Review: Transmetropolitan Vol. 2 – Lust for Life

Posted on August 21, 2026 by Arleigh

“You people don’t know what the truth is! It’s there, just under their bullshit, but you never look! That’s what I hate most about this fucking city—lies are news and the truth is obsolete!” — Spider Jerusalem

When you crack open the second volume of Warren Ellis and Darick Robertson’s Transmetropolitan, collected as Lust for Life, you’re not just getting another fix of cyberpunk chaos. You’re getting a book that solidifies exactly why this series is so brutally timeless. The first volume, Back on the Street, introduced us to the magnificent, drug-fueled trainwreck that is Spider Jerusalem and the grotesque, sprawling City he calls home. The second volume, however, is where the series finds its real footing. It’s not just about the loud, visceral shock value—though there’s plenty of that—but about deepening the world and its characters in a way that hits uncomfortably close to home.

Spider Jerusalem is, and always will be, the heart of this series. He’s a chain-smoking, drug-abusing, perpetually enraged journalist in the mold of Hunter S. Thompson, armed with a bowel disruptor and a vicious tongue. He’s a complete and utter bastard to almost everyone he meets, prone to violent outbursts and scatological tirades. And yet, he’s our hero because he’s one of the few people in this future who actually gives a damn. His entire reason for being is his unwavering, almost religious, dedication to “The Truth.” He despises the apathy of the masses as much as the corruption of the powerful, and he’s willing to burn his life down to expose both. This volume showcases that beautifully, adding a layer of vulnerability that prevents him from becoming a one-note caricature. He’s a misanthrope who somehow still cares, and that tension is what makes him so compelling.

Lust for Life collects issues thirteen through twenty-four, and it’s structured more as a series of vignettes than a single, driving narrative. This is actually its greatest strength, as it allows Ellis and Robertson to expand the world and build the supporting cast in ways a more focused plot wouldn’t allow. A major chunk of the book is dedicated to the insane adventure of the frozen head of Spider’s ex-wife being stolen. It’s a gloriously bizarre plot, full of the kind of absurd, high-stakes chaos that Transmetropolitan does so well.

But the real emotional heft of Lust for Life comes from the quieter, more tragic stories woven between the gunfights and drug-induced rants. One of the most powerful sequences focuses on Channon, Spider’s long-suffering assistant. She’s a pillar of strength, constantly cleaning up Spider’s messes, but this volume shows her vulnerability. Her boyfriend decides to undergo a process to become a “gaseous vapor,” leaving his body behind for a formless existence. It’s a concept that sounds completely outlandish, but the execution is devastating. Ellis writes it not as a sci-fi gimmick but as a heartbreaking exploration of letting go, of watching someone you love choose a path you can’t follow. Channon’s pain and helplessness are palpable, grounding the over-the-top world in real human emotion.

Then there’s the story of Mary, a woman from our recent past who was cryogenically frozen and wakes up in the City. She’s presented as a historical relic, a simple photographer from the twentieth century who is completely out of her depth in this frantic, hyper-consumerist future. This is where the book delivers its most potent gut-punch. Mary is us. She’s the reader, trying to make sense of this alien world, and she fails. The City is a claustrophobic nightmare even for the people who were born into it, but for Mary, it’s a terrifying prison of isolation and confusion. Her story is a bleak reminder that this “progress” we’re supposedly heading toward often comes at the cost of our humanity. It’s a deeply existential and sad tale that serves as a harsh critique of the very future we might be trying to build.

Now, while Transmetropolitan is set in a hyper-exaggerated, grotesque future, the reason it remains so relevant is that the satire has proven to be uncomfortably prophetic. The City is a sprawling, neon-drenched hellscape where the line between news and entertainment has completely dissolved, where handheld devices connect everyone to a digital stream of information, and where journalism has devolved into a race for ratings and eyeballs. It’s a world where media personalities are more influential than politicians, and political leaders are cynical, manipulative populists who are experts at gaming the system. Sound familiar?

The landscape of modern journalism feels like a grim step toward this world. The “Death of Truth” that Spider rails against is a concept that has become a cornerstone of our current political and media discourse. The Beast and The Smiler, the corrupt politicians in the series, aren’t just cartoon villains; they’re mirrors reflecting a world of political spin, gerrymandering, and where the “villains” are often the ones controlling the narrative. Spider’s constant, violent struggle to get the real story feels less like a sci-fi fantasy and more like a desperate wish-fulfillment for anyone frustrated with the spin and half-truths of modern politics.

When Spider writes his column, “I Hate It Here,” he’s speaking for a populace that feels powerless and manipulated, a populace nicknamed “The New Scum” by the establishment. This social commentary hits hard because you can see its echoes everywhere today. The series suggests that technology has advanced, but human nature—our greed, our apathy, our susceptibility to manipulation—has not. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, but it’s what gives the book its power.

Transmetropolitan Vol. 2: Lust for Life might be a little light on overarching plot for some readers’ tastes. It’s not a major political arc; it’s more of a character study of the city and its inhabitants. But that’s precisely why it’s so effective. It proves that the series isn’t just a one-trick pony of cyberpunk fury. It has a heart, a soul, and a searing intelligence that cuts to the bone of our own societal failings. It’s a book that will make you laugh at its absurdity one minute and then leave you staring at the wall in quiet contemplation the next. It reinforces that even a nihilistic, drug-addled, foul-mouthed bastard like Spider Jerusalem is exactly the kind of hero we need to remind us of what we’re losing.

Transmetropolitan Volume Reviews

Volume 1: Back on the Street

Review: Transmetropolitan Vol. 1 – Back on the Street

Posted on August 14, 2026 by Arleigh

“Journalism is just a gun. It’s only got one bullet in it, but if you aim right, that’s all you need. Aim it right, and you can blow a kneecap off the world.” — Spider Jerusalem

There is a particular kind of jolt that comes from revisiting a story written decades earlier and realizing it was not so much predicting the future as identifying a sickness already taking hold. Written by Warren Ellis and illustrated by Darick Robertson, Transmetropolitan Vol. 1: Back on the Street is exactly that kind of book. It is loud, filthy, hilarious, and vicious in all the ways it needs to be, and it lands differently now than it likely did in the late nineties. What once read primarily as a wild, hyperbolic satire of politics, media, consumerism, and public numbness now can feel unnervingly close to reportage with the names changed. Its 23rd-century City remains an over-the-top cyberpunk nightmare, but the institutions, personalities, and manufactured distractions running it feel very familiar.

