appreciate the plot and action, but he also conveys a larger context that will appeal to super-hero genre fans who are used to a shared-universe backdrop.

I have to admit one of my favorite parts of this book are those that brush up against the fourth wall and wink at long-time comics readers and industry history buffs. Flynn has incorporated a number of references to the diverse (or, from another perspective, scattered) publishing history of the Crusaders characters. He’s included references to several of the different imprints and publishers that have handled these properties over their decades-long history; Red Circle, MLJ, Blue Ribbon, Impact — all of these obscure and not-so-subtle references made me smile. Still, while they tickled the part of my brain that loves comics in general, they really had little to do with the story and characters. Ultimately, the reader is left with a rather ordinary super-hero yarn that doesn’t quite know what it wants to be. 6/10

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But when it’s Marvel and DC, it’s a bitter pill to swallow. Actually, sometimes, it can feel more like a suppository than a pill. However, when it comes to Marvel’s more expensive, 20-page titles, there’s a way to eliminate the discomfort and even bring your out-of-pocket expense down below the typical $2.99 price many comics customers would prefer.

Marvel includes in its $3.99 (and up, sometimes) comics a “free” digital download code, or, as it’s advertising on the covers of such comics these days, a “bonus digital edition.” Inside such a comic, one can find a code, covered by a glossy little piece of paper.

Now, I’m not interested in downloading these “free” digital comics. I prefer my comics reading material to be tangible, and I typically find reading comics on a computer screen to be a less-than-satisfying experience. So I’m left with these codes, meant to be value-added items that turn out to be rather useless to me.

But not to others.

I discovered a few months ago some folks sell these codes on eBay. The same is done by some people when it comes to digital copies of DVDs/Blu-Rays, so a similar development in the world of comics was a foreseeable development.

The eBay practice isn’t something that seems to be curbed in any way, so I don’t know if it qualifies as a “grey market” for comics or not. There’s nothing overtly listed in the details outlined by Marvel that precludes the resale of the codes. The only real conditions mentioned on the page featuring the code are the following: “Digital copy requires purchase of a physical comic. Download code valid for one use only.” There’s no mention that the person who bought the comic is the only one who can use it, nor does Marvel state the code isn’t for resale.

I rarely list my codes on eBay anymore because I’ve developed a short list of regular customers who are happy to send me some money via Paypal for the codes. I typically get around $1.99 per code, but one has to bear in mind Paypal takes its cut every time. Nevertheless, that makes my net cost for a Marvel comic priced at $3.99 US to about $2.36. And when one factors in the discount I get from my comics retailer, I shell out less than $2 for a $3.99 Marvel (plus applicable taxes).

Is the resale of these codes good for the marketplace? It depends on your stance. Take wholly illegal, copyright-infringing downloads of comics through torrent sites. While many are vehemently opposed to them, several industry insiders have relayed that illegal downloads of comics are, in the long run, good for the marketplace, and they lead to many online consumers of such files to seek out the printed products through conventional, profitable means. If one subscribes to that thinking, then these potentially “grey-market” digital comics would logically be of benefit to comics publishers and retailers as well.

Interestingly, I’ve never been able to find corresponding eBay listings for download codes of DC titles. DC offers combo packs of its $3.99 titles at $4.99 US, which include the physical copy of the comic and a digital one. I’ve never really looked at those combo packs or the codes, but given the apparent absence of any such codes on eBay, I assume the procedure for downloading DC’s titles makes resale of the digital copies difficult.

Or maybe nobody’s bothered because of the extra buck tacked onto the $3.99 price tag. Maybe some investigation/experimentation is in order…

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At my local comic shop, there’s a slightly unusual entry on my pull list: “Anything by Jonathan Hickman from Image.” I don’t need to know what a new Hickman creator-owned title is about; I don’t need to know who the artist is — I know it’s going to be something I want to read, and East of West continues that track record. It’s certainly an ambitious storytelling experiment. Hickman is no stranger to developing alternate histories in which to set his stories, but this transformation of America into seven separate nations seems particularly ambitious. But the story’s not really about an America moulded by prophecy, the Civil War and spiritualism. What this is really about is the apocalypse — or to be more precise, the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. I really don’t think the hero of the story has even presented himself yet, but I’m definitely captivated by the intensity of the plotting and characterization. Hickman plays around with genre to great effect, but it does make for a complex and challenging read at times. Fortunately, it’s a challenge well worth taking on.

The prophecies of a select few a couple of centuries ago have shaped America into a very different place, one made up of seven distinct nations guided by conflicting philosophies. As a result, this land in the mid 21st century is a harsh and dangerous place. More akin to the Wild West than any vision of a futuristic utopia, the Seven Nations are the perfect backdrop for the return of the Four Horsemen. There’s just one catch — this time, only three arose at a place to magic and power. One of the Horsemen has cast its destructive mission aside, giving its now-angry siblings a new target.

