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I wish Brian Michael Bendis still wrote books like this. And something tells me Bendis wishes he did, too.

Bendis, for those who might not be aware, was the flavor-of-the-month at Marvel a few years ago, and may still be for all I know. He’s had a crack at most, of not all, of their high-profile characters, and helped create their staggeringly successful Ultimate line with Ultimate Spider-Man (which, incidentally, was the book that got me back into comics in the first place).

But he started out doing darker, more realistic stories about crime and secret agents and stuff. (And I still say his Torso, the story of Eliot Ness tracking one of the country’s first serial killers, would make an outstanding film sequel to The Untouchables.) So when he made it to the big time, he was still feeling the crime vibe and he applied it to Powers at Image, his outstanding run on Daredevil and Alias.

I guess Alias was originally meant to be about Jessica Drew, aka Spider Woman (who later surfaced as part of his New Avengers), but for whatever reason, that character was not available to him. So, to tell the stories he wanted to tell, he was forced to create an original character — also named Jessica, also a private eye in the world of superheroes. (Drew shows up over the course of Alias and the two ladies kick in doors together for an issue or two.) And while he may have been disappointed that he couldn’t make the book the way he originally wanted it, I think we’re all much better off for the way things actually turned out.

In liberating himself from the often weighty constraints of continuity, Bendis is able to present a new, original face in the foreground of an already familiar picture. Jessica has the same goofy, nonsensical origin story involving radioactive chemicals, and she’s friends with more than a few heroes in various positions in the fame and success hierarchy. But that’s where the similarities to anything in the mainstream Marvel universe end.

The very first word on the first page of Alias is “fuck,” and that’s as clear an indication as any that we’re about to get a truly “adult” read on the genre. And I don’t just mean “adult” as in “R-rated” (though there’s plenty of creative profanity, irresponsible sex and rampant drug use throughout the series) — I mean full-blown “Wham! Pow! Comics aren’t just for kids anymore!” maturity.

Jessica Jones may easily be the most complex and fallibly human superhero character ever to grace the House of Ideas. Her psychological complexities go far beyond the shallow concerns of just about every female genre protagonist in the last half century. She’s no idealized woman, but she’s no cheap stereotype either. She is, simply, a modern realization of the very concept that made Marvel what it is in the first place: a very human person in a world full of the fantastic. Her will is strong when she needs it to be, but she also makes stupid, weak mistakes (lots of them). She’s not afraid to use her femininity when the situation calls for it, but she’s also not afraid to punch somebody in the face if they have it coming. She has a horrible, traumatic past that’s revealed over the course of the story, but she carries it with her through the day like we all have to. It would have been so easy for Bendis to have tipped her tragic backstory via an early conversation or series of thought captions. Instead, we watch her making self-destructive mistakes, and by showing instead of telling, we realize Jessica has some serious issues long before we’re actually told. There isn’t enough of that in comics these days.

The art is nothing to sneeze at, either. Michael Gaydos has a style that’s very unconventional for a Marvel comic, but its imperfect realism fits the tone of this book perfectly. Jessica isn’t just another perfect 36-24-36 with a generic comic book face — she is attractive, but you also get that vague “skank” vibe that, frankly, suits the way she lives her life.

It helps that this is a self-contained story in its 28 issues — there’s a clear beginning, middle and ending, without the usual neat 6-issue arcs that Bendis and his contemporaries have gotten so comfortable with these days. Yes, it came out as a monthly book and yes, it does break down for convenient printing in trade paperback form, but it really reads best in one sitting. This slick (but not ridiculously fancy) hardcover is exactly what it deserved. I don’t buy a lot of hardcovers — frankly, I can’t justify the expense unless I’m really into the book. This one was a no-brainer. Quite simply, this is the best long-form title I’ve read since I came back to comics in 2002. I’m glad Bendis ended it when it felt like “the end,” but I really do miss it. Something tells me, after “House of M,” The Pulse (the uninspired Alias spin-off) and two unnecessary Avengers titles, he does as well.

Like his fellow contemporary smartie pants English writers (Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman and Grant Morrison), Warren Ellis sure does love him some big ideas. But the thing about Warren is, he doesn’t come off as stuffy or pretentious as the former two sometimes do, nor as completely baffling as the latter. No, this is a guy who’s just plain excited by theoretical science and the history of pulp literature, and he wants to share that excitement with you via some of the most kick-ass comics produced in this decade.

Oh, and incidentally, referring to him as “Warren” in no way implies that I have anything approaching first-name familiarity with the guy. I’ve talked at him on a message board a few times, and he’s responded back once or twice. I doubt he would remember any of this, and rightfully so. I call him “Warren” in deference to the one-name pop cultural (or at least sub-cultural) phenomenon he has become — the same way one would say “Oprah” or “Elvis.”

