Comic Book Reviews

There's an old saying that a picture is worth a thousand words. If that's true, Mark Spears must be writing novels with every panel of Mark Spears' Monsters. His meticulously rendered artwork continues to be the star attraction in the second issue, delivering a visual feast of gothic horror, grotesque creatures, and supernatural menace.

Unfortunately, the same problem that haunted the first issue returns for an encore: Spears is a remarkable illustrator, but his beautiful pictures don't always translate into effective sequential storytelling.

In my review of the first issue, I compared reading Monsters to looking at a comic book through a View-Master. The individual images are gorgeous, almost three-dimensional compositions, but the transitions between them can feel strangely disconnected. Issue #2 continues that trend, although its greatest challenge may be the sheer number of mysteries Spears is introducing.

The second issue expands the scope of the story considerably. A terrorist organization known as the Overmen infiltrates a heavily guarded military installation to steal an ancient artifact called the Witch Stone. Meanwhile, the Slayer continues his investigation into the disappearance of an old friend, a journey that introduces us to someone who appears to be a former ally.

This encounter is particularly interesting because it suggests the Slayer wasn't always operating alone. Rather than simply being a mysterious, solitary monster hunter, he apparently worked as part of a larger organization. It's a small revelation, but one that opens up some intriguing possibilities. How long has this organization existed? What was its purpose? And what happened to the people who belonged to it?

Given the hints about the Slayer's extraordinary longevity in the first issue, these questions become even more interesting. Spears is gradually suggesting that the Slayer's history may be considerably more complicated than we initially suspected.

From the Black Lagoon to the Cthulhu Mythos

Another welcome addition to the growing monster menagerie is Zoth-Ommog, the Ancient One of the Deep, who has apparently been summoned from the ocean's depths by Dracula.

Zoth-Ommog is clearly Spears' interpretation of the Creature from the Black Lagoon, complete with the aquatic appearance that immediately brings Universal's famous Gill-man to mind. But there's an interesting twist. Rather than simply creating another amphibious monster, Spears has given the creature a name with roots in the Cthulhu Mythos.

Zoth-Ommog is an established entity from the expanded mythology inspired by H. P. Lovecraft, originally introduced by author Lin Carter. In Carter's Xothic Legend Cycle, Zoth-Ommog is one of the offspring of Cthulhu, associated with the ancient civilizations and forgotten gods of the Mythos. The name suggests something considerably older and more cosmically terrifying than a prehistoric amphibian lurking in an isolated Amazonian lagoon.

As someone who considers the Creature from the Black Lagoon his favorite of the Universal Monsters, I particularly appreciate this combination. The original Gill-man has always seemed a little different from his fellow cinematic monsters. While Dracula, Frankenstein's Monster, and the Wolf Man are rooted in gothic horror, the Creature belongs more comfortably to the realm of science fiction and prehistoric mystery. Connecting that character archetype to Lovecraftian cosmic horror feels like a natural evolution.

It's also a clever way to expand the scope of Spears' supernatural universe. If Dracula can summon an ancient entity associated with the Cthulhu Mythos, then the threats facing the Slayer may extend far beyond the familiar monsters of gothic literature and classic Hollywood.

Whether Spears intends to explore that connection more deeply remains to be seen, but it's exactly the sort of creative blending of horror traditions that makes this series appealing.

And frankly, any comic that finds room for a Creature from the Black Lagoon-inspired monster is already earning a few extra points from me.

A Dragon of a Different Color

Unfortunately, just as these mysteries begin to take shape, the story takes an unexpected detour.

The final sequence transports us to what appears to be a medieval fantasy setting, complete with magic, wizards, and dragons. An aging wizard and his young apprentice are preparing to confront a dragon, in a scenario that immediately reminded me of the 1981 Disney/Paramount film Dragonslayer.

The similarities are difficult to ignore. In that film, a young apprentice accompanies his elderly wizard master on a quest to slay a dragon. Spears presents what appears to be essentially the same setup, although where he intends to take the story remains to be seen.

There's also an interesting coincidence: Dragonslayer was released in 1981, the same year in which the main storyline of Monsters takes place. Whether this is an intentional homage or simply a coincidence is anyone's guess, but it's a connection that caught my attention.

Unlike the black-and-white flashback in the first issue, this sequence is presented in full color. Nevertheless, the medieval setting strongly suggests that we're witnessing events from a very different time and place. Whether this is another flashback or an entirely separate storyline isn't immediately apparent.

And that's where things get interesting.

