Author: Van Jensen

A small rectangular box, wrapped in brown paper and stamped "Super Spy," appeared in my mail box over the weekend. I opened it to find an Arturo Fuente cigar box.

Inside that, no cigars, but instead a weird little collection of items put together from Top Shelf to celebrate the Eisner Award nominations of two of its books, Matt Kindt’s Super Spy and Jeff Lemire’s Ghost Stories.

There’s a paper gun, a piece of original art signed by Kindt, some "cyanide" tablets, a pictorial treasure hunt, a pack of 1991 hockey cards (gum included) and an Essex County postcard.

What it reminded me of most are the packages sent out by college football teams to promote their players for the Heisman and other awards. The only problem with Top Shelf’s effort is that comics journalists don’t vote on the Eisners. Still, it’s pretty cool stuff.

After 20 years, DC is finally collecting Dennis O’Neil and Denys Cowan’s run on The Question, with the second volume, Poisoned Ground ($19.99) out now.

It’s a collection that’s well worth the wait, and I’m not just saying that because the author is one of ComicMix‘s own. While the first collection (Zen and Violence) was good, [[[Poisoned Ground]]] shows the creative team truly finding their voice — think tough and hardscrabble like The Spirit, but with a philosophic bent.

O’Neil explores not just the mind of his hero (who still has plenty of questions for himself), but those of his villains (who are always far more complex than first impressions indicate). The narrative slips between harsh reality and even harsher dreams, a paean to the ugliness of the world.

The book features three standalone stories and one three-issue story, each in turns bizarre, troubling and inspiring. The art is creative, highly detailed and evocative, and O’Neil’s scripts are every bit as inspired and poetic as those of Alan Moore or Neil Gaiman.

Especially now, with Vic Sage having been killed off in the current DCU, these collections are a must-have for fans of The Question, or anyone who likes their comics with plenty of depth.

Let’s be honest: It was a forgettable week for comics. Both Marvel and DC are still trying to get their summer events off the ground, and the rest of their books seem to be treading water. And while a few decent indies hit the shelves this week, none were exceptional.

So, if that’s not enough to get you excited for a big batch of reviews, I don’t know what is.

Book of the Week: BPRD 1946 #5 — For a series that started out with three and a half low-key books, BPRD 1946 goes out with a frenetic climax, as Bruttenholm and pals do their darndest to prevent a payload of monsters from being launched into America.

There are also monkeys. Lots and lots of monkeys, all captured in crazed fashion by artist Paul Azaceta (read my interview with Paul right here).

This book continues to work well as narrative backfill, showing the Bruttenholm’s transition from fighting Nazis to raising Hellboy. While there are allusions to events to come, the story never obsesses with self reference, as it’s too busy having fun. Sample dialogue from the villain: "You’re in over your head, stranger! You and your popgun army!"

Lots of credit to Mike Mignola and co-writer Joshua Dysart for pumping out yet another Hellboy property while keeping the quality sky-high. (You can also read my interview with Dysart right here.)

Runner Up:

DMZ #31 — This series seems to have finally pulled itself out of a long dry spell of one-and-done books that strayed too far from the central narrative. We’re back to Matty in his role of journalist/angry-young-dude, as he covers the campaign of Parco, a mix of Hugo Chavez and Barack Obama who’s trying to jostle the system. As expected, the system doesn’t like being jostled.

When this series is clicking, Brian Wood does a beautiful job of paralleling real events and politics without straining. The DMZ story works all by itself, but it still offers commentary on things like the current election season and Iraq.

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In what is being billed as the first full graphic novel to be created as a classroom project, a group of Stanford students this past year completed Shake Girl, a fictional story about a Cambodian woman who is attacked with acid as revenge on an affair.

The 224-page book came from a writing class taught by Tom Kealey, and signalled a new step in the advancement of graphic fiction into traditional college campuses. The San Francisco Chronicle has a nice long story on it.

"In a normal writing class, you’d write a poem or finish a chapter and you’d own it," Kealey said. "In this class, we had to collaborate every step of the way, every idea, and make compromises. It was the most difficult and rewarding class I ever taught."

While the study of comics and graphic novels has steadily become an acceptable part of college curricula – "Maus" creator Art Spiegelman taught a course at Columbia University last year – the project-based graphic novel class offered at Stanford appears to be the first of its kind.

In case you’re interested in the project, Stanford has made Shake Girl available online, so click right here and grade it for yourself.

In the new massive two-volume set Willie & Joe: The War Years, Bill Mauldin’s World War II cartoons are given a deluxe treatment, from the Army-green canvas covers to the oversized printing of Mauldin’s voluminous output.

The only thing publisher Fantagraphics couldn’t overcome in producing the book was the rough condition of much of Mauldin’s cartoons depicting the life of soldiers. As much as that might seem a drawback, editor Todd DePastino turns it into one more thing to appreciate about Mauldin: His cartoons often suffered because the young soldier/illustrator created them on the front lines.

It’s a truly beautiful collection, and one befitting the legacy of Mauldin, who died in 2003 (I reviewed DePastino’s biography of Mauldin right here). The first volume picks up with Mauldin’s first cartoons in a school paper (DePastino faced the tough challenge of tracking down all of Mauldin’s published work), then transitions to his time in the Army, first in Oklahoma and then overseas.

Through the cartoons (and DePastino’s well researched notes), we can see Mauldin grow as an artist, a person and a soldier. His first cartoons offered harsh stereotypes of Native Americans, but after Mauldin served with a largely Cherokee unit, his lasting desire for equality began to come to the fore.

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