I recommend comics: part one

(There's an introductory post for this list here.)

Without further ado (I can ado with the best of them), here are the first fifteen of my (likely sporadic) comic recommendations. In alphabetical order; otherwise totally mixed.

A Distant Soil
Written and illustrated by Colleen Doran
4 collected volumes; ongoing
A beautifully illustrated science fiction comic about gorgeous, androgynous, telepathic and imperialistic humanoid aliens whose spaceships are built out of crystal. (It’s science fiction, but it feels a lot like fantasy. Doesn’t do a great deal with science-babble, and the aliens look more like elves.) They have come to earth to track down and destroy the half-human children of one of their own outlaws, one of whom (the thirteen-year-old sister, Liana) has become the most powerful telepath of all. Meanwhile, a very important member of this alien race has come down to Earth with the intention of saving her, the planet, and his own people (from themselves). To this end, he gathers together a ragtag group of humans . . . some more or less ordinary, some much less so.

Doran’s style becomes more and more art noveau-inspired as the story goes on, the characters are varied and interesting, and . . . she started working on it when she was in high school. High school! I find her to be a bit of an inspiration, actually, and she’s done a great deal of work on other comics, some of which will be mentioned here.

So far, there are four collected volumes of A Distant Soil. I believe there will be a fifth and final one once she gets the last issue or two out (it’s been a very slow process, more or less one issue a year for the last few).

Action Girl
Many contributors; created and edited by Sarah Dyer
18 individual issues; not collected; discontinued
When I was a kid, Action Girl was my first introduction to independent comics. (As I began drawing, I used to dream that I would be a contributor myself someday; unfortunately, the series was discontinued before I had the chance to try.) Each issue was a small anthology of comic stories by female cartoonists. “Boy-friendly, but very pro-girl” was the motto, I believe. The talent included was diverse and impressive (my favorites included Elizabeth Watasin, Jessica Abel, Kris Dresen, Chynna Clugston, and others), and you’ll find works by many of them elsewhere on this list. The title character, Action Girl, appeared frequently as a sensibly-dressed, down-to-earth teenage heroine.

This comic is not easy to find now, since it was never collected, but sometimes you can find copies kicking around your more indie-friendly comic shop. I include it here more in tribute than in the hope that you’ll really be able to find much of it, unfortunately. I only have about half the series, though I was lucky enough to read all of it at the Center for Cartoon Studies during my internship, while we were organizing the various donations to their library.

Age of Bronze
Written and illustrated by Eric Shanower
2 collected volumes; ongoing
A detailed retelling of the Trojan War, with a focus on human drama rather than gods and mythological elements, and based on historical research (to a degree). The artwork is completely stunning (black and white, with an amazing level of detail), and just about every character is sympathetic to some degree. (It includes the Achilles/Patroclus romance, as it should, and I find that to be a highlight.) Even knowing what’s going to happen, I hold my breath waiting to see how he’s going to tell it. It’s very slow to come out (and slower to be collected), probably because he puts such immense detail into his art, and is clearly meticulous with his research.

Batman: The Killing Joke
Written by Alan Moore, illustrated by Brian Bolland
1 volume; completed
One of the more classic Batman one-shots, and for good reason, I think. This is a story about the strange balance between Batman and the Joker during their struggles; a tentative balance which might easily be tipped to even deeper violence. It’s also about the Joker’s motivation . . . and one version of his origin. I like this because it’s more about psychology than fisticuffs, and the grim, eerie artwork fits the story perfectly.