The volume begins with Spider Jerusalem living in isolation, hiding in the mountains after abandoning the City and the career that made him famous. He has a book contract to fulfill, a pile of debts to settle, and no actual desire to rejoin civilized life. Unfortunately for him, the people financing his escape have had enough. Spider is forced back into the City, a vast, overcrowded cyberpunk metropolis that seems to have taken every bad impulse of contemporary society and pushed it beyond all reasonable limits. His return is not a heroic homecoming. It is more like dropping an angry, drug-addled, heavily armed journalist into the middle of a garbage fire and asking him to write a column about the smoke.

Spider’s immediate appeal is that he has no interest in performing respectability. He is rude, vindictive, profane, selfish, and fully capable of treating even his friends terribly. He uses violence too casually, insults everyone around him, and carries a bowel disruptor gun that can incapacitate people in the most humiliating manner imaginable. In another book, these traits might make him an unbearable edgelord. Back on the Street, however, understands that Spider’s ugliness is part of a larger contradiction. He is not cruel because he does not care; he is cruel because he cares too much and has no healthy way of processing how badly the world fails ordinary people.

That is what makes him more than a Hunter S. Thompson imitation with futuristic sunglasses. Spider is a gonzo journalist, but his journalism is not merely an excuse for a manic lifestyle or a stage for his personality. At his best, he is driven by an almost old-fashioned moral belief that the truth matters, that citizens deserve to know what is being done in their name, and that powerful people should not be allowed to bury their crimes under public-relations language. The series positions journalism as something active rather than passive. Spider does not just report what happens; he investigates, provokes, exposes, and refuses to let the comfortable look away.

His column, “I Hate It Here,” captures the character’s relationship with the City. Spider hates it because he sees it clearly. He sees the absurdity of its consumer culture, the cruelty hiding behind political slogans, and the way people are taught to accept exploitation as normal. Yet he also understands the City in a way that few other characters do. It is full of strange, desperate, damaged people trying to survive in a system that is too big, too loud, and too indifferent to care whether they live with dignity. Spider’s contempt is not aimed equally at everyone. He has little patience for complacency, hypocrisy, and stupidity, but he shows genuine anger when vulnerable people are victimized by police, politicians, corporations, or public indifference. His idealism is twisted, abrasive, and buried beneath several layers of chemical abuse, but it is still idealism.

The City itself is the book’s other major character. Robertson’s art sells its overwhelming scale and ugliness. Every street looks packed with signs, body modifications, crowds, trash, strange fashion, predatory businesses, and people whose lives have been reshaped by technology in ways both liberating and grotesque. The future is not sleek in the familiar science-fiction sense. It is grubby, crowded, commercial, and deeply human. People can alter their bodies, change their identities, pursue bizarre new faiths, and live inside an endless stream of media stimulation, but none of those developments have solved poverty, loneliness, corruption, or abuse of power.

That is why the book has aged more effectively than many stories set in a supposedly distant future. Its technology is exaggerated, but its social anxieties feel much closer now. The City is saturated with information, yet its people are often less informed than ever. Everyone has access to spectacle, outrage, personality-driven media, and instant distractions, but the institutions shaping their lives remain opaque and unaccountable. The comic’s dystopia is not based on the idea that technology automatically destroys humanity. Instead, it suggests that technology amplifies the priorities already built into society. If a culture values profit, spectacle, division, and convenience over empathy and truth, more advanced technology simply gives those impulses more efficient tools.

The political material in this first volume is especially pointed. Ellis is interested in the gap between public image and actual power. Politicians do not need to be secretly subtle or brilliant to be dangerous; they only need to understand how to manipulate fear, identity, frustration, and media attention. The institutions around them—police, corporate media, wealthy interests, and political operatives—help sustain the illusion that ordinary people have meaningful control while making sure the system remains insulated from consequences. The book’s vision of power can be blunt, but bluntness is part of its style. Transmetropolitan does not whisper its anger. It shouts because it believes politeness is often one of the tools that lets abuse continue unchallenged.

At the same time, Back on the Street is not flawless. Its satire can be so broad that it occasionally feels like the story is pointing at a target with both hands and yelling until the reader gets it. Some of the shock humor and sexual material carry an intentionally trashy late-nineties edge that may feel juvenile or dated. The supporting cast is still taking shape, so many people primarily exist as foils for Spider’s verbal attacks or examples of the City’s bizarre social landscape. The book’s relentless attitude can also wear readers down if they need a more emotionally grounded entry point.

Still, the excess is usually purposeful. This is a world where the boundaries between entertainment, propaganda, commerce, and personal identity have all but collapsed, so subtle world-building would almost be dishonest. The visual and verbal overload puts the reader in Spider’s position: constantly assaulted by nonsense, constantly asked to separate meaningful horror from everyday noise. The absurdity makes the real injustice sharper. A city can be full of outrageous fashion, talking animals, hallucinogens, and body-modification trends, yet its most disturbing feature remains how easily human suffering is turned into content, data, or a political talking point.

Ultimately, Transmetropolitan Vol. 1: Back on the Street works because Spider Jerusalem is not presented as a clean solution to a corrupt society. He is a mess, an irritant, and sometimes a monster in miniature. But he is also someone who refuses to be numb. In a world built to keep people distracted, passive, and exhausted, that refusal has real value. The book’s cyberpunk future remains wildly over-the-top, but its central warning feels uncomfortably familiar: the most dangerous dystopias are not always the ones with impossible technology. Sometimes they are the ones where the public is flooded with noise, the powerful face no consequences, and telling the truth becomes an act of open rebellion.

Review: 100 Bullets Vol. 3 – Hang Up on the Hang Low

Posted on August 10, 2026 by Arleigh

“I never told you to kill him. I just gave you the opportunity.” — Agent Graves

With Hang Up on the Hang Low, Brian Azzarello and Eduardo Risso continue to prove that 100 Bullets is far more than a series about revenge fantasies and mysterious briefcases. The first two collections introduced the basic concept of Agent Graves approaching damaged people with a gun, one hundred untraceable bullets, and proof of who ruined their lives. That premise was already strong, but this third volume starts showing just how much uglier and more complicated the world around Graves really is. This is where the series begins to feel less like a set of loosely connected crime stories and more like a large, carefully constructed noir epic. The revenge angle is still present, but it is no longer the whole point. The people who receive Graves’s offer are getting pulled into a much bigger machine, whether they realize it or not.