Planetary continues the work he’s done in some of his other titles, dragging the science fiction comic into the twenty-first century by daring to inject current scientific ideas into what has become a bit of a wasteland of cliches. (And if you don’t believe me, just ask him.) But beyond the nanotech armor of his run on Iron Man, or the slick modernization of the Galactus concept in the Ultimate Extinction trilogy, Planetary takes the basic Warren treatment a step further by actually being about stuff.

Through the title’s run, we’re treated to (mostly) affectionate reimaginings/recreations of the mainstays of twentieth century pulp literature, from giant atomic monsters in Japan to a quartet of space explorers being endowed with fantastic superhuman abilities to the rise of “grim and gritty” horror-themed comics of the eighties and early nineties. Planetary covers a lot of ground, and it uncondescendingly expects you to keep up. Which is one of the great things about it.

Another great thing is the art, which is almost as beautiful as pretty boy artist John Cassaday himself. (I can’t write about the guy and not mention his stunning good looks. It’s some kind of geek law or something, which also applies to Kabuki creator David Mack, incidentally.) Warren leads us through all that stuff I mentioned earlier and a whole hell of a lot more, and Cassaday never misses a step throughout. Whether illustrating a lost civilization in the depths of Africa or alien “angels” in deep space, he’s the perfect match for the broad spectrum of big ideas presented within.

This is not to say that he’s worth waiting six months for, which is what the book sort of degraded into toward the end there. (And actually, as of this writing, there’s still an epilogue issue forthcoming. I just wanted to get my thoughts down before I got any older.)

Beyond the ridiculous waits between issues, the title itself also felt a bit sluggish toward the end there, even when taken in one sitting. The thing about big ideas is, you need someone to tell them to you, and for the majority of the title’s final third, that’s about all that seems to happen. It redeems itself a bit toward the very end, and we’re delivered with a fairly satisfying climax to the action. But in a deliberately finite book like this one, I could have done with a little more showing and a little less telling. I think I’d have been a little more tolerant of all the “blah blah blah” had I known we’d be getting further adventures. But when this is all there is… it feels like kind of a waste.

Still, overall, this is one of the better titles I’ve read in recent years, and perhaps the crowning achievement of a guy who already had some pretty crowning achievements (The Authority, Transmetropolitan and the criminally underrated Nextwave.) Big words. Pretty pictures. Big fun. You read now.

I was really late to this party, I realize. I suppose it should be mentioned that I have kind of a love-hate thing with Warren Ellis. On the one hand, we have Stormwatch, The Authority and Planetary. On the other, we have Ultimate Fantastic Four and the fact that he has this ridiculous antipathy for my favorite online hangout. But I figured I’d give Transmet a try, seeing as many people whose opinions I trust had said good things about it. I’m glad I did.

Ellis’ Spider Jerusalem is a bit like a sci-fi Hunter S. Thompson — a hard-drinking, hard-drug-taking rebel-against-the-establishment type who obeys nothing but his journalistic instincts. It’s just that he has a two-headed, chainsmoking cat and he uncovers a scandal involving a half-alien cult leader. In short, everything I ever wanted Mr. Sarcasm to be.

Transmet manages to pull off that very difficult balance of hardcore cynicism with an underlying conscience. It does so in what should be a very worn-out format as well: the “bleak, overcrowded, obviously satirical future” schtick. In short, it’s well worth the time and money.

I know I’ve taken permanent residence up Benito’s ass lately, showering him with praise in my LiveJournal and on the Bendis board, but dammit, it’s well-deserved praise. This book is quite simply the funniest comedic comic I’ve read since Ambush Bug. And Ambush Bug rests permanently in my personal top 3, so that’s pretty damned impressive.

Here’s what you need to know: Teddy Roosevelt steals a time machine, hooks up with the ghost of Thomas Edison and fights Nazis on Mars. If that’s not enough, then you must be an idiot. Stop reading this now and go watch reality television. Go.

For the rest of you, trust me: this book delivers on its wacky premise. It serves up a much-needed helping of light-hearted adventure, earning its laughs from absurdity rather than cruelty or mockery (respectable though those approaches are). It’s a sci-fi story that’s not bogged down by science, but not stupid enough to call attention to itself either. In short, it’s a damn good book. Stop reading this and go pick it up. GO!

I took a chance on this book based on the description (”bridging the gap between DC’s Golden and Silver Ages”), and it’s been nothing but incredible since the first page. New Frontier gathers the classic DC heroes of the Silver Age — Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern and the Martian Manhunter — and spins a fantastic late 50s/early 60s yarn involving them all.

The artwork fits the period perfectly: the women look like pin-up girls and the men are all square-jawed Dick Tracy types. Each double-sized issue is cover-to-cover artwork, too, with no ads or filler to distract from your enjoyment. Best of all, the book ventures into territory that no comic of that era could ever have safely traversed, particularly in the political ideologies of the various heroes. Put it this way: this was the first time I’ve seen Wonder Woman portrayed in a way that interests me.

