Seattle-based cartoonist D.R.T. is a figure cloaked in a certain amount of intrigue — in a recent TCJ interview he revealed that his name is Daniel, that he has a background in film and animation, and that he suffered a debilitating stroke at age 27 that forced him to learn to draw all over again, this time with his non-dominant left hand. His debut graphic novel, then, Qoberious Vol. 1 (released under the auspices of his own self-publishing imprint, Kvorious Comics),  is something that can only be called a true labor of love — emphasis on the “labor.”

Crucially, though, it in no way feels belabored — indeed, the hermetically-sealed reality D.R.T. creates literally seems to have flowed directly from his subconscious onto the page, and in many ways even feels like a work channeled from some other, perhaps higher, dimension. There is a raw immediacy to this…

This past week’s reading ranged in quality from the sublime to the dire, so let’s take it all in order, from best to worst:

Yellow Negroes And Other Imaginary Creatures presents a triptych of thematically inter-related stories by Parisian (by way of West Africa) cartoonist Yvan Alagbe focused on issues of race, class, the socio-economic divisions rising from/attendant with each, and the risks inherent in attempting to bridge said divides. Deeply rooted in the immigrant experience and illustrated in a breathtaking mix of styles from the intricately hyper-detailed to the amorphous and abstract, Alagbe is a master of utilizing space and shapes to confound expectation and personalize the political — truth be told, I can’t for the life of me recall ever seeing an artist imbue their drawings with so much charged, even combustible, visual information in such an expressive manner, each line a statement in and of itself yet…

It’s been awhile — 15 years, to be precise — since seminal underground id-baring cartoonist Dave Cooper released a wholly original graphic novel, and while the length of his latest, Fantagraphics-published book, Mudbite, may make it more of a “novella” than anything else, the main thing is that Cooper has, indeed, returned to the fold, his alter-ego protagonist Eddy Table in tow, and that his work as just as singularly unsettling as ever, maybe even moreso. Prepare, then, to feel very disturbed by the things you’re capable of laughing at.

And you will laugh at Mudbite‘s two stories, “Bug Bite” and “Mud River” (now you know where the book’s title comes from), of that there is no doubt — but you’ll just as surely find yourself cringing, scratching your head, even needing to pick your jaw up off the floor on occasion. The biggest question you’ll probably be…

Editor’s Note : I first became aware of Tom Shapira a few years back when his book Curing The Postmodern Blues : Reading Grant Morrison And Chris Weston’s The Filth In The 21st Century was released by Sequart. I’ve followed hi “byline” around the internet since, so when he contacted me out of the blue inquiring about whether or not I’d be interested in running this thoughtful piece on The Beef #1, I jumped at the chance. Read on and I’m sure you’ll agree that he absolutely nailed what makes this comic so absolutely relevant, yet utterly unique and deliriously bizarre at the same time.

And while we’re at it, if any other critics want to “get in on the act” around here, so to speak, please don’t hesitate to get in touch.

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“Moloch whose mind is pure machinery! Moloch whose blood is running money! Moloch whose fingers are…

I dunno why I don’t do this more often with these Weekly Reading Round-Ups — well, actually, now that I think about it, I do: there have just been way too goddamn many first issues to talk about lately — but I figured this week I’d check in on the relative creative health of a handful of series that I’ve talked up previously and see if I feel as generously pre-disposed toward them today as I did when they came charging out of the gate —

Ales Kot and Danijel Zezelj just released the third issue of their 12-part Image series Days Of Hate, and while I desperately want to still like where this thing is going given its timeliness, topicality, and superb art, I find the book hitting the same stumbling block that too many Kot-scripted titles tend to, namely : his story is becoming subsumed under the…

A fair number of the films nominated for one or more of the just-awarded Oscars for this past year have begun to pop up on our local cable system for the pretty-damn-reasonable rental rate of $5.99, so now is a good time for folks like me, who didn’t make it out to the theater nearly as much as we’d have liked over the past 12 months (or thereabouts), to catch up on the stuff everyone’s been talking about — and in the category of celebrated acting specifically, they don’t come much more-talked-about than director Craig Gillespie’s biopic of notorious-but-perhaps-misunderstood figure skater Tonya Harding, I, Tonya. Allison Janney went home with the Academy Award for best supporting actress for her turn as the one-time-phenom’s mother, LaVona, and Margot Robbie received rave notices for her take on the film’s troubled protagonist, so what the hell? On a low-key weeknight, have you got…

Debut graphic novels are a tricky thing : publishers are going out on a limb by backing untested — and in most cases still-developing — talent, while said “talent” is often eager, perhaps even feels pressured, to make some kind of “statement” with their work in order to elevate it above its veritable army of competitors. Attention is a hard thing to come by in the crowded comics marketplace, and whatever you’ve gotta do to get it can almost be forgiven —at least on a logical, if not an artistic, level.

With all that in mind, then, cartoonist T.J. Kirsch is to be commended for eschewing the urge to make a big splash and instead telling a quiet, honest, heartfelt, and decidedly “non-flashy” story with his first book-length work, 2017’s NBM-published Pride Of The Decent Man. Clocking in at a lean 92 pages, a good many of which…

In most fields of entertainment and/or artistic expression (the two only seem mutually exclusive, they needn’t necessarily be), there is usually at least one generally-acknowledged “Master of Horror,” if not several : literature has Stephen King; cinema has John Carpenter remaining out of the one-time Carpenter/Craven/Romero “trinity,” with plenty of others ready and waiting to assume up the mantle;  television has Robert Kirkman (hey, I didn’t say I liked all these folks); mainstream comics still clings to the acclaimed works of “British Invaders” Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman, and Jamie Delano, as well as to the legendary EC and Warren creators. Purportedly “alternative” or “independent” comics, though? Not so much.

Certainly the first wave of underground comix saw plenty of cartoonists who were very much at home delineating the horrific : Greg Irons, Jack Jackson, Spain Rodriguez, S. Clay Wilson and all produced memorable horror-themed works — heck, even a young…

Last week was all about first issues, but this week sees a mix of debuts and very notable finales —

Berlin #22 concludes Jason Lutes’ 20-year epic, and I think it’s going to take awhile for those of us who have been following this series from the beginning to fully comprehend the quietly gaping hole its absence will leave in our lives. This comic has spanned two publishers (Black Eye — remember them? — and Drawn + Quarterly), three decades, even two centuries, and the idea that it’s over is really only just beginning to sink in. You’d expect a suitably poignant finale, of course, and Lutes delivers : the final fates of all our principal characters during the waning days of the Weimar Republic are revealed — Silvia, David, Marthe, Kurt, Anna, we have loved you all — but more than that we are given a privileged glimpse…

Everyone from casual horror fans to hard-core “found footage” aficionados was sufficiently impressed with co-writer/co-star/director and co-writer/co-star Mark Duplass’ 2014 indie horror effort Creep — this armchair critic included — to form a sort of impromptu “whisper campaign” in its favor that saw it end up punching well above its weight class and really leaving a strong and distinct mark among the always-bulging throng of low-budget horror offerings overpopulating the various streaming services we’ve all come to rely on to meet our entertainment “needs” on a monthly basis. It became, in short, a nice little success story. But I’m not sure that anyone — even, and perhaps especially, Brice and Duplass themselves — figured that an honest-to-God sequel would ever be in the offing. And yet here we are, three (okay, closer to four now) years later,  and Creep 2 is upon us — backed by Netflix and Blumhouse financing…