The Killing Joke has been pretty controversial, particularly around the feminist comics blogosphere, where it frequently gets labeled as an example of “Women in Refrigerators.” It includes the shooting of Barbara Gordon (which results in her paraplegia), after which the Joker takes . . . compromising photos of her, on the floor, bleeding; all of which is done to contribute to his effort to drive her father mad. While I certainly can’t argue that this fits into the WiR trend, I find that it is a case of solid and effective storytelling, not simply a cheap ploy that carelessly tosses out a strong female character. (I won’t argue that Babs became a much stronger character as Oracle: true though I think that is, it wasn’t Moore’s doing, and is not indicated whatsoever within the story.) Immediately after Babs’ torture, Commissioner Gordon also undergoes his own (less physically damaging) ordeal, with the goal of proving (to Batman) that the only sane response to the world is to go insane (a twisted defense of the Jokers’ own behavior).

Your mileage may vary.

Birds of Prey
Written by Chuck Dixon, Gail Simone, and more; many illustrators
8 collected volumes (including the miniseries); ongoing
One of the only superhero titles out there starring an all-female team. (Or is it the only one?) This book started as a miniseries by Chuck Dixon, about a partnership between Oracle (Barbara Gordon, the former Batgirl) and Black Canary (with guest appearances by Huntress, Lois Lane and Catwoman). Its cast has also included such characters as Batgirl (Cassandra Cain), Lady Blackhawk, Big Barda, Lady Shiva, Power Girl . . .

I’ve actually only read the original Birds of Prey miniseries, which I enjoyed. As superhero stories, they aren’t particularly deep or meaningful, but they are fun, and I enjoy the characterizations. If you like superhero books, but get frustrated at the poor portrayals of female characters . . . this is a good title to check out. It’s also an excellent title if you enjoy really close-knit, well-characterized female friendships, something I find myself starving for in most of pop culture. (As I said, I’ve only read the miniseries through, but I do follow the Scans Daily community on livejournal, and many highlights of the friendship between Barbara and Dinah have been posted there. I really must read more.)

I’ve heard it has some less-wonderful bits, but I’m actually not sure when those occur; I keep meaning to ask someone myself. On the other hand, Gail Simone is generally celebrated by her readers, so I have high expectations of her run. (I am also looking forward to her Wonder Woman run, which begins in a couple of weeks. Can hardly recommend what hasn’t been published, much less read . . . but at the pace I’m going, maybe I’ll be able to by the time I reach the W’s!)

Bite Me!
Written and illustrated by Dylan Meconis
Online; completed
When I discovered Dylan Meconis’ Bite Me!, I was still in high school . . . and so was she. Only a year old than me, her talent blew me out of the water (and continues to, but I’ll get to that around the Fs). Bite Me! is a historical comedy . . . set during the infamously bloody French Revolution . . . about vampires. (There’s a Bavarian werewolf in there, too.) It stars a clumsy, gawky, wry barmaid named Claire who regrets being stuck out in a rural area, so far from the Revolution. One day, a tall, pale gentleman with impeccable manners and cheekbones you could slice your finger open on strides into her inn, and all hell breaks loose, more or less literally. Wacky hijinks ensue, involving unspeakable acts with various kitchen utensils, mysterious evil chickens, and even the odd beheading (but of course). It’s not to be missed. I think it’s rather criminal that no publisher has pounced on this yet; Bite Me! deserves the wider audience a paper volume would no doubt attract. But even for those of you who don’t like reading things on screens (don’t laugh, webcomic lovers, I’ve met many such folks) . . . it’s really worth it.

Available here.

Blue Monday
Written and illustrated by Chynna Clugston
4 collected volumes; ongoing (eventually)
A gang of wacky teenagers living in the early 90s star in this goofy comedy, which is one of my favorite bits of lighter fare. It’s full of pranks, crushes on teachers, the occasional little fantasy element (a mischievous otter pooka, floating haunted stone Jesus heads), coming-of-age whatsit (teacher-crushes, high school humiliation), and lots and lots of music. Chynna Clugston loves music, particularly Britpop and its predecessors . . . to the point that it becomes an element (and occasionally, the focus) in many of her stories. She even makes “soundtrack” notes here and there in the gutters.