The main character this time is Loop Hughes, a young man who has spent much of his life acting tougher, smarter, and more connected than he actually is. He is a small-time street hustler, someone who talks a good game but clearly has no real direction in life. That makes him an interesting choice for Agent Graves. Loop is not someone who has already been crushed by a terrible tragedy in the same direct way as Dizzy Cordova or Lee Dolan. His grievance is more personal and more complicated: his father, a man known as the Rain, abandoned him and his mother when he was still a child. Loop has built up years of anger around that absence, even if he has never really known what to do with it.

When Graves gives Loop one of his trademark attaché cases, it seems at first like another straightforward setup. Loop has the gun, the bullets, the evidence, and the freedom to act without legal consequences. The temptation is there, and Azzarello makes it easy to understand why Loop would want to pull the trigger. The Rain did not just leave; he left a hole in Loop’s life that the younger man has filled with insecurity, bravado, and bad decisions. But the story becomes much more interesting when Loop finally finds his father and discovers that the Rain is not some helpless old man waiting to be punished. He is deeply involved with dangerous people and has his own place in the criminal underworld.

That is where Hang Up on the Hang Low really finds its momentum. Rather than immediately becoming a story about a son taking revenge on his father, it turns into a story about Loop being drawn into the world that helped create his father in the first place. The Rain is connected to organized crime, old grudges, and the kind of people who can make a murder look like business as usual. Loop thinks he is finally getting some answers, but every answer only opens another door to something worse. He is in well over his head almost from the beginning, and the book does a great job of making the reader feel that constant pressure.

Loop is one of the more sympathetic characters in the series so far because, underneath all of his posturing, he does seem to have a conscience. He is not innocent, exactly, and he certainly makes some dumb choices, but he is not naturally cruel. He wants respect, money, and an explanation for why his father left, but he also cares about people in a way that many of the hardened gangsters around him do not. Azzarello does not turn him into a saint, though. Loop is still immature and easily manipulated, which is exactly why his journey through this volume becomes so tragic. He keeps thinking he has found a way to gain control over his life, only to learn that somebody else has already decided the terms.

Agent Graves remains the most fascinating figure in the book. In the early volumes, he could be seen as a mysterious avenger or a kind of grim wish-fulfillment figure, handing victims the tools to get justice on their own terms. This collection makes him feel more unsettling than heroic. Graves is not necessarily lying to Loop, but he is absolutely steering him toward a result that serves some larger purpose. He is a man who sees people as pieces on a board, and even when he gives them a choice, it is hard to believe that he does not already have an idea of how they will respond. The briefcase may offer freedom from prosecution, but it never offers freedom from consequences.

The book also continues expanding the larger mythology involving the Trust and the Minutemen. Azzarello is still not explaining everything, and that can be frustrating if someone wants clean answers right away. At the same time, the lack of full explanation is part of what gives 100 Bullets its pull. The reader gets the sense that every crime boss, stray conversation, and seemingly random killing could matter later. People who initially seem like minor players keep revealing hidden ties to the larger conspiracy. Even the deaths and betrayals carry an extra weight because they do not feel random. This series is building toward something, and by the end of this volume it is clear that Graves has been setting events in motion for a long time.

Eduardo Risso’s artwork continues to be one of the best things about the series. His characters look stylized without ever feeling too cartoonish, and he gives every person a distinct physical presence. You can tell who is dangerous just by the way they stand in a room. You can tell who is nervous by the way they avoid eye contact. Risso’s visual storytelling is especially effective in the bar scenes, street confrontations, and quiet moments when characters are trying to decide whether to trust someone. He knows how to make a room feel crowded, seedy, and tense without overloading the page with unnecessary detail.

Risso also has a great eye for the ugly atmosphere of this world. The bars look worn down, the apartments feel cramped, and the city streets always seem like they are one bad decision away from turning violent. The noir influence is obvious, but it does not feel like a cheap imitation of old detective stories. It feels more like a modern crime story filtered through noir imagery: low lighting, cigarette smoke, suspicious looks, crooked power structures, and people who keep trying to escape the past only to be dragged deeper into it. The coloring helps the art stand out as well, giving the grimy environments and tense confrontations a little extra visual bite without making the book look overly polished.

The ending is what really makes the volume stick. Azzarello does not rely on a giant surprise twist so much as a sense of inevitability. You can see the bad outcome coming, but that does not make it any easier to watch. Loop spends most of the story trying to become somebody who matters, somebody with control and power, and the cruel part is that the criminal world is more than happy to let him feel that way for a little while. By the time reality catches up with him, he has learned that the people offering him opportunity were never offering him a real way out.

100 Bullets Vol. 3: Hang Up on the Hang Low is the strongest collection in the series so far. It has a more focused central story than Split Second Chance, while still pushing the wider conspiracy forward in a meaningful way. Loop is a memorable lead because he is flawed, angry, and trying desperately to look fearless when he is really just lost. Azzarello keeps the dialogue sharp and streetwise, Risso keeps every page visually charged, and the larger story continues to get more dangerous the more we learn about it. This is the point where 100 Bullets stops merely promising that it has a major story to tell and starts delivering on that promise.

100 Bullets Volume Reviews

Guilty Pleasure No. 125: In Death Series (by J.D. Robb)

Posted on July 30, 2026 by Arleigh

If you’ve ever wondered what would happen if you mashed up a gritty police procedural with a futuristic New York City and a slow-burn romance that somehow never gets old, J.D. Robb’s In Death series is your answer. Now 62 books deep and still going strong, this series is a masterclass in how to take well-worn tropes—brilliant but emotionally closed-off detective, deadly serial killers, found family, and a romance that simmers across dozens of books—and make them feel fresh, addictive, and weirdly comforting every single time. It’s the kind of series you can binge like comfort food, but with a side of cybernetic enhancements and murder so creative it’ll make you side-eye your toaster. And yes, it’s absolutely a guilty pleasure—but not because it’s badly written or because Robb has lost her touch. It’s a guilty pleasure like that extra slice of pie you know you shouldn’t have but can’t resist, or buying a lottery ticket despite the astronomical odds. You know it’s not good for you in the grand scheme of things, but dang it, it feels good in the moment.