As of this writing, there are still two more issues to come… but I can’t imagine they’ll disappoint.

There’s no gimmick here — no clever twist that makes this particular title stand out from the rest. It’s just another superhero book, really. What makes it stand out from the rest is nothing more than fantastic writing and art that compliments it beautifully.

There’s not much more I can say, really: you know what to expect from a superhero book, and it’s all here. It’s just told better than 95% of the other “guys in tights” books out there today. Kirkman has been billed as “the next Bendis,” the hotshot new guy on his way up in the biz. Whether or not that’s true, he certainly deserves the hype. Do yourself a favor and check this out.

This was a lot better than I expected it to be. I’ve had a sort of writer/reader falling out with Neil Gaiman these last few years — I respect him as a writer, I just feel that he’s gotten a little more flowery and pretentious than I typically like. So when I heard the premise for 1602 — classic Marvel superheroes reimagined in ye olden times in England — I wasn’t expecting a lot. Thankfully, once again, I was completely wrong.

Gaiman captures the essence of what’s made these characters great for so long — the internal struggles, the witty banter, the sense of fun and adventure — and spins a damn good yarn out of it all. The story focuses on strange disturbances at the sunset of the reign of Mary, Queen of Scots (I think that’s who she is… she’s just “your majesty” in the story; I just googled that name to that time period). The queen’s personal physician, Dr. Stephen Strange and her Head of Intelligence, Sir Nicholas Fury, are called in to investigate. What unfolds is a mystery that brings in Renaissance versions of most of the more prominent residents of the Marvel universe, attempting to halt a disaster of multiversal proportions.

Often bizarre, ocasionally a little more cutesy-ironic than I care for (Peter Parquaugh must marvel over spiders a dozen times through the course of these 8 issues), 1602 is overall a pretty solid read. The ending felt a bit rushed, but I prefer that to being unnecessarily drawn out. All in all, Gaiman delivers everything you want in a Marvel comic. Or, as Sir Richard Reed says to Ye Thingge (okay, I don’t remember what they actually called The Thing), “I posit we are in a universe which favours stories. A universe in which no story can ever truly end; in which there can be only continuances…. a cure [for The Thing's orange rockiness] is possible. But the laws of story would suggest that no cure can last for very long, Benjamin. For in the end, alas, you are so much more interesting and satisfying as you are.”

There’s a guy who really gets why we read comics. Neil, buddy… I take it all back. Thanks for this.

I don’t just like Gail Simone because she’s an incredibly witty person who hangs on the same message board as I do… although that is a big part of it, I will admit. She recently started a thread over there entitled “Black Canary Could Beat Up Daredevil,” which contained numerous silly insults and cheap-shots detailing how her Birds of Prey character could wipe the floor with one of our message board host’s star players. Birds of Prey is one of those concepts that doesn’t appeal to me on the surface — three obscurish DC Comics characters fight crime in Gotham City.

First of all, my comics history ain’t what it used to be. The second- and third-tier characters are generally either nagging synapses waaaay in the back of my brain, or more often than not, complete blurs. Second, I pictured this as one of those annoying “girl power” deals, with some hacky neo-feminist (or, more likely, some dude pretending to be one out of guilt) at the helm. Finally… isn’t Gotham City pretty much covered already?

Thankfully, I don’t know what the hell I’m talking about. I realize once again that any concept can work in the right hands — and Gail Simone’s are as capable as anyone else I’m reading right now. She has an excellent sense of pacing, her characters are solid and the humor is not spared. This trade covers her first story arc on this title, and thankfully, there were almost enough monthlies following this to comprise a second. (See, it really bugs me when I discover a new writer and the trail ends so quickly. They become mini-obsessions.) Bottom line is, Birds of Prey puts Simone on that short list of creators whose work I buy on name alone. Besides, if I don’t like what I see, I can always heckle her on the Bendis board.

As much as I didn’t like Babylon 5, I am really digging J. Michael Straczynski’s comics. His Amazing Spider-man, though at times a little too mystical for my tastes, is top notch. His new Supreme Power series for Marvel is one of the first books I read when I get home from the comic store. And Rising Stars is proving to be no exception to the rule.

The book follows the fate of 113 people who were in various stages of in utero development when a mysterious energy hits Earth, endowing all the unborn babies with super powers of some kind.

I won’t go into too much detail as far as the plot goes — primarily because this is one of those “plot unfolds as you read” sort of things, and hanging around on a message board all day long has taught me to be very careful about spoilers. Suffice to say, it’s a great read: a healthy mix of the familiar and certain takes on the superhero myth that we’ve never seen before.