The characters are rude, silly, and often vulnerable. It can occasionally be an uncomfortable ride back to teenagersville, but there’s a lot of laughter in with the rueful recognition.

Clugston’s sense of humor is broad, carefree, and occasionally a bit vulgar, and her art has a strong manga influence. She was one of my favorite finds from the days of Action Girl, and I’ll pretty much read anything she writes, because it’s always a lot of fun. (More of her to come, further down the list.) Plus, I owe her for about a third of my musical taste, by this point. ;) My 19-year-old brother also loves this series.

Bold Riley and the Witch in the Wild
Written and illustrated by Leia Weathington
1 minicomic; online; ongoing
Bold Riley is the courageous, frying pan-wielding warrior princess of a far-off land. One day her lady-love is stolen out of their home by persons unknown, and she travels into the wild forest to find and save her. The forest is populated by weird figures and eerie ruins, and somewhere there’s a a crazy old woman who twists and changes young women into dangerous creatures that do her bidding.

The story has only progressed a little way, but I’m loving it so far. Bold Riley is a fantastic no-nonsense heroine, and the original fairy tale feel of the story is rather charming. The first minicomic is one of the prizes of my tiny collection. I can’t wait to see what Weathington’s going to do next.

Available here.

Bone
Written and illustrated by Jeff Smith
9 collected volumes; completed
An indie comics classic, Bone is a fantasy story that at first seems very light and fluffy as a Saturday morning cartoon . . . but while the humorous bits continue, it becomes darker and more complex as the tale moves forward. The art style is strongly influenced by traditional animation.

Bone is the tale of three odd, cartoonish creatures (“Bones”) who are run out of their (rather modern-sounding) homeland and eventually stumble across a hidden valley in the middle of a vast desert. The valley seems like a peaceful, rustic place . . . but under the surface, there’s a struggle going on between forces of, you know, good and evil and all that; a struggle that extends into peoples’ dreams. Dragons and rat creatures, lost royalty and locusts, oh my. It’s an engaging tale, and the humor is quite enjoyable. It’s also rather important in comics history, as one of the most prominent titles in the indie boom of the 90s. I’m not really doing it justice with this blurb.

The series is available as one giant, expensive volume; Scholastic is currently in the middle of reprinting it in full color, as well (in much more affordable individual volumes).

Books of Magic (miniseries)
Written by Neil Gaiman, illustrated by John Bolton, Scott Hampton, Charles Vess, and Paul Johnson
1 volume; completed (the continued series is many volumes, and ongoing)
Four mysterious trenchcoat-wearing men—four teachers—approach a young British boy. Each takes him on a journey focused on one aspect of magic: in the past, in the present, the realm of Faerie, and the future. (These journeys often involve characters and settings from the DC universe, though prior knowledge is completely unnecessary.) Each story is illustrated by a different artist, giving it a very distinct flavor (and they’re all wonderful, particularly Bolton and Vess). At the end, the boy faces a decision: to accept the things he’s learned, and begin developing his own considerable magical potential . . . or to live out an ordinary life.

A continuing series based on this original volume is being published, but I’ve never really read much of it. I’ve heard both good and bad, but the miniseries stands alone very nicely, and I’m not really sure it requires anything further. Highly recommended.

It's been noted that Timothy Hunter, the boy in the story, bears a strong resemblance to Harry Potter. Timothy happened to come first.

Castle Waiting
Written and illustrated by Linda Medley
1 collected (hardcover) volume; ongoing
The story opens with a beautiful, bruised young woman’s nocturnal escape from a rich, medieval manor house. Lady Jain, pregnant and on the run from her husband (but far too sensible and down-to-earth for a classic damsel in distress), finds her way to Castle Waiting. The castle, long past the famous tale that once played out inside its walls, has become a sanctuary of sorts. It’s populated by a very odd mix of fairy tale and nursery rhyme characters (some more familiar than others). They are a weird but jovial lot, and Jain quickly finds a place for herself in their little community.

