When Alice in Sunderland came out a few years back, I always intended to pick it up. After all, it’s by Brian Talbot (Luther Arkwright, Tale of One Bad Rat, Sandman), a comics luminary every bit as brilliant as Neil Gaiman and Alan Moore (but who, since he draws his own stuff, is far less prolific). Plus it clearly references one of my (and everyone else’s) favorite classic stories, Alice in Wonderland. For whatever reason, I never picked it up at its release, but with all the new Alice in Wonderland posters around town promoting the movie, I was suddenly reminded of this book’s existence. However Tim Burton’s Alice turns out, I have it to thank for getting me to pick up Sunderland.

Only tangentially about Carrol’s book, Alice in Sunderland is the biography not of a person, but of a place. It spins a web of facts, legends and coincidences that show the wonderful way that history and geographical identity are born. The Alice portion involves the importance of Alice Liddel’s (the “historical” Alice) family in Sunderland’s history, Carrol’s long stint living there and the things that might of inspired him, and the way that Carrol’s classic novels have had a profound impact on so many aspects of art and culture since their publication.

The book is also an amazing use of the comics medium, with Talbot blending B&W drawings, painting, collage and fumetti to tell his very meta tale. The artist himself takes the form of several narrators, playing with time and toying with the reader, while the subject of his unusual biography toys with him. The closest thing to it I’ve encountered in book form would be Scott McCloud’s Understanding Comics, and in fact, Talbot takes the occasional detour from the Sunderland/Alice stream to comment on the history and form of comics, or just appropriate others’ styles out of sheer whimsy. But no matter how much Talbot strays, everything manages to turn back in on itself. This is a comics masterwork.

Whether you’re a fan of all things Lewis Carrol, interested in groundbreaking comics, or just find the idea of history as a living thing to be cool, please do yourself a favor and check out Alice in Sunderland. It’s a demanding read, but well worth your time!

Return to Labyrinth is often categorized as manga because of its publisher and format, but from a story standpoint, I like to think that it fits in with the rich tradition of fantasy comics not just from Japan, but from around the world.

As many RTL readers I’ve met are either new to comics or read primarily manga, here’s a list of some of my favorite fantasy comics series that are highly recommended to Labyrinth fans:

Fables

Fables, written by Bill Willingham and published by DC’s Vertigo imprint, is my favorite ongoing comics series. The premise, that fairy tale characters are living in exile in modern day New York City while their homelands are occupied by a dark empire, could have easily ended up a silly mess, but Willingham not only keeps a straight face, but he brings an amazing about of weight and complexity to characters whitewashed by years of residing in the Disney vault. The series starts out with a hard-boiled mystery, but give it a couple volumes and Fables becomes seriously epic, with politics, espionage, family drama, culminating in all-out war. And that’s just the start of the story! And the James Jean covers are gorgeous beyond words (see art above). With 12 volumes of the main story, a collection of side-stories and a stand-alone novel, there’s plenty of Fables to catch up with until the next volume comes out in January. (Rated for mature readers – basically PG-13)

Sandman

Neil Gaiman’s brilliant Sandman was the series that got me (and countless others) hooked on comics. It wasn’t the first comic I’d read by any measure, but it was the series that made me start exploring the format and sparked my interest in writing comics. Sandman is a tough series to sum up, but at its core, it’s about Dream of the Endless, the immortal personification of dreaming, who must rebuild and protect his kingdom, connect with his alliterative family and atone for past sins. The series blends elements of horror and high fantasy and basically wrote the style book that DC’s Vertigo imprint would follow for the next decade and beyond. Sandman can be a tough series to get into at first, with art that runs the gamut of styles and a plot full of detours, but it’s definitely worth your time. The series spawned the also wonderful Lucifer, Books of Magic and other shorter Vertigo series. (For Mature Readers – a soft R rating)

Bone

Bone is a brilliant fantasy epic that chronicles the adventures of the three Bone brothers – everyman Fone Bone, greedy Phoney Bone and happy-go-lucky Smiley Bone – who gets lost and wind up in an idyllic valley, home to simple villagers, talking animals, savage creatures and a lost kingdom. It’s alternately funny, sweet and scary with gorgeous cartooning work from creator Jeff Smith. The series was originally created in black and white over a period of 14 years and collected in 9 volumes, but now you have a choice of the “one volume edition” brick of a book that includes the full story in B&W, or the new Scholastic editions with the 9 volumes rendered in full color. Bone is so charming, it’s hard not to love. The only complaint I had with the series was having to wait months between issues, but now that the series is finished, there’s no reason not to check it out! (Recommended for readers of all ages!)

