While guys like Alan Moore and Superman dominate the graphic novel scene — and that's just fine with most comic fans — some of the more intriguing stories continue to be published by smaller presses. Perhaps they're riding the coattails of the success of the book and film versions of Persepolis, but a theme of journeys and transcendence has emerged in a recent crop of books: a blend of mysterious shadows, missing limbs, vampires on night shift and Freddie Mercury. With gas at $4 a gallon, it might be a good idea to put your own personal journey on hold and plop down on the couch to get to know some new friends.
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Everyone has one band that they know every single detail about. For British expat Mike Dawson, that band is Queen. A young lad in England, Dawson is obsessed with the band, regaling his friends and family with lyrics from "Bicycle Race" — "Biiiicycle! Biiiicycle!" — and facts about he-of-the-plunging-V-necks-and-chest-hair while teasing his sister, Sarah, for her love of Wham! But when his father's job takes the family to America, Dawson soon realizes that his charming accent isn't going to woo the ladies as expected, and that Mercury-inspired mesh tops are a bad wardrobe choice across the pond. Structured a bit like "Bohemian Rhapsody" — minus the murder trial and banishment to hell — we're with Dawson every step of the way, from his adolescent missteps, Mercury's death from AIDS, meeting his future wife, to the completion of the book.
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At the heart of Cyril Pedrosa's Three Shadows is the question: "What sacrifices are parents willing to make to save their child?" Louis, Lise and their young son, Joachim, live a peaceful life on their idyllic farm until, one day, three shadowy riders appear on the distance. The riders remain, day after day, until Louis decides to take his son and make a run for it. Lise, having learned from a seer that young Joachim is meant to be taken from them, urges Louis to let go. Refusing, Louis sets out with his son and travels over hill and dale, eventually realizing, after literally having his own heart torn out, that his unwillingness to let death claim his son is robbing him of the joy of life.
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Vampires generally conjure up a ton of cliché images: sleeping in coffins, living in dusty old castles and dressing up in fancy Victorian duds. But what if those Romanian vampires were actually living in the U.S., chasing the American dream? In Life Sucks, they are, and Dave knows firsthand that the life of a vampire isn't all cool superpowers and riches. Bitten by his Eastern European vampire boss, Dave is a vampire wage slave, stuck on night shift at the local convenience store because, well, sunlight tends to charbroil him. To make matters worse, Dave is a vegetarian and refuses to bite humans, existing instead on a blood-based beer and whatever plasma he can scrounge from the blood bank. That means no cool powers for him. Things get even more complicated when he develops a massive crush on a young Goth girl obsessed with the vampire myth and a rival vampire swoops in to claim her. Apparently, being undead is much more like Clerks drudgery than Nosferatu excess.
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Brody is a bad-ass. With tons of tattoos and bleach-blond hair, she's generally tearing up the surf in Florida — until a shark decides to make a meal of her leg. Recuperating at her house with her friend, Louisa, Brody is haunted by dreams of those soulless black shark eyes. Things get worse when her deadbeat ex-boyfriend, Jake, shows up to crash at her house. After Jake wears out his welcome by puking all over the living room after a night of drinking, Brody loads Louisa and Jake into her mom's car and sets off to take Jake back to New York. On their trip, Campbell confronts a lot of teen issues, including drinking, drugs, bisexuality and manipulation. It may seem in-your-face, but the compelling art does a good job of obscuring the morality lesson.
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First things first. Go read Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States, or at least a few excerpts. OK? Now you can enjoy college history class darling Zinn's new endeavor, which starts with Sept. 11, 2001 as the launch point for an examination of American expansionism and the country's involvement — some might say meddling — in the world's affairs, from both World Wars to the war in Iraq. Zinn teams up with artist Mike Konopacki and historian Paul Buhle for a mix of cartoons, historic photographs and realistic drawings. Broken into panels, Zinn's ideas are more easily consumed than in his essays, and this time around, serving as narrator, Zinn interjects his own personal stories. As with most works by Zinn, the pivotal question remains, "Have we learned nothing from our past?"
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