The stories in Castle Waiting focus on the “everyday” lives of folk tales and legends. The histories of the various denizens of the castle are slowly being fleshed out (so far we’ve had the tale of the quirky, bearded, hellraising nun, Sister Peace), while various intrigues and humorous escapades occur in the present. The characters are diverse and interesting, the art is really pretty, and the storytelling is exceptional. I know that many of my friends enjoy fairy tale retellings, and this has to be one of my favorites. Highly recommended indeed. (I’d also like to note that the collected volume is probably one of the most gorgeous graphic novels I’ve ever seen, just in terms of presentation. For those of you who like that sort of thing . . . I do.)

Catwoman: The Dark End of the Street, Crooked Little Town, Relentless, and Wild Ride
Written by Ed Brubaker, illustrated by various
4 collected volumes
Ed Brubaker relaunched the Catwoman title in 2001, and made drastic changes to her image in the process. Selina Kyle became a tough woman with a spotty past and a conscience, rethinking her approach to life after it had spun out of her control. She adopted a new version of her iconic cat costume, functional black leather with night-vision goggles. The style of the book became distinctly noir, and she gained a couple of rather fantastic supporting characters: Slam Bradley, the classic rough-and-tumble P.I., and Holly, friend from her youth, former prostitute/junkie, and completely adorable lesbian. For awhile, she went from “thief with a heart” to “unconventional protector of the bad side of town.” And it worked.

I grew up with the Jim Balent Catwoman: skin-tight purple spandex, ballooning breasts (far above and beyond the laws of physics, my first best example of how not to draw women, back in the day), and a “catty” attitude to match her codename. In comparison, Brubaker’s version was a blessed breath of fresh air. I loved the classy persona he wrote for Selina, and the way he managed to handle her Batman angst without overdoing anything. I also loved the highly stylized artwork, which was a nice departure from the too-shiny too-Photoshopped look a lot of superhero comics have these days. These four volumes are some of my favorite “superhero” reading ever, though I’ve been kind of afraid to touch the title post-Brubaker.

Warning: Relentless contains some very graphic, disturbing imagery, including torture.

Charm School
Written and illustrated by Elizabeth Watasin
1 collected volume (issues 1-3); 9 single issues; ongoing
I’ve loved Elizabeth Watasin’s work since her Action Girl days (she was one of the most prolific contributors), and moved straight on to Charm School from there. Sadly, the title has been released slowly and sporadically, due to real-life issues of all kinds (facts of life for your average indie cartoonist). It’s now a bit hard to find the single issues, and the second volume hasn’t been collected yet, but I think she’s working on it. Anyway, it’s an adorable book.

Charm School takes place in the “Twilight World,” in Little Salem, a town populated by your standard-issue Halloween creatures: vampires, ghouls, devils, werewolves, witches (of the pointy hat variety), skeletons, you name it. The town is also bordered by a fairyland of sorts. The comic stars Bunny, a sweet little blonde witch who lives with her three crazy old witch aunties. She also happens to be dating an extremely hot butch vampire named Dean (a motorcycle dyke and everything), but she gets a little sidetracked when an attractive and aggressive fairy named Fairer Than blows into town and tries to seduce her. It’s cute and campy, and I can’t wait ‘til whenever she finally gets the 10th issue out.

Compass
Written and illustrated by Traci Spencer
2 minicomics; online; ongoing
A relatively recent addition to Girlamatic, my favorite source of online comics; Compass is a beautifully illustrated tale of interdimensional travel and the odd bit of slapstick humor. Starring two attractive and engaging youngsters, the fabulously fire-haired Jay Donnel and his very together neighbor, Phoebe Greenwater. When a kendo duel suddenly turns into an interdimensional incident involving a giant purple worm, Jay finds himself pulled into whole new world . . . quite literally. This comic has snark; it has action; it has lots of redheaded freckled fanservice. I’m not kidding when I say that the art is beautiful, either. The colors are lovely, the character designs endearing, and everything laid out and rendered clearly. Her layouts are so good that I can’d decide if I want to die of joy or envy. I really can’t wait for more; right now, it’s just starting to work itself past the introductory chapters.