The series kicks off with Naked in Death, where we meet Lieutenant Eve Dallas, a homicide detective in 2058 New York who’s all sharp edges and zero patience for nonsense. She’s the kind of cop who’d rather work a double shift than talk about her feelings, which is convenient because her past is a landmine of trauma she’d prefer to ignore. Enter Roarke, the Irish billionaire with a shady past, a face that could melt glaciers, long black hair, deep blue sea eyes, and an Irish brogue that could charm the pants off a saint. He’s the billionaire playboy whose dubious criminal past built his legitimate business empire, and he’s the perfect foil to Eve’s law-abiding, no-nonsense demeanor. Their dynamic is the heart of the series and the ultimate embodiment of the “opposites attract” trope. Here you have two diametrically opposed characters—a by-the-book cop and a former criminal turned businessman—who somehow end up being perfect for each other. Their push-and-pull of trust, loyalty, and simmering tension is what makes their relationship so compelling. Robb (a pseudonym for Nora Roberts) takes her time with Eve and Roarke’s romance, letting it develop over the first handful of books in a way that makes their eventual partnership feel earned. And even when they’re officially together, their relationship keeps evolving—through marriage, career shifts, and the occasional murderous ex-lover trying to ruin their day. It’s the kind of slow-burn romance that makes you sigh happily every time they share a quiet moment, even if you know it’s all a little ridiculous.

What’s wild about In Death is how effortlessly it blends its genres while still finding new ways to retell similar stories. The sci-fi elements are often window dressing—hover cars, androids, and off-planet travel exist, but the focus is always on the murders, the investigation, and the people solving (or committing) them. The police procedural side is where the series shines, and Robb’s ability to take familiar setups (a killer targeting a specific demographic, a conspiracy within the police force, a cold case resurfacing) and twist them into something fresh is impressive. You’d think after 60-plus books, the well would run dry, but Robb consistently finds inventive angles, whether it’s the method of murder, the killer’s motive, or the personal stakes for Eve and her team. The supporting cast is a huge part of the charm, too. There’s Delia Peabody, Eve’s former rookie turned trusted partner, whose growth from wide-eyed newbie to seasoned detective is one of the series’ most rewarding arcs. Then there’s Captain Ryan Feeney, the gruff but lovable former cop turned consultant, whose gruff exterior hides a heart of gold (and a love for old-school tech). Even the villains often have depth, with motives that range from tragically relatable to straight-up unhinged.

But let’s talk about the tropes, because In Death has them in spades—and yet, they never feel lazy. Eve and Roarke are the poster children for the “opposites attract” trope, and it works because Robb gives them enough depth and chemistry to make their connection feel real. Eve is the classic “genius detective with a dark past” trope, but Robb gives her enough nuance and growth that she never feels like a caricature. She’s stubborn, yes, but she also learns—slowly—to let people in, to trust her team, and to accept that she doesn’t have to carry the weight of the world alone. Roarke, for his part, could easily have been a one-note “rich love interest” character, but instead, he’s a fully realized partner who respects Eve’s independence while also being unapologetically protective. Their relationship is built on mutual admiration and a shared sense of justice, and it’s refreshing to see a romance in a long-running series that doesn’t devolve into drama for drama’s sake. Even the recurring themes—like Eve’s struggle with her abusive childhood, or the way her job constantly tests her emotional boundaries—are handled with a deft touch that keeps them from feeling repetitive.

The series isn’t without its quirks, though. Some of the later books can feel a bit formulaic, with Eve and her team solving cases in a way that starts to resemble a well-oiled machine. And let’s be real: the number of times Eve gets into physical altercations with suspects who are way bigger and stronger than her, only to come out on top, starts to stretch credibility after a while. But these are minor nitpicks in the grand scheme of things. The real magic of In Death is how it makes you care about these characters, even when the plots start to blur together. There’s a comfort in returning to Eve’s world, where you know you’re going to get a solid mystery, a few laughs, and a healthy dose of heart. The series also does a great job of evolving its characters over time. Peabody’s rise through the ranks, for example, is a slow burn that pays off in satisfying ways, and even side characters like Dr. Morris, the medical examiner, get their moments to shine.

Another standout feature of the series is its ability to balance tone. One minute, you’re knee-deep in a gruesome murder investigation, and the next, you’re laughing at Eve’s sarcastic inner monologue or Roarke’s dry humor. The dialogue is sharp, the banter is frequent, and the chemistry between the characters—both romantic and platonic—keeps the pages turning. And while the sci-fi elements might not be the most hard-hitting or innovative, they serve their purpose: creating a world that feels just different enough from our own to be intriguing, but familiar enough to be relatable. New York in 2058 is still New York, just with more gadgets and a few extra layers of bureaucracy. It’s a world you want to escape into, even if you know it’s all a little indulgent.

At its core, In Death is a series about resilience. Eve’s journey from a traumatized orphan to a woman who’s found love, purpose, and a sense of belonging is the emotional backbone of the series. And while the mysteries are often the driving force of individual books, it’s the characters and their relationships that keep readers coming back. Robb’s ability to weave together sci-fi, police procedural, and romance into a cohesive, engaging whole is no small feat. It’s a testament to her skill as a storyteller that a series this long can still feel so vibrant and alive, even when it leans on familiar tropes. In a genre landscape where so many series fizzle out after a few books, In Death is a rare beast: a long-running saga that manages to stay fresh, fun, and deeply satisfying, book after book. Whether you’re here for the murders, the romance, or the sheer joy of watching Eve Dallas evolve, there’s plenty to love—and plenty more to dive into. And if anyone judges you for binging 10 books in a row? Well, they clearly haven’t experienced the simple joy of curling up with a new In Death novel and letting the rest of the world fade away.

Previous Guilty Pleasures

Brad recommends the book BOXED IN – TRAPPED IN 80’S TELEVISION, by Fanacek!

Posted on July 19, 2026 by Bradley Crain

I have about a 35-minute commute to work every day, so I often listen to various podcasts as I’m driving in. There are several that I really enjoy, with “Fanacek” being one of my very favorites. I pretty much always listen to his new episodes on the same day they come out. He’s been talking about the book he’s been working on for quite a while, and it’s finally come out. The name of the book is BOXED IN – TRAPPED IN 80’s TELEVISION, and it’s a monster, coming in at 750 pages. One of the best things I can say is that he’s captured the fun of the podcast in the book, with it being both incredibly funny and informative. I laughed out loud frequently while I was reading it. I also made quite a few notes as the book reminded me of shows I wanted to revisit or shows I may not have ever even heard of. I recommend the book to any person who grew up in the 80’s. There’s a lot of nostalgia here. I also recommend the book to everyone else who just enjoys the history of TV. There’s so much to learn, and Fanacek’s exhaustive research is a great start!

If any of that sounds good to you, just search for BOXED IN – TRAPPED IN 80’s TELEVISION on Amazon. I don’t think there’s any way you’ll be disappointed!