I was thrown by the art style I found waiting for me inside this comic book, as artist Nick Dragotta’s name is rather similar to that of frequent Hickman collaborator Nick Pitarra. Dragotta’s style is much different than that of Pitarra, but it’s just as effective in bringing Hickman’s skewed, complex vision to life. His work here reminds me a bit of a cross between the styles of Paul (Leave It to Chance) Smith and Mark (Fables) Buckingham, and it occurs to me his work is also reminiscent of that of Criss (Captain Marvel, Slingers) Cross. The designs, especially for the Three Horsemen, are simple but striking, and I couldn’t help but notice how the elder Prophet Longstreet, once a Confederate soldier, bears a strong resemblance to the symbol of America, Uncle Sam. Dragotta’s elongated figures manage to capture and convey a strong sense of power and grant the central characters an imposing presence.

Frank Martin’s colors add a great deal to the visual side of the storytelling here. The glowing tones he employs reinforce the arid, desolate nature of several settings; the mysticism running throughout the plot; and the dark brutality of several developments in the story. He also capably distinguishes the “historical” flashbacks with a washed-out look, as though he overexposed the art when adding the muted colors. The lack of hairlines for the panels depicting those scenes further adds to the effect. Also on display in the art is the trademark sense of design Hickman brings to so much of his work. The convergence of triangles to represent the Horsemen and how one is central to the story while the other three surround it sums up the essentially simple idea at the heart of this meticulously constructed history and mythology.

Due to the strong Western-genre riff running through this story, I couldn’t help but be reminded of the work of Garth Ennis on Just a Pilgrim. Sure, there’s no shortage of dystopian Western stories out there, but the overall tone of Hickman’s dialogue and the character concepts reminded me of Ennis’ work, not only Just a Pilgrim but Preacher as well. And yes, that’s meant as a compliment, obviously. There’s a danger some might view this work as derivative, I suppose, but Hickman’s definitely left his own mark with this take on the subgenre with his construction of the Seven Nations of America and the pop of his flair for iconography.

In a key scene in the latter part of the book, we see the Three Horsemen shortly after their rebirth, and it has a powerful punch with its juxtaposition of contrasting images: violence and the innocent look of the children perpetrating it. But how the scene ends left me scratching my head. The last surviving victim of an apparent genocide/atrocity says something to the Horsemen that struck me as being incredibly funny, but the pained, tearful look on his face at that moment was in direct contradiction to the amusing nature of the line. I’m honestly not sure if Hickman was being funny intentionally or if it was an unfortunate misstep. It look me out of the story briefly as I considered the issue, unable to arrive at a determination.

I’ve seen a couple of references online referring to East of West as “the next Saga.” I hope the reference is one to its potential collectibility and the fervent following Saga has engendered, because as fascinating as East of West is, I’m not quite as enthralled as I am by Saga. I can see some parallels, yes — the mix of magic and sci-fi, some oddball designs, such as the weird steed ridden by Death as he parts ways with his siblings. But I think Saga, despite being set against an interstellar war and its weird, monstrous character designs, it ultimately has a positive tone, celebrating nature and life. East of West — at least so far — is dark, dark, dark. It’s about ugly people doing ugly things in ugly places. And I’m great with darkness and harshness. I’m eager to meet the missing Horseman, though, and to learn its motivation for turning its back on its nature and prophecy. 8/10

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I couldn’t get into Brian Wood’s Northlanders. My wife watched the first couple of episodes of Vikings on the History Channel recently, and I was bored. Stories of Norse warriors have rarely held my attention in the past, but when Helheim was announced, I couldn’t help but take note of it. Sure, the genre may not have been my thing in the past, but I’m a fan of writer Cullen Bunn’s work on The Sixth Gun, and Joëlle Jones has never disappointed with her artwork. So I took the plunge into blood-soaked snows from centuries ago once again, and the result was… exactly the same. I just can’t connect with this subject matter, with these characters. I don’t know what it is, but it’s just not something that appeals to me, at least not in terms of plot. The art here, on the other hand, was thoroughly impressive, and not only in terms of design and mood. Helheim represents a significant departure for Jones. The style here is different, the detail more meticulous. She shows us something new, and that’s always interesting to see.

Centuries ago, a young, brave and noble Viking warrior named Rikard scrambles to defend his tribe from the horrific assaults on his home by the haunted men controlled by some sort of witch. After a particularly devastating battle, as he and his friends make their way home, he has a terrible vision of himself, a ghostly vision of his solemn form, bleeding and holding a sword. He takes it as a bad omen, but he’s determined to defend his home, not only because he cares for his people, but because there is one special person there, a woman he loves more than life itself. Unfortunately, his father views his son’s lover with suspicion and even disdain.

With The Sixth Gun, writer Cullen Bunn had as the foundation of the series a great hook: a sextet of supernatural and cursed weapons being sought by various factions, all with different agendas. Six guns of power in the Old West… it’s a simple but compelling concept, and that’s how Bunn grabbed us from the start. Helheim‘s premise isn’t as clearly presented. The notion of a Viking Frankenstein monster (as depicted on the cover) is kind of cool, but I didn’t feel I got any real hint of what the story is meant to be about. Furthermore, Bunn doesn’t really set the conflicts here before barrelling toward some turning points. Rikard’s father’s enmity toward Bera erupts completely without any real context for it. His hatred and bloodlust when it comes to the pivotal character lack credibility as a result. It feels like I’ve missed an opening chapter.