Available here.

Concrete
Written and illustrated by Paul Chadwick
6 collected volumes (and assorted odditites), not sure if this is ongoing, actually
Concrete is another indie comics classic. It’s the story of Ron Lithgow, an extremely ordinary man, whose brain is removed and placed inside an enormous rock-like body by mysterious aliens.

Sounds like the setup for a superhero story, right? I think that was pretty much the point. Instead of fighting super-powered criminals, Concrete instead has to deal with much more human (if not exactly mundane) issues. Navigating life as a brain trapped inside an unfeeling, if nearly indestructable, concrete shell is one humiliation, one frustration after another . . . though Ron is certainly a pretty damn patient, mild sort of guy, and puts up with a lot more than I can imagine doing. I’ve only read the first of the Dark Horse trades, but I’m already deeply impressed with the storytelling caliber that Chadwick exhibits. Concrete accomplishes something that many superhero stories could potentially aspire to, if their creators bothered. It uses a fantastic concept as a frame through which to examine life, rather than escape it. (Not that I don’t enjoy the more traditional superhero brand of escapism, but you know.)

I recommend comics: intro

I drew the above back in June, about a month after one of the year's bigger comics-feminist outrages (you know, that whole Mary Jane statue thing). I'd posted a small rant in my livejournal, only very tangentially related to that mess, and this had led to two things. One was a greater interest in the comics blogosphere; the other was a greater awareness of the lack of comic readership among my friends.

It's not that I didn't know that many of my friends, who are predominantly women, did not grow up reading comics. This particular journal post, however, spawned some discussion about the fact, and I talked more about it with people in the weeks to come (and in the deviantart comments on my comic strip, as well). What I kept hearing was that my friends and others knew that there were comics out there worth reading--they'd certainly heard as much from me, often enough, and the medium's been receiving great press lately--but they didn't know how to find them. They were uncomfortable with comic shops (many had at one time or another had an unpleasant experience in one), and perhaps daunted with the task of finding their way around a whole new art form.

When it comes to my close friends, the ones I see in person, I often try to get them started by lending out titles specifically tailored to what they might enjoy. My treasured collection of graphic novels and trade paperbacks has become a miniature library, constantly in circulation. It occurred to me that I might write up a list of comics I've enjoyed, and post them up on the internet (where else?), for people too far away to take advantage of that resource. Other people aside from my own friends might benefit from such a thing.

This list is really only defined by my own personal tastes, which are eclectic. I read something close to "a little of everything" (though there's currently only one manga title on my list). There are certainly some gaping, obvious holes; important and oft-recommended books that I haven't gotten around to reading yet (once you get started, there really are so many great titles out there . . . which is good, because I'd hardly want to run out).

The list is not aimed just at women, or people who don't like superheroes (there are certainly going to be some superhero titles listed here, though just my very favorites), or people who've never picked up a comic before. These are simply comics that I've read and enjoyed (and mostly that I own, because that way I could refresh myself on them easily while writing them up). The write-ups attached are too wholly positive and not detailed enough to pass for reviews; they're just there to give you a little idea of what the books are about, and why I personally like them.

Anyway, I hope some of you find this helpful, and have new and enjoyable reading experiences as a result. Have I talked enough yet? Here goes, then.

still here, and some thoughts on refrigerators

I haven't died or anything. I just . . . wasn't planning to post here until I had my recommendations list prepared. Unfortunately, it's harder to write than I expected--considering I'm just writing a relatively praiseful paragraph or two for each title, rather than a full-blown review--and it just keeps getting longer. I've decided to start posting it in sets of ten or fifteen; that way, even if it takes me forever to finish, there will be something to see in the meantime.