The Adventures of a History Nerd: Candidates ’72

Posted on July 4, 2026 by Lisa Marie Bowman

1972! Now, that’s a presidential election that I’m sorry I wasn’t around to witness!

1972, of course, was the year that the Democrats nominated George McGovern and President Richard Nixon went on to win 49 states. McGovern was considered to be one of the most left-wing presidential candidates of all time. He started out as a dark horse but ultimately won the Democratic nomination after the more moderate Edmund Muskie’s campaign turned to be not as strong as people assumed and after Governor George Wallace’s campaign was ended by gunfire in Maryland. (Wallace survived being shot but spent the rest of his life in wheelchair.) McGovern’s campaign knew how to win a primary but had no idea how to win a general election. He ended up getting around 37% of the popular vote. He carried Massachusetts but he lost his home state of South Dakota.

Today, it’s usually assumed that Nixon’s victory was a foregone conclusion but that’s not true. The Republicans had a weak midterm in 1970. The Vietnam War was unpopular. Nixon, himself, had managed to upset both the conservative and the liberal wings of the Republican Party with some of his policies. Much as in 2020, a record number of candidates threw their hat into the ring to take on the incumbent President. 1972 is a great “What if” election. What if the Democrats had nominated Edmund Muskie or Hubert Humphrey? What if the Watergate burglars hadn’t been arrested? What if George McGovern hadn’t picked Thomas Eagleton for Vice President or later asked him to step down as his running mate? Would history be different today?

That’s why I’m glad that I have a copy of Candidates ’72.

Candidates ’72 was published, in 1971, by Congressional Quarterly. It featured profiles of the many men and women who ended up running for President in 1972. It not only detailed their backgrounds and their political stances but it also analyzed their chances of winning their party’s nomination. For a history nerd like me, this book is wonderful because it was written without the benefit of hindsight. It’s a chance to see what people were actually saying about the election of 1972 while it was going on. Often times, it’s quite different from the biased analysis that was written about the election after it had already happened.

The other reason why I like Candidates ’72 is because so many memorable people ran for the Presidency in that year. George McGovern, New York Mayor John Lindsay, U.S. Rep. Shirley Chisholm, Hubert Humphrey, Eugene McCarthy, Los Angles Mayor “Mad Sam” Yorty, George Wallace, Dr. Benjamin Spock, they are just some of the candidates profiled here. Reading the profiles really does reveal that America was at a crossroads in the early 70s. Much like today, a lot of people assumed that radicalism was ascendant while failing to consider just how serious the backlash would eventually become. Some of the other Democrats running actually made George McGovern look like a moderate. Meanwhile, on the Republican side, Nixon was challenged by an anti-war congressman named Pete McCloskey. McCloskey eventually lost his house seat in the 80s but briefly reemerged in 2006 as an environmentalist and anti-war activist. He was also a Holocaust denier so let’s be happy that he never got anywhere near the White House.

(It’s probably a sign of just how chaotic the 1972 election was that a few candidates — John Ashbrook, Terry Sanford — did not get profiled in Candidates ’72, presumably because they jumped into the fray after the book went to the presses.)

Here are the candidates and potential candidates who are profiled in Candidates ’72.

Republicans:

Vice President Spiro Agnew of Maryland (elected Vice President in the General Election)
Treasury Secretary John Connally of Texas (declined to run)
Lobbyist John Gardner (declined to run)
U.S. Rep. Pete McCloskey of California (suspended campaign during the primaries)
President Richard M. Nixon of California (won the general election)

Democrats:

U.S. Rep. William Anderson of Tennessee (dropped out before the primaries)
Sen. Birch Bayh of Indiana (dropped out before the primaries)
U.S. Rep. Shirley Chisholm of New York (defeated at the Democratic Convention)
Former Attorney General Ramsey Clark of New York (declined to run)
Sen. Fred Harris of Oklahoma (dropped out before the primaries)
U.S. Sen. Vance Hartke of Indiana (withdrew during the primaries)
Sen. Howard Hughes of Iowa (dropped out before the primaries)
Sen. Hubert Humphrey of Minnesota (defeated at the Democratic Convention)
Sen. Henry Jackson of Washington (defeated at the Democratic Convention)
U.S. Sen. Edward M. Kennedy of Massachusetts (declined to run)
New York Mayor John V. Lindsay (withdrew during the primaries)
Lt. Gov. Lester Maddox of Georgia (withdrew during the primaries)
Fmr. Sen. Eugene McCarthy of Minnesota (withdrew during the primaries)
Sen. George McGovern of South Dakota (defeated in the General Election)
U.S. Rep. Wilbur Mills of Arkansas (withdrew during the primaries)
U.S. Rep. Patsy T. Mink of Hawaii (withdrew during the primaries)
U.S. Sen. Walter Mondale of Minnesota (declined to run)
Sen. Edmund Muskie of Maine (suspended campaign during the primaries)
Sen. William Proxmire of Wisconsin (dropped out before the primaries)
R. Sargent Shriver of Maryland (nominated for vice president, lost the general election)
Gov. George Wallace of Alabama (suspended campaign after being shot in Maryland)
Los Angeles Mayor Sam Yorty (withdrew during the primaries)

Independents:

Ralph Nader (declined to run)
Dr. Benjamin Spock (lost the general election)

Ran, but not profiled:

U.S. Rep. John Ashbrook (R-OH)
U.S. Sen. Thomas Eagleton (D-MO, nominated for Vice President but stepped down from the ticket and was replaced by Sargent Shriver)
State Rep. Sissy Farenthold (D-TX, ran for the Vice Presidency at the Democratic Convention)
U.S. Rep. Walter Fauntroy (D-DC)
U.S. Sen. Mike Gravel of Alaska (D-Alaska, run for the Vice Presidency at the Democratic Convention)
U.S. Rep. Wayne Hays (D-OH)
Former Governor Endicott Peabody (D-Massachusetts, ran in the nonbinding Vice Presidential primary)
Former Governor Terry Sanford (D-NC)
U.S. Rep. John G. Schmitz (R-CA, ran as the candidate of the American Party)
Cleveland Mayor Carl Stokes (D-OH)

I ordered my copy of Candidates ’72 shortly after I ordered Candidates ’76. Sadly, my copy of Candidates ’72 is not in the best condition and I doubt I’ll ever find another copy. As a proud history nerd, though, I’m still happy to have it.

The Adventures of a History Nerd: Right From The Start by Gary Hart

Posted on July 1, 2026 by Lisa Marie Bowman

The 1972 presidential campaign was a strange one.

