Familiar Face by Michael Deforge. Drawn & Quarterly, 2020. 9781770463875. 176pp. The people and the city in Deforge’s latest graphic novel are continually optimized and updated, without warning and seemingly at random. It’s all supposed to be an improvement (but it’s clearly not); the new body you wake up in may not be intuitive, and the street you’re driving on may suddenly have no exit. The narrator is struggling because of her job in the complaints department. (The complaints are shown in triangular panels, in black and white, and some information is redacted.) She can’t discuss the complaints with the woman she’s in a relationship with, Jessica, who also can’t tell her about her own work in the city’s maps department. And then one day Jessica is gone from the apartment they share. This is a very lonely book. The anthropomorphic search engine is the friendliest thing about it, and the complaints are the most amusing. But they’re not amusing the narrator, who longs for the love of her life. Deforge’s weird, semi- and completely abstract art really works here with a viewpoint character trying to make sense of such a shifting, confusing cityscape in which people are hard to distinguish from furnishings and whatever is on the street.

Arlo & Pips: King of the Birds by Elise Gravel. HarperAlley, 2020. 9780062982223. 64pp. Arlo (a crow) and Pips (a small, yellow bird) look for food and shiny things. As they chat, Arlo reveals (as he brags about and shows off) facts about crows. Basically Arlo thinks he’s the greatest, cleverest, most beautiful kind of bird in the world. Even though Pip tries to set him straight, Arlo won’t even admit that any aspect of being a crow is anything less than great. This includes his harsh singing voice (caw!), though it is amazing how Arlo and other crows can imitate sounds though, including voices and even car horns. This is different in format from Gravel’s nonfiction Disgusting Critters series, but equally enjoyable and a little more silly. In 2020 she also produced four new books in that series: The Bat, The Toad, The Cockroach, and The Mosquito. If I’d read these books as a kid, I’d probably have become a biologist.

Deadbomb Bingo Ray by Jeff Johnson. Turner, 2017. 9781683367246. 277pp. Deadbomb Bingo Ray is part of Philadelphia’s criminal underworld, a man with a reputation for creative problem solving and getting revenge on those who try to cross him. And yet someone is trying to take him out. There are folks on his tail, a woman who says she’s trying to hire him (he knows she has other motives), and a hit squad or two. Ray is clearly going to survive the adventure — he over prepares and over thinks every aspect of his safety as if it’s his superpower — but the question is will everyone else in his life make it through unscathed? Specifically the physicist he unexpectedly finds himself falling in love with, and his sweet little dog? Ray also has a hilarious secretary, and his buddy / partner Skuggy, a sometimes dapper dude who demands his favorite meal before he’ll get to work with Ray. This is dark, violent entertainment with a bit of a love story. It’s worth reading for the moment Ray kills someone with a sharpened bicycle spoke. And yes, you do find out how he got the nickname.

Aspara Engine by Bishakh Som. The Feminist Press at CUNY, 2020. 9781936932818. 250pp. Oversized, full color. The eight stories in Bishakh Som’s oversized graphic novel have such subtle colors that, in some case, I wondered if I was imagining the tint of the ink wash. It’s a marvelous effect, and it goes hand in hand with conversations that feel both real and unreal, and with story elements both fantastic and futuristic. I can’t recommend this book enough, but it’s hard to talk about without spoiling things. Issues of gender, identity and queerness are addressed in many of the stories. There’s a mermaid, a “pet” that freaked me out, a humiliated “stalker” who I somehow felt a little bad for, and an unexpected, elegant bit of time travel It’s worth noting that I started reading Aspara Engine a few times before my brain clicked with its pace, and then I couldn’t put it down. I’m currently enjoying Som’s graphic memoir, Spellbound, and I plan to read her graphic history of prefab bathrooms at some point soon, too.