I should get that first set up tonight or tomorrow; it's alphabetical, and I have to write up one or two new additions (I was done through the Fs, but now, not so much).

Meanwhile, I've spent a fair amount of time reading around the comics blogosphere; particularly following the various links on WFA. I don't have much to add to the latest controversies (Tigra, the New Gods, etc), because my superhero reading is pretty narrow these days, so I'm not terribly conversant with the background material. However, I've been thinking a bit recently about a topic that comes up a fair amount in my WFA-related reading. (Let's see how articulate I can be about it; I haven't done much analytical writing of any stripe in awhile, and it's time to start working the kinks out.)

The catchphrase "women in refrigerators" gets thrown around all over the place these days; I myself have started applying it not only to my comics, but to much of the pop culture I consume. It's useful shorthand, to be sure, but sometimes I can't help but wonder if the other people who use it are defining it . . . a bit differently than I am? Particularly when I see bloggers--notably, the kind who refer to feminist comic fans as a "hive mind" without irony--complaining that feminists don't want to see any female character harmed or killed, ever, in any context (which would certainly be inconsistent with the superhero genre).

These folks are (perhaps deliberately) missing the point, at least to my own understanding of the phrase. The way I use it--and, I think, the way I most frequently see it used--"women in refrigerators" does not refer to just any instance of harm befalling a female character (even shocking or drastic harm). Instead, it refers to an instance of harm (most often, death) befalling a female character as a plot point, or in order to motivate a male protagonist (to heroism, revenge, and so forth). It's the notion that a female character's life, death, or pain does not exist for the sake of her own story; she is simply a disposable element in someone else's, to be sacrificed or discarded. (If I'm on the money here, the rest of this bit of musing will probably be old hat for anyone familiar with the phrase, but let me work through it.)

I should give an example here, I think. The original example is, of course, Alex DeWitt, the Green Lantern (Kyle)'s girlfriend; she's the one who was literally stuffed inside a fridge, in order to motivate him in his fight against a villain. I don't follow any Green Lantern related titles, but that this applies to my definition above? Should probably be obvious.

For me, a recent example that springs to mind isn't actually from a comic book, but from a genre TV show (one which is closely connected to comics): the character of Simone Deveaux from NBC's "Heroes." Simone wasn't powered, and did not have her own storyline. She was a love interest for both Isaac Mendez and Peter Petrelli (both male, both powered); she functioned as a catalyst for both during their discovery of and struggles with their abilities, as a point of friction between the two men, and her death occured basically as motivation (with a side of angst) for each. Her whole purpose, in other words, was to further the development of these two male characters; they were active participants in the overall plot, but she wasn't. This was particularly notable because there were so few major female characters in the first season of Heroes, and because such a high proportion of the secondary female characters were killed off also.

Even so, you might say, of course some female characters do and should fit this description, as do some male characters . . . that kind of writing can be useful or necessary, as part of this or any genre. So--at least in my understanding--the definition goes a bit further. "Women in refrigerators" does not refer to just any instance in which a female character is sacrificed as a plot point, etc; it refers to the fact that this sort of storytelling happens frequently, to the point that it has become an easy, throwaway writing strategy; that it often happens in the service of a male character's story; and that it happens overwhelmingly more often to female characters, with particular brutality. "Women in refrigerators" isn't a series of isolated incidents: it's a trend.

It is this last point that is most important. The Women in Refrigerators website, which spawned the catchphrase in the first place, features a long and incomplete list of female comic characters who have suffered extreme harm, degradation, and/or untimely demise. Site creator Gail Simone muses that "in mainstream comics, being a girl superhero mean[s] inevitably being killed, maimed, or depowered, it seem[s]." She mentions that, over the course of creating her list, she "realized that it was actually harder to list major female heroes who HADN'T been sliced up somehow." While male characters are certainly "sliced up" as well--superhero comics are, after all, partly about violence as well as power--the fact that it seems to happen to such a statistically large proportion of female characters is disturbing.