Today, it’s best-remembered for the fact that Richard Nixon carried 49 states and won 60.7% of the popular vote. Nixon’s victory came after the Democratic nominee, George McGovern, dropped his running mate, Thomas Eagleton, from the ticket after it was revealed that Eagleton had undergone electroshock treatment for depression. McGovern was also, at that point, one of the most liberal candidates to ever be nominated by a major political party. Much as with the earlier Barry Goldwater campaign, many of McGovern’s campaign volunteers and aides went on to have long careers in politics but their enthusiasm did not translate into votes for McGovern. Today, Nixon’s victory is seen as being such a foregone conclusion that people still wonder why a group of campaign operatives and White House aides even felt like they needed to break into the Watergate hotel to win.

1972 was a bit before my time but, if you look at the number of candidates who ran for the Democratic nomination, it’s obvious that, despite how thing ultimately turned out, quite a few people originally thought Nixon was vulnerable in 1972. Over 20 Democratic office holders competed for the right to run against Nixon. Sen. Edmund Muskie was the early favorite but, in the end, George McGovern won the nomination as the result of a largely grassroots effort. McGovern became the first Democrat to win the nomination through the primary system as opposed to making deals with political and labor bosses. McGovern’s campaign was fueled by opposition to the Vietnam War and an earnest idealism that got on the nerves of just about everyone outside of the campaign. One of McGovern’s rivals, Sen. Henry Jackson, said that McGovern was the candidate of “abortion, amnesty, and acid.”

McGovern’s campaign manager was a Colorado lawyer named Gary Hart. Hart would later be elected to the U.S. Senate and would twice run for president himself. (Hugh Jackman played Hart in the rather forgettable film, The Front Runner.) However, before Hart first ran for the Senate, he took the time to write a book about the McGovern campaign. That book was called Right From The Start. I ordered a used copy off of Amazon about ten years ago. It cost me about twenty dollars. If I ordered the book today, it would only cost me $16.00.

The book is an interesting historical document. Hart writes about the day-to-day operations of the McGovern campaign. He does a very good job of showing how McGovern came from behind to win the Democratic nomination. Hart writes about how the campaign recruited people who were new to politics but who were passionate about the issues. He writes about how Morris Dees (yes, the Southern Poverty Law Center guy) spearheaded the campaign’s fundraising. He writes about the day that Governor George Wallace was shot in Maryland. He shows how a group of committed activists were able to bypass the party bosses and win their candidate the nomination. Where Hart struggles is with explaining why McGovern lost the general election. Hart puts a lot of the blame on Thomas Eagleton and perhaps that’s justified. But McGovern still lost 49 states. To me, that would indicate there were even bigger problems then picking a bad running mate. But, because Hart was on the same side of McGovern, it’s perhaps understandable that he would struggle to admit that the electorate simply didn’t respond to what McGovern was selling.

(Ironically, in 1984, Hart and McGovern would both run for the Democratic presidential nomination.)

The chapter where Hart discusses the process that led to Thomas Eagleton becoming, albeit temporarily, McGovern’s running mate is the book’s highlight. As Hart explains it, he and the rest of McGovern’s aides had been so busy winning McGovern the nomination that none of them had really bothered to consider who McGovern should run with. McGovern had his own preferences but they all declined to join the ticket. A bunch of exhausted men ended up sitting around and tossing out names like CBS anchorman Walter Cronkite and Boston Mayor Kevin White. Someone suggested that, since the convention was being held in Miami, the second spot should go to New Orleans Mayor Moon Landrieu just so the next day’s paper would read “MOON OVER MIAMI.” In the end, Thomas Eagleton was picked not because anyone feels strongly about him but instead because he was the only one that nobody felt any passion about whatsoever. He was serviceable and inoffensive and, when he was asked if there was anything in his past that might embarrass the campaign, he replied that they’re wasn’t. A few weeks later, Eagleton’s psychiatric history was leaked to the press and the McGovern campaign imploded. Maybe they should have just asked Cronkite.

Right From The Start is an compulsively readable and interesting campaign memoir, perfect for history nerds like you and me.

The Adventures Of A History Nerd: Candidates ’76

Posted on June 23, 2026 by Lisa Marie Bowman

President Milton Shapp.

That sounds strange, doesn’t it? There’s never been a President named Milton Shapp. The name itself doesn’t exactly sound all the Presidential. A president named Milton? At one time, Milton brought to mind Paradise Lost. Today, for many people, Milton might bring to mind Stephen Root protectively holding his red stapler in Office Space. It’s not a name that we associate with presidents.

And yet, in 1976, Milton Shapp was one of the many people who ran an at least semi-serious campaign for presidency. He was the governor of Pennsylvania, having first been elected in 1970 and narrowly re-elected in 1974. He was the owner of an electronics company, a self-made millionaire. He played the violin. He wrote poetry. He was the author of several musicals that had never actually been produced. He ran for the Democratic Presidential nomination and, as you can probably guess, he didn’t get far. If he had been elected, he would have been the country’s first Jewish President.

Of course, he wasn’t elected President. If he had been elected, it’s doubtful that he would have been any better than Jimmy Carter. But he would be remembered. Milton Shapp would be the one with the books written about his life and Jimmy Carter would be the one reduced to being an obscure footnote in someone else’s story.

Unfortunately for Milton Shapp and the majority of the other people who ran for President in 1976, people don’t remember the also-rans. They remember the candidates who won their party’s nominations. To me, that’s a shame. Sometimes, the also-rans are far more intriguing than the people who won. In 1976, the first election after America’s only presidential resignation, over 20 candidates either ran or considered running for the White House. Arizona’s Mo Udall was a one-eyed Mormon who was also a former basketball player. North Carolina’s Terry Sanford was the President of Duke University. Oklahoma’s Fred Harris traveled across the country in a RV and stayed in the homes of his supporters. Indiana’s Birch Bayh and Idaho’s Frank Church were respected technocrats. Maryland’s Sargent Shriver was a Kennedy brother-in-law. Texas’s Lloyd Bentsen was a protegee of Lyndon B. Johnson and once called for nuking North Korea. Washington’s Henry “Scoop” Jackson was the original front runner who was still referred to be his childhood nickname despite being in his 50s. Alabama’s George Wallace campaigned from his wheelchair. At one point, every candidate had a shot at breaking through but only a few made it to the Convention. How different would America be if Mo Udall or Lloyd Bentsen or Milton Shapp had won in 1976?