Batman: Overdrive by Shea Fontana, illustrated by Marcelo Di Chiara. DC Comics, 2020. 9781401283568. 336pp. Part of the DC Graphic Novels for Kids line. Fifteen-year-old Bruce Wayne is learning martial arts, sneaking out of his house to try his hand as a hoodied vigilante, and trying to solve his parents’ murder. Out to find parts to restore a muscle car that belonged to his father, he meets Mateo Diaz, and the pair end up chasing a familiar cat burglar stealing from Diaz’s uncle’s scrapyard. It’s not too long before Diaz and Selena Kyle are helping Bruce work on the car, and then helping him go up against Gotham City’s Falcone crime family. There’s a bit of romance, and a lot more teen angst than I’ve seen in most books “for kids” but this is enjoyable. (Maybe DC needs a branded line of tween graphic novels?)     Wonder Woman: Tempest Tossed by Laurie Halse Anderson, Illustrated by Leila Del Duca. DC Comics, 2020. 9781401286453. 186pp. Part of the DC Graphic Novels for Young Adults line. Diana is the only teen on Themyscira where the Amazons wait behind a barrier, invisible until they’re needed to defeat the Great Evil when it returns. She longs to be a powerful, good Amazon and a great warrior, but her body is strange and she’s given to bouts of weakness. When there are signs of trouble in the outside world, she tries and fails to convince her mother that the Amazons should help. Then refugees start to wash up on Themyscira’s shore, and only Diana rushes into the water to save them, after which she finds herself stuck in our world and unable to return home. For a time she lives a refugee camp in Greece. After her abilities as a translator become apparent, she gets out of the camp with the help of Steve Chang and his husband, Trevor, who eventually bring her to the US. The fact that she’s new to our world leads to both humor and alarm, and allows her to question confusing examples of inequality and racism that she encounters. The book is super obvious in its social justice focus, and Diana even goes up against child traffickers, but it’s a good read — the story of a teenage Wonder Woman far from home, standing up for what’s right will doubtless appeal to older kids and younger teens, and it’s the kind of book we want them to find on library shelves. Both books leave me confused as to the difference between the labeling of DC’s Young Adults and Kids lines, respectively. But kids will ignore that, so perhaps we librarians all should, too?

Water Memory by Valérie Vernay (artist and colorist) and Mathieu Reynès (writer). Roar, 2017. 9781941302439. 96pp. plus some drawings and reference photos in a graphic journal at the end. Marion and her mom, Caroline, move to Caroline’s childhood house in a small seaside town. Her marriage recently ended, her mother has just passed away, and no one has lived in the house for thirty years. It has a great view that includes a lighthouse, kind neighbors, and a bit of mystery — what’s the meaning of the strange rocks around town, and the carvings on them? Do they have anything to do with the cranky old loner who lives in the lighthouse? Marion is not a brilliant teen detective, but she’s just enough of a snoop to keep the plot rolling along. She asks her mom’s new boss about her grandfather, who went out in his boat one day and didn’t come back. Gradually she finds out more and more about a town legend involving sea deities and those lost at sea. The story has a slightly creepy edge and, in a genre defying way, little action. The illustrations are wonderful, the people seem real, and this little seaside town feels like it could be just about anywhere. I wish I’d read this book on vacation, looking at an ocean, but reading it at home while badly in need of a vacation was the next best thing.

IQ by Joe Ide. Mulholland Books, 2016. 9780316267731. 321pp. plus an excerpt from the next book in the series. IQ is the nickname of Isaiah Quintabe, a brilliant young man from a poor Los Angeles suburb who was raised by his elder brother. Isaiah helps people out, solving small mysteries, often for free, and generally trying to do the right thing. But now he needs cash, and his former roommate, Dodson, has brought him a plum job: someone tried to kill rapper Black the Knife, aka Calvin Wright. If they can solve the crime (Dodson insists they’re partners), they’ll share a $50,000 bonus. Chapters alternate past with present, showing the story of IQ’s relationship with the irritating and amusing Dodson as he tries to solve the crime. IQ once used his intellect to help them commit amazing robberies, back when he was first trying to figure out how to survive without his brother, and that has had a huge impact on his priorities. Ide’s magic is that, by the end, you get that in some way IQ and Dodson need each other. Plus you’ll root for IQ more and more as you learn of IQ’s past and how he’s trying to make up for it. And at one point Ide short circuits what would usually be a long, twisting and turning part of the mystery in favor of characterization. Great writing. J.B. at Seattle’s BLMF books put this into my hands saying it was the perfect hip hop novel, and it really was. Both the language and the story have great flow. The whole thing is worth reading for the opening chapter alone, though you won’t be able to put it down at that point. I’m heading out right now to buy the second book in the series, Righteous. The 5th book, Smoke, comes out in early 2021.