What this trend suggests is that female characters often exist in mainstream comics as fodder for plots in which they are out-and-out victims. They aren't so much there to be powerful, good role-models, or the focus of interesting plots in their own right (as male superheroes are generally understood to be). Through this trend, the pain and deaths of female characters (specifically) become both frequent, and throwaway, story elements. This is clearly misogynistic.

It isn't so much that any individual story involving a woman's death or injury--even as a plot point--is inherently misogynistic. Particularly if the story is well-written, and the death/injury really is necessary to the plot (not just tossed in because it's easy to do); which is obviously a subjective judgment. What is misogynistic is that it happens so often and so casually, and to such a large proportion of female characters. The more you see it, the more it comes off like this: [insert male super] needs a motivation to go pound on [insert villain]? Let's stuff his girlfriend/mother/teammate into a household appliance, that should do the trick!

The original website doesn't articulate all of this (much of it seems obvious or implied), but that's my understanding of the catchphrase, and how it's used. That's certainly how I use it. There may be a great deal of contention as to what individual stories really qualify as examples of "women in refrigerators" --after all, we're really not a hive mind, feminists or comic fans in general--but there's a fair amount of consensus that such a trend exists. I'm not writing to argue about that, however, so much as to clarify the term itself; if you have a different understanding of "women in refrigerators" as it's being used around the blogosphere, I'd be interested to read it. At the moment I'm just trying to figure out if other people are missing the point, or if I am.

drawing stephanie brown

My life has been too hectic and full of job interviews for much recommendation-writing . . . yet somehow I have time to draw. Well, when Dean Trippe exhorts the internet at large to draw Stephanie Brown, how can I resist?

Two images . . . one slightly altered Robin costume, and one envisioning the return of the Spoiler. I much prefer the first one, but thought I'd share both. I really didn't have time to do backgrounds or shading, but still, this was a lot of fun. (Click the thumbnails to view full-sized versions.)



That's all for now! Hopefully I can get the first batch of recommendations started soon, even in the midst of trying to move to Boston. Whew.

why?

Oh, dear. Now I've done it. As if a livejournal and a deviantART account weren't time-consuming enough.

Actually, I haven't been using my livejournal as much lately. It has become largely a means of keeping track of my friends as they scatter across the country and the globe . . . but much as I love my friends, most of them just don't read comics. I try and talk about my favorite subject there, and almost feel guilty for filling up their friends' pages with obscure ramblings.

Hence, this blog. I never created one before, because I wasn't sure I had anything to say. I read When Fangirls Attack religiously, but I rarely have much to add, except for nodding. I'm elated that there is such a thing as the feminist comics blogosphere. It's something I've wanted ever since I was a little girl, when only Trina Robbins seemed to understand me and my seemingly conflicted allegiances to comics and feminism. Back then, my mother was really the only other woman I knew who read comics. Things have changed. However, most of what I want said is already getting out there, far more eloquently than I could manage.

On the other hand, I still have thoughts on comics . . . even if they're mostly fangirly ones, or my own little debates and learning experiences as an amateur creator. Plus, I do have a handful of friends--mostly women--who seem open to reading comics, but haven't grown up with them as I have. A couple of months ago, it occurred to me that I could write recommendations for those friends, many of whom are afraid to poke their noses into a comic shop. I may not necessarily have a new critical feminist analysis of the latest mainstream outrage, but I'm growing myself a library of beloved titles, and I can certainly write them up a little for my friends and for others who might be looking for a little direction.

I've been working on a recommendations list for awhile, and I'll start posting them soon in alphabetical increments. After that . . . I'm sure I'll have some commentary to offer every once in awhile.

In the meantime, here's this rather pointless explanatory ramble, just so there's something here.