If you’re wondering how I know about all of these folks, it’s because I recently ordered a copy of Candidates ’76, a collection of candidate profiles that was put together by Congressional Quarterly. Along with taking a look at their positions on the issues of the day, it also details their individual backgrounds and assesses their prospects. Because Candidates ’76 was written in 1976, there’s no benefit of hindsight here. Instead, it’s an honest historical document, one that was written at a time when no one was sure what the post-Watergate political scene would eventually look like. For a history nerd like me, it’s the type of thing that is fascinating to read.

For the record, the following candidates and potential candidates are profiled in Candidates ’76. Candidates with an asterisk by their name actually ended up on the primary ballot in 1976.

Republicans:

Gerald Ford*
Ronald Reagan*
Nelson Rockefeller
John B. Connally
Howard Baker
Charles Percy
Charles Mathias
Elliot Richardson
Donald Rumsfeld
George H.W. Bush

Democrats:

Birch Bayh*
Lloyd Bentsen*
James “Jimmy” Carter*
Frank Church*
Fred Harris*
Hubert Humphrey
Henry Jackson*
Edward M. Kennedy
Edmund Muskie
Terry Sanford*
Milton Shapp*
R. Sargent Shriver*
Morris L. “Mo” Udall*
George C. Wallace*
George McGovern
Jerry Brown*
Hugh Carey

Independent;

Eugene McCarthy*

(As far as I can tell, the only candidate that CQ missed was Robert Byrd, who ran as a favorite son in West Virginia. Future Vice President Walter Mondale also ran briefly for President but ended his campaign before Candidates ’76 was put together.)

One of the great things about being a history nerd is that I can find a lot of happiness in reading something like Candidates ’76 and playing the “What If?” game. At a time when misinformation is everywhere and when historical revisionism has been normalized, it’s nice to be able to go back and look at an original document. It’s the next best thing to having a time machine.

Review: Heart of Darkness (by Joseph Conrad)

Posted on May 16, 2026 by Arleigh

“The mind of man is capable of anything.” — Charles Marlow

There’s a strange, magnetic pull to Joseph Conrad’s Heart of Darkness that keeps readers coming back, even when the book itself seems determined to repel you. Published in 1899, this novella is often taught as a classic of colonial critique, but spending time with it feels less like a lecture and more like a slow, feverish drift up a murky river. The plot is deceptively simple: a British sailor named Marlow takes a job piloting a steamboat for an ivory trading company in the Belgian Congo. His real mission, however, is to find Kurtz, a charismatic, brilliant agent who has supposedly gone mad and set himself up as a god among the natives. What Marlow finds instead is a hollow man whose final whisper—“The horror! The horror!”—becomes one of literature’s most chilling epitaphs.

Conrad’s prose is dense and atmospheric, almost claustrophobic. He writes in long, looping sentences that circle back on themselves, mimicking the tangled jungle and Marlow’s own spiraling psyche. You don’t read this novella so much as wade through it, feeling the heat, the flies, and the creeping sense of moral decay. The frame narrative—Marlow telling his story to a group of sailors on the Thames—adds a layer of ironic distance. London, the heart of empire, is presented as another kind of darkness, a civilized wilderness that has simply learned to hide its savagery behind suits and ledgers. This structural choice is brilliant because it forces you to ask: is the “darkness” really in Africa, or is it something Europe shipped downriver?

That said, any honest review has to address the elephant in the room: the book’s treatment of race. For decades, the Nigerian writer and critic Chinua Achebe has mounted the most devastating case against Heart of Darkness. In his landmark 1975 lecture “An Image of Africa: Racism in Conrad’s Heart of Darkness,” Achebe argues that Conrad, despite ostensibly critiquing Belgian colonialism, produced a work that is fundamentally racist—a piece of literature born directly from the imperial colonial era and its dehumanizing ideologies. Achebe’s point is sharp and uncomfortable: the novella seeks to expose the dangers and horrors of imperialism, yet it simultaneously perpetuates the very racist ideas it should be dismantling. Conrad denies nearly every African character a name, a voice, or an interior life. They appear as limbs, grunts, or “savages” performing ominous rituals on the shore. Africa itself is reduced to “a place of darkness,” “the prehistoric earth,” and a blank space on the map waiting for European meaning. The sole exception is a well-dressed native man who works as a cook—and even he is reduced to a clumsy, almost comic figure. Marlow is more disturbed by the sight of “improper” cannibals restraining themselves than he is by the company’s brutal exploitation.

Achebe’s critique cuts to the bone: Conrad may have hated the cruelty of colonialism, but he couldn’t imagine Africans as fully human. He traded one set of stereotypes for another, offering a critique of empire that remains trapped inside empire’s own racial logic. You can argue that Conrad is exposing racism by showing Marlow’s limited perspective, but the text gives us no alternative viewpoint. The Congolese remain scenery for a white man’s existential crisis. That’s not just dated; it’s a structural flaw that makes the book feel less like a universal tragedy and more like a monologue delivered in a vacuum—and, as Achebe famously wrote, “a book which parades in the most vulgar fashion prejudices and insults from which a section of mankind has suffered untold agonies and atrocities should not be called a great work of art.” So while the novella wants to critique colonial violence, it cannot see the violence of its own representational strategies. The very language Conrad uses to evoke horror—the “savage” drums, the “prehistoric” shores—ends up reinforcing the racist hierarchies he pretends to question. Overt insults mix with subtle, almost unconscious dehumanization, creating a text that is as morally compromised as the ivory traders it condemns.

Where Heart of Darkness still stings is in its psychological precision, even as Achebe’s critique complicates any easy admiration. Kurtz is a masterpiece of ambiguity: a poet, a painter, a journalist who wrote a report on “civilizing” the natives, only to scribble at the bottom, “Exterminate all the brutes!” He represents the lie at the core of imperialism—the idea that Europe brings light to darkness, when in fact it brings greed, violence, and an insatiable hunger for ivory. The novella’s real horror isn’t the jungle or the cannibals; it’s how easily a man with noble ideals can become a skull-decorating tyrant. Conrad, who himself worked in the Congo, understood that the heart of darkness is not a place but a capacity we all carry. Yet Achebe would counter that this “we” is tellingly selective—the capacity for darkness is explored in Kurtz and Marlow, while actual African people are merely the backdrop against which that darkness is measured.