Courtney Crumrin

Like Bone, Courtney Crumrin is the work of a solo writer/artist, in this case the super-talented Ted Naifeh. The Oni Press published series shares creepy sensibilities that will appeal to fans of The Nightmare Before Christmas, but unlike many of the “goth” comics born around the same time, Courtney Crumrin never sacrifices story and grounded characters for the sake of style. Think Edgar Allen Poe meets Alice in Wonderland. I love Naifeh’s creature designs – they are terrifying without resorting to gore. There are currently four numbered volumes and two  stand-alone graphic novelettes. (Recommended for all ages. It’s basically PG.)

I’ll write up mini-reviews of more of my favorite series later. In the meantime, besides Return to Labyrinth, what fantasy comics do you enjoy?

When I put out my call for book recommendations, Diana Wynne Jones was the author whose name came up the most. At the time, I said that I’d never read Howl’s Moving Castle, just seen the movie. Amongst other titles, I added that one to my book queue and set to reading it last week.

…a second time it turns out, as the further I got into it, the more I realized that my best memories of the movie were actually from the book. Before the American release of Miyazaki’s adaptation, I wrote an article on the movie for the LA Times and I read the book then as research. How I could forget that reading experience is a mystery, as rereading the book now, it is an absolute gem.

Sophie Hatter is such a fantastic protagonist. The way her latent pride manifests as she slips so effortlessly into old age makes for such fun sparks with Howl. And for someone with no compunction about speaking her mind, Sophie is quite the unreliable narrator.

Howl, of course, is one of the most loveable rogues ever put to paper–a master slitherer outer who might not eat hearts, but effortlessly captures them from readers. The book might be 23 years old, but Howl hasn’t aged a day.

As crackling as the chemistry between Howl and Sophie is, what I love most about the novel is how it works as a “domestic fantasy.” The tight family unit of Howl, Sophie, Calcifer and Michael (as well as the Man-dog and chattering skull) are such a wonderful ensemble that even though the lion’s share of scenes are set inside one cramped room, every page is packed with whimsy.

Thanks for getting me to revisit this wonderful book. I can’t wait to see where Jones’ imagination takes me next!

From about the fourth grade when I graduated from mostly kids books to mostly mass-market paperbacks through high school, the Fantasy/Sci-Fi aisle was my bookstore haunt. I’ve always found it a little bit odd, if admittedly efficient, the way that Balrogs, Skrulls, Gethenians and D20 dice are all lumped together in a nerd ghetto. Would aliens (or elves) classifying all Earthly literature with fresh eyes (assuming these aliens have eyes) ever conceive of a classification system that would put Ben Bova and Terry Brooks side-by-side? In any case, it worked pretty well for a while. These days, nerds are pretty much taking over the bookstore, as evidenced by the boom of YA fantasy, Sookie Stackhouse and graphic novels.

It was shortly after graduating from high school that I turned my back on the old Sci-Fi/Fantasy shelves. I still lined up for the latest genre movie, but with the exception of stopping by a few times for Neal Stephenson’s latest, I started giving my old haunt a wide berth. On the one hand, it was high time I broadened my horizons, but I was trying a bit too hard to “mature” my tastes. I probably went a full ten years without reading a book with spaceships!

Long story short, picking up where my reading habits left off, I just discovered Joe Haldeman’s seminal sci-fi novel The Forever War and it knocked my snooty spaceship-and-military-fiction-averse socks off. Quick summary for those who haven’t read it yet, the Forever War is about one soldier’s experience in a war between humans and an alien race that, due to time dilation from faster-than-lightspeed travel, lasts over a thousand years. While there are a few battle scenes, the novel isn’t about tactics or technology at all, but rather it’s a timeless soldier’s story about loss, alienation and hurrying-up-and-waiting, very much like recent films Stop-Loss and Jarhead , or the classic Full Metal Jacket. While Haldemam wrote the novel in response to Vietnam (himself a Vet), The Forever War feels even more relevant for today’s world, where war is paradoxically both more clinical and abstract than ever. It’s a fast read, but one that sticks with you. It would make a great film or miniseries, provided the filmmakers were more Terrance Malick than Michael Bay. Anyway, I know most people who come to this site are more into faeries than phasers, but if you’re at all hard SF tolerant, give The Forever War a read!