Katie the Catsitter written by Colleen AF Venable, illustrated by Stephanie Yu, colors by Braden Lamb. Random House Children’s Books, 2021. 9781984895639. 206pp of story plus amazing introductions to Venable and Yu at the end of the book. Katie is looking for ways to earn money so that she can attend an expensive summer camp with her friends. She advertises that she’s available to do jobs in her building, but nothing works out until her neighbor, Ms. Lang, asks her to start cat sitting. It’s a great gig, but there are 217 super smart cats with amazing skills (hacker, seamstress, artist, etc.) in her apartment, and cats aren’t allowed in the building. (On the upside none of them uses a litter box, and though they’re messy they do take care of their messes.) Katie begins to suspect that Ms. Lang is secretly the masked villain (or is she a hero?) known as The Mousetress, who seems to be targeting people and businesses that are mistreating animals. There’s a bit of mystery as Katie looks into that, and a bit of sadness as she and her friend Bethany, who is away at camp, grow apart. The whole adventure ends in a daring rescue. At the heart of the book: friendship, animal welfare, and a lot of humor. Worth noting: Venable’s and Yu’s biographies at the end of the book are the best ever! Real life pets! Adventure photos! And there are illustrations from the top secret files about the cats.

Poems To See By: A Comic Artist Interprets Great Poetry by Julian Peters. Plough Publishing House, 2020. 9780874863185. 168pp. (24 poems) I was an English major. I slogged through most of the poetry I had to read, and it’s always hard to find poems that I love (though I do love a few). I recognized most of the poets in Peters’ book, and even a few of the individual poems (though I hadn’t read most of them). An image of the table of contents is included with the review if you want to see what’s in the book. I tell you all of that because I wasn’t super excited about this book before reading it, but it absolutely wowed me. The images Peters uses vary from abstract and colorful to realistic and black and white. One poem is drawn in manga style, while others looks like they belong in an American newspaper or the best of indie graphic novels that have come out in the past decades. There seem to be a variety of media used as well, and all of the illustrations are amazing. But at the core of what makes the book work is the way Peters uses panels, images, and text placement to create a rhythm. These poetry comics are works of art themselves, and I’ve never read anything quite like them. (Each poem is also present, as text, after the poetry comic of the poem.) This book will find a home in any high school library and, I’m sure, in some college courses. I wish a professor had assigned it when I was in school, which is something I’ve never said about a poetry anthology before.

Mujirushi: The Sign of Dreams by Naoki Urasawa. Viz, 2020. 9781974715237. 264pp.  MUJIRUSHI © 2018 Naoki URASAWA/N WOOD STUDIO Kasumi’s dad is broke and in trouble with the Japanese tax authorities. His only assets: a bunch of masks of the face of a ridiculous American President that he made in his factory. Hopeless, he finds a message that falls from a crow’s foot and follows it to the France Enlightenment Institute. There he meets its buck-toothed, pretentious director who tells him stories and makes him an offer: in the Louvre, if he can “borrow” Vermeer’s The Lacemaker, his financial troubles will be over. Thus begins an unlikely “heist” that, by its end, involves a French firefighter and his singing granny. This was a book originally published by Futuropolis in French as one of its Louvre Editions. (All feature the museum in some way.) I’ve read most of them that have been translated into English (I believe all of the rest were published by NBM), and though I really liked a few of the others, this is by far my favorite. Worth noting: Viz also just published Sneeze, a collection of eight short stories by Urasawa, who is one of Japan’s most famous manga creators. If you’ve never read anything by him, these two books are great places to start. (For my money, the best story in Sneeze is the slapstick-filled tale of two mice trying to steal a piece of cake from a kitchen counter.)