Despite those missteps, I think there’s an exciting drama unfolding here, but my own self-professed aversion to the Viking/barbarian genre keeps me from fully enjoying it and/or committing to it. I like these creators and I want to be wowed by the story, but I’ve got a block in place I can’t really explain. I know I’m capable of enjoying such fare; on rare occasions, I’ve been impressed with a Conan story and other similar pieces, but unfortunately, this isn’t one of those times.

That doesn’t mean the first issue of Helheim fell flat for altogether. I was wowed by one aspect of the book: Joëlle Jones’s artwork. I love the designs of the villainous invaders. Furthermore, Jones has clearly opted to challenge herself. Past instances of her visual storytelling featured slender figures, delicate elements. Here, she delves into more brutal characters, and she employs thick, harsh designs to convey the rough strength of the various players in the drama. I’ve always found her work focused on grace, youth and beauty in the past, but here, she adds ugliness and pain to the mix as the property requires. It’s as though she wants to avoid artistic “typecasting,” and if that’s the case, she succeeds. Nick Filardi’s colors are appropriately dark and muted throughout, so the deep, sparkling blue tones he uses to convey the Ghost Rikard’s form really pops as a result. 6/10

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It’s always fun and interesting to delve into a well-crafted, earnest small-press comics publication. Sometimes, you find a powerful, emerging talent in the world of comics, and sometimes, you find a glimmer of promise in someone who clearly loves the medium to the point that he or she has to be involved with it. With Grey Area, I found someone, Tim Bird, who falls somewhere in the middle of that part of the comics-creation spectrum. He’s told three short stories here in the same setting, on the same night, and he offers three different perspectives, exploring three different aspects of the human condition and experience. It’s an interesting experiment that he ultimately pulls off, but some of the choices in his storytelling, while offering some clarity in the subject matter, keep the reader from completely immersing himself or herself in the atmosphere and mood of the pieces. There’s a great deal of potential here, and some of the storytelling is quite compelling. Overall, I have to say this was a pleasant surprise, especially since this themed collected of short stories ends on a stronger and more positive note.

Late at night, when children sleep and their parents flake out on the couch, there are others who populate the night. In London, especially around the Brixton train station and in Soho, people emerge and live their lives. Some immerse themselves in the revelry of drinks and dance music. Others simply wander the streets, unable to find their way or an ever-elusive night’s sleep. And others toil about their labors, invisible to the throngs whose lives they make more convenient as they tend to the manners in which so many move about the city. It’s night time in London, and there are worlds and lives to discover.

Bird’s greatest strength as an artist is his ability to convey setting. There’s always a strong sense of place in each of the three stories. I would expect he’s drawn from several photo-references (or in-person visits to said locales), but the convincing look of the backdrops tempered the airy tone of the narration, maintaining the realism of the stories. I think Bird would be well advised to expand the array of items in his artistic toolkit. He really ought to employ thinner lines for some elements. His lettering style could use a little tweaking as well. His letters then to be thin and elongated, and for the sake of clarity, more defined, squarer characters would probably serve the work better.

His eye for anatomy isn’t as strong as his settings, but he nevertheless conveys the humanity of his various characters. His style when it comes to rendering people is a bit inconsistent, though. Some of his figures looked simpler in tone, in a style reminiscent of that of Andi (Slow News Day, Skeleton Key) Watson, while other points show the influence of artists who illustrate thicker, slightly more detailed figures, such as Daniel (Wilson, Ghost World) Clowes.

While the notion of the men who tend to the metro system in the dead of night while its users slumber makes for interesting subject matter, I think Bird goes awry, though only slightly, with his approach to the narration. The omniscient narrative voice conveys too much information and in language that’s a bit too flowery. Bird opts to tell us of the woes and challenges of the workers when really, I would have preferred he showed us the nocturnal, unseen and thankless lifestyles the characters have adopted. I don’t think a silent story is the answer either, but I felt as though the narration spelled things out too overtly. Nevertheless, as I noted before, I think exploring such unconventional and invisible vocations is interesting and makes for good storytelling. The second story focuses on an insomniac’s meanderings through London, but to call it a story might be stretching things a bit. The nature of the conflict is left unsaid. We’re given no indication as to why he can’t sleep, as to what might be haunting him and driving him out into the night. There’s definitely a tragic tone to it, but the reader really needs more details about the nature of that tragedy.

The final segment is the strongest of the three… or perhaps it’s just the radically different tone that makes it so engaging. The first two tales are dark and, at the very least, unfortunate in tone. The third piece, “Nightlife,” focuses on how people take to the night to let loose, to celebrate life. The night-club/pub scene is far behind me, but there’s no denying the value of the adventure, revelry and madness of a night of drink and ridiculous dancing can offer. It was easy to relate to it, and while there wasn’t a clear plot here either, it served as an importance counter-balance in the book. Finally, I enjoyed how the three stories intersected with one another but weren’t dependent on one another either. Each is something like a piece of the puzzle, but each piece has its own full picture to offer as well. 6/10

For more information on this comic book, visit the publisher’s website or the writer/artist’s website.