Next up on my genre reading list — Bones of Faerie. I’ll report back soon.

There are only a few webcomics that I follow daily, but sometimes I discover a new strip or story that just hooks me and has me spending hours going through the archives. Such a comic is The Princess Planet by Toronto artist Brian McLachlan, a weekly gag strip that takes place on a planet of princesses and fantasy hijinks. Think… Fables meets Perry Bible Fellowship?

Of coruse, as soon as I saw the following , I knew it would be a hit with Gobblin readers:

Click on the comic above for the rest of the strip and be sure to return often — I know I will!

After a detour to the Half-Continent to battle monsters with D.M. Cornish, I returned last week to Crackpot Hall, home to Flora Segunda, her Butler and a pack of red dogs. Flora’s Dare, the second volume of Ysabeau Wilce’s Flora Segunda books, picks up right where the last volume left off, quickly recapping things with a “how I spent my summer vacation” style recap of volume 1 and moving on to new troubles right away. I enjoyed volume 1 a great deal, but volume 2 was even better. I admire the way that Wilce juggles multiple plotlines, turning what at first seems like a chaotic weave into one that’s perfectly tight, but not overly tidy. Flora is always jumping from frying pan to fire; she’s never quite in control of the situation, but she’s always learning so that next time she’s up against a 10th order stink demon, for example, she’ll definitely have things well in order.

The first volume which takes place on the eve of Flora’s 14th birthday, but now, a few months later, she is decidedly on the path to womanhood. Flora has a flirtation with the mysterious and dangerous Lord Axacaya, a figure in the Jareth mold – dangerous and seductive. She learns to see her family with the greater understanding and sympathy of a nearly-grown-up. Instead of just parroting the truisms of her mentor, Nini-Mo, Flora approaches trouble with caution culled from experience. It’s great character work.

Wilce continues to mingle fantasy and reality in new and unabashedly American ways, a nice change from the ubiquitous psuedo-European settings that dominate the category. (Again, it doesn’t hurt that as Flora dashes from place to place in fictional Califa, I can recognize the routes from their real-life San Francisco inspirations.) I also appreciate how vibrant the world is. In Califa, fashion is every bit as important as power, with men as well as women–especially with men, in the case of Flora’s best friend and dandy-supreme, Udo.

I can’t wait to see where Flora’s adventures take her next.

Leaping Lahzar’s lightning, what a great read! The Monster Blood Tattoo series by D.M. Cornish. Go on, get thee to a library or bookshop and find it now!

What, you’re still here? Okay, fine. I suppose I owe it to you to explain why Cornish’s world of Foundlings and Factotums a must-read fantasy for readers of all ages. (And if you’re one of the many folks who’ve known about them already, why didn’t you tell me?!) Read more…

Lately, whenever I visit the bookstore (got to do it while this endangered species still exists!), I’m struck by how completely fantasy has taken over the Young Adult section. For years I dismissed the YA fantasy boom as at best, a fad, at worst, a shameless attempt to cash in while the holly and phoenix feather wand was hot! Okay, I admit it, I was wrong. Without a doubt, the YA shelves are now the destination for fantasy fans of all ages, leaving the “traditional” fantasy shelves as a sort of ghetto for pervy elf-fanciers and Robert Jordan fans (as if there were a difference). I figured it was time for me to get with the times and see what this new crew of scribes was up to. Read more…

After three months on the wait list, I finally got my library copy of Neal Stephenson’s Anathem. Twenty pages in, I was ready to concede that XKCD nailed the book with a graph:

Thankfully I kept pushing through. It’s not the pretentious or misguided imagineering of the sort that sent Clive Barker’s initially brilliant Imajica into a pear-shaped spiral. No, Stephenson is decidedly in the Lewis Carrol world of word play, only in a more nerdy, less whimsical mindset. This is a book for people who like words, and if you feel the need to apologize for the language to justify the book (as many bloggers and online reviewers seem to do), then I think you’re missing the point.