Despite its flaws—or perhaps because of their uncomfortable rawness—Heart of Darkness has proven enormously influential since its publication. Its DNA can be found in everything from T.S. Eliot’s The Waste Land (which originally quoted Kurtz’s “horror” as an epigraph) to Werner Herzog’s Aguirre, the Wrath of God. But the best and most famous example is Francis Ford Coppola’s 1979 film Apocalypse Now, which transplants the story from colonial Congo to the Vietnam War. Captain Willard stands in for Marlow, and the rogue Colonel Kurtz (famously played by Marlon Brando) becomes the ivory trader’s spiritual twin—a decorated American operative who has set up his own brutal kingdom in the Cambodian jungle. Coppola keeps Conrad’s core structure: a river journey into madness, a whispered report on “unsound methods,” and a final, intimate confrontation with a man who has seen too much. What makes Apocalypse Now such a brilliant adaptation is that it doesn’t just copy the plot; it captures the feverish, hallucinatory tone. The film’s famous line—“I love the smell of napalm in the morning”—echoes Kurtz’s seductive, terrifying embrace of violence. By updating the setting, Coppola proved that Heart of Darkness was never really about the Congo. It was about the darkness any empire carries inside itself. Yet even here, Achebe’s shadow lingers: the film, like the novella, largely sidelines the Vietnamese and Cambodian people, turning them into anonymous threats or scenery for an American psychodrama.

So, is this a book you should read? Yes, but with caution and critical awareness. It’s short—under 40,000 words—but it’s not an easy afternoon’s entertainment. Read it alongside Achebe’s essay “An Image of Africa” or a historical account of Leopold II’s atrocities. Treat Marlow as an unreliable narrator, not a prophet, and recognize that Conrad’s attempt to critique empire is fatally compromised by the very racial imagination he never managed to escape. The prose can be maddeningly vague, and the pacing sometimes stalls under the weight of its own symbolism. Yet for all its flaws, Heart of Darkness refuses to fade away, in part because artists from Conrad to Coppola keep finding new horrors to pour into its shape, and in part because critics like Achebe force us to read it honestly—as both a searing study of evil and an uncomfortable document of that same evil’s persistence. It’s a mirror held up to the worst of us, and whether you see a portrait of colonialism, a study of madness, a racist artifact, or all three at once, you won’t forget what stares back.

Guilty Pleasure No. 106: The Troubles of Janice (by Erich von Götha)

Posted on February 19, 2026 by Arleigh

The Troubles of Janice by Erich von Götha remains one of the most infamous works in erotic comics, a multi-volume series spanning 1987 to 1996 that draws readers into a vivid world of sadomasochistic intrigue amid the lavish decay of 18th-century England. Janice McCormick, a curvaceous young woman released from Newgate Prison, soon finds herself ensnared by the sadistic Duke Viscount Vauxhall of Nether Wallop, whose experiments in female discipline propel her through a cascade of blackmail, assassinations, and sensual escapades—from the clandestine Hellfire Club to the shimmering waterways of Venice. Serialized initially in French magazines and later compiled into albums such as Parts 1 through 4, the narrative echoes the spirit of the Marquis de Sade’s Philosophy in the Bedroom, pitting innocence against unbridled authority in panels brimming with exaggerated forms and explicit encounters that straddle the edge of terror and desire.

This series thrives squarely in guilty pleasure territory, offering a procession of BDSM scenarios tailored for indulgent, after-hours reading—Janice bound and enduring floggings, group violations, and ceremonial degradations at the hands of depraved aristocrats, clergy, and a imposing black servant named Horace, whose prominence marks the early chapters. The artwork begins with a raw, straightforward style, its stark lines accentuating phallic prominence and voluptuous contours, but evolves across the run into more refined techniques, incorporating nuanced shading, occasional full-color pages, and fluid compositions that convey genuine motion. Under the pseudonym of British artist Robin Ray, von Götha refined his craft from earlier projects like the sporadic Torrid comic of the 1980s, achieving here a theatrical intensity that elevates rote erotica into something akin to a decadent opera. Janice’s subjugation under Vauxhall builds to extravagant bacchanals, her figure a stage for boundless transgression, sustained by slender plotlines: a doomed union with Lord Mitchcombe, clerical extortion of her fortune, and a desperate flight to Venice. It delivers unvarnished pornographic fantasy, where non-consent heightens the illicit allure, interwoven with dated racism, sexism, and brutality that clash with contemporary standards.

Nevertheless, amid its sensationalism, The Troubles of Janice carries a sly undercurrent that resonates as guilty pleasure, while dedicated admirers in specialized erotica and Sadean circles regard it as elevated art for its bold dissection of dominance and moral corruption. Enthusiasts praise von Götha’s fidelity to historical particulars—powdered periwigs, flickering chambers, and rigid social strata—which grounds the excess in authenticity, recasting Janice’s sufferings as a pictorial meditation on control and yielding. The work’s longevity, evidenced by deluxe reprints into 2008 via publishers like Dynamite and Priaprism/Last Gasp, underscores this devoted following, as initial stark visuals mature into polished depictions of perspiration, anguish, and rapture rendered with technical finesse. Partnership with writer Bernard Joubert lends philosophical weight reminiscent of Sade’s justifications for indulgence, complemented by von Götha’s advertising and design heritage, which infuses each frame with compelling, voyeuristic magnetism.

The episodic structure fosters escalating drama without pause: Janice’s journey from captive to bereaved inheritor to elusive temptress parallels gothic archetypes, her physique weathering not only corporal trials but subtle emotional fissures that suggest deeper psyche amid the torment. Venetian interludes in subsequent volumes add worldly elegance, with Janice alluring period luminaries amid carnivalesque revels and canal rendezvous, a momentary reprieve prior to recapture. Visually, the shift from monochrome austerity to vivid palettes enlivens flesh tones and intensifies ominous depths. Fair assessment reveals shortcomings, however: proportions veer toward the grotesque, recurring motifs dull the initial impact, and pervasive misogyny, though fitting the fantastical milieu, borders on excess even for 1980s sensibilities. Stereotypes such as Horace’s portrayal jar in modern light, affirming its roots in London’s pre-PC erotic underbelly.

Within insular communities, such elements paradoxically enhance its stature—collectors and forums acclaim von Götha as a virtuoso of restraint, his standalone prints and mythic illustrations perpetuating the legacy, bolstered by exhibitions in Bologna and Paris that confer artistic validity. To the broader audience, it embodies quintessential guilty pleasure—discreetly concealed material that fulfills taboo yearnings sans apology. The Troubles of Janice persists by unflinchingly engaging the subconscious, compelling confrontation with shadowed impulses through line and shade. Whether approached for its carnality or its Sadean resonances, The Troubles of Janice endures as a divisive masterpiece, ideally encountered with caution.

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