Generally speaking, I don’t mind a few made up words here and there (I must like them or I’m a total hypocrite, given how I sprinkle them in Return to Labyrinth), as long as the words feel like the people in that world would actually use them in normal conversation (which is where I thought Imajica gets a fail). J.K. Rowling does this brilliantly for the most part. Stephen King is a talented jargonsmith (Lobstrocities = portmanteau perfection), but sometimes he seems a little too gratuitous with his faux-mots (does anyone in the world of the Dark Tower NOT carry their gun in a “Docker’s Clutch”?)

Anybody care to nominate a best or worst book for made-up words?

I’ll withhold final judgment on Anathem till I’m finished, but for now, I’m glad I stuck it out.

Also for bookophiles, definitely check out this list of the year’s best book covers.

Also, also, update: Oh, crap. I pre-ordered The Tales of Beedle the Bard, Collector’s Edition months ago, and promptly forgot about the order until I just received a shipping notice. The deluxe binding better be worth the pricetag!

Do you have an author who, when you read their words, makes you feel as if you were the only one they were writing for all along? Someone who reminds you that books, no matter how big the print run, are an incredibly intimate medium? Haruki Murakami is such an author for me.

I was introduced to Murakami at a very formative time under very swoony circumstances. Even if the book didn’t connect with me directly, I’d still remember it for that reason. But while the passions that accompanied Norwegian Wood on first reading will forever be confined to a time and a place, my love of Murakami endures. In fact, I would credit Murakami with rekindling my actual love of reading when a film degree and career in comics distracted me from novels.

When I read Murakami, I relish the honesty. Murakami’s characters, and his voice as narrator, are disarmingly frank. The way his characters talk is definitely reminiscent of Raymonds Carver and Chandler, Fitzgerald and Salinger—as well it should as he translates the lot of them into Japanese—but for me, the author I’m reminded most of is Lewis Carrol. Murakami makes the real and the surreal equally mundane—and frightening—while keeping the “adult world” distant. His stories tend to take place in a vacuum within our reality—they are modern characters (in a very nostalgic way) but they behave according to fairy tale logic. Even though Murakami’s works can be quite erotic, it always has an aura of childlike innocence about it.

When I read Murakami, I savor the minutiae. Perhaps no other author has spent as much time describing the process of scrounging up meals from whatever’s in the fridge, consuming that meal, then washing the dishes. Murakami’s meals are never extravagant—they’re comfort food. Reading his descriptions of simple food stirs the same sense of contentment as eating a bowl of mac and cheese on a chilly fall evening.

When I read Murakami, I lose myself in the puzzle and couldn’t care less about the solution. Murakami is a master of the literary mystery. His books are filled with clues and red herrings, and joining the protagonists on literal or psychological goose chases makes for an amazing experience. My boyish brain often falls into the trap of trying to rationalize what defies explanation, but Murakami has helped me to accept that sometimes the unexplained is okay.

A couple weeks ago I read Murakami’s latest release—What I Talk About when I Talk About Running. At a slim 190 pages, it’s one of his breeziest works in both word count and substance. Murakami—who am I fooling, after reading this book I feel like we’re on a first name basis!—Haruki goes into great detail about his running regime, with his usual frank and conversational tone. I don’t know if it’s the translation, or the informalness of the essays collected here, but something about the style feels a little…off. It’s still 100% Haruki, but it’s almost as if he’s picked up some of the false-modesty that his characters are so refreshingly oblivious too. (Haruki’s blithe dismissal of global warming, in particular, really irks).

Still, even mediocre Murakami is top-shelf reading for me. The fact that the subject matter serendipitously coincided with my own renewed pursuit of running made it a much more engaging read than it would have been at any other time. Murakami writes about how he first took to running, when he was 32 years old and at the very start of his writing career. I try not to fall into the writer’s trap of comparing my own professional timeline with those of others (Fitzgerald had already written Gatsby by the time he was my age!), but I confess to feeling some hope when reading that Murakami didn’t even consider writing (or running!) until he was the age I was now. So what if I’ve only written licensed tie-ins so far – that’s more than Haruki had! It’s a stupid reaction to have, but I’m sure Haruki would understand.

Now when I go out to run I can’t help but think about Haruki. I might not run a marathon a year like he does, but we’ve got a little something in common, and should we ever run into each other in a Tokyo jazz bar, maybe we could talk about it over a cold beer.