My suspicion is that the young apprentice may actually be the Slayer himself. If that's the case, the apparent Dragonslayer homage could be something more significant: the beginning of the Slayer's origin story. Perhaps the young apprentice eventually becomes a dragonslayer, only to broaden his activities to hunting other supernatural creatures as the centuries pass. Somewhere along the way, "Dragonslayer" simply becomes "Slayer."

It's an intriguing possibility, particularly given the hints about the character's age and mysterious past. In the first issue, a flashback to the nineteenth century showed the Slayer joining Sherlock Holmes, Allan Quatermain, and Abraham Van Helsing in imprisoning Dracula. That sequence already established that the Slayer was active long before the events of 1981. If my theory about the medieval apprentice proves correct, his history could stretch back centuries further.

Of course, this is purely speculation on my part, but it would provide a logical connection between an otherwise unrelated medieval adventure and the contemporary storyline.

The problem is that the sequence arrives with virtually no warning or apparent connection to the events preceding it. Just as we're beginning to learn more about the Slayer's associates and the growing supernatural conspiracy, we're suddenly whisked away to a medieval fantasy adventure.

There's nothing inherently wrong with this kind of nonlinear storytelling. In fact, jumping between different historical periods could be an effective way to reveal the Slayer's extraordinary history. But without some indication of how these events relate to one another, the transitions can feel more confusing than mysterious.

Two issues into the series, Spears is juggling a missing person, a secretive organization, a stolen supernatural artifact, the possible return of Dracula, a Lovecraftian sea monster, and now an apparent medieval dragon-slaying adventure. That's a considerable amount of narrative ground to cover, especially when so few of these threads have begun to intersect.

The result is a story that sometimes feels more interested in introducing its next mystery than developing the ones already established.

Beautiful Pictures, Static Storytelling

Visually, however, the book remains spectacular.

Spears' highly rendered digital artwork continues to give the series a distinctive appearance. His dramatic lighting, elaborate character designs, and almost three-dimensional compositions are perfectly suited to the grotesque creatures and gothic atmosphere of the story. The medieval sequence, in particular, provides an opportunity to explore a different visual environment while maintaining the same richly detailed aesthetic.

Yet the View-Master comparison from my first review remains appropriate. Spears creates extraordinary individual images, but those images don't always flow together naturally. There's a difference between illustrating a series of events and communicating the movement, timing, and rhythm that make sequential storytelling work.

I also continue to miss the occasional use of traditional comic book sound effects. While not every action requires an oversized BAM! or CRASH!, those familiar visual elements can provide important connections between panels. They help establish the rhythm of a scene and give otherwise static illustrations a sense of movement and impact.

It's an interesting contradiction. Spears' artwork is so meticulously detailed that individual panels practically demand to be studied, yet that same quality can interrupt the pacing of the story. The images are wonderful to look at, but they don't always work together as effectively as they should.

The Verdict

Despite these frustrations, I remain intrigued by what Spears is building. The suggestion that the Slayer belonged to a larger organization adds an appealing layer to his character, while the introduction of Zoth-Ommog demonstrates that Spears is willing to reach beyond the familiar Universal Monsters for inspiration. The possibility that we've just witnessed the beginning of the Slayer's origin story makes the medieval sequence considerably more interesting in retrospect.

There's also something wonderfully appropriate about a series celebrating classic monsters reaching back into the world of medieval fantasy and Lovecraftian cosmic horror. After all, dragons, witches, vampires, werewolves, and ancient sea gods all belong to the long tradition of supernatural storytelling. If Spears can successfully connect these different elements, he may be constructing a mythology that stretches across centuries.

The question is whether he can bring those disparate threads together before the growing collection of mysteries becomes overwhelming.

As with the first issue, Mark Spears' Monsters #2 feels like a comic that rewards patience. It asks readers to trust that its seemingly unrelated events will eventually form a coherent narrative. I'm willing to extend that trust a little further, particularly because the Slayer's mysterious history has become one of the book's most compelling elements.

But I would certainly appreciate a few answers before Spears introduces another half-dozen questions.

The verdict: Mark Spears' Monsters #2 expands the series' mythology with intriguing revelations about the Slayer's past, a welcome Creature from the Black Lagoon-inspired addition to its monster menagerie, and an unexpected excursion into medieval fantasy. The Lovecraftian connection is particularly appealing, while the possible Dragonslayer homage offers a tantalizing hint at the Slayer's origins. Unfortunately, the abrupt introduction of new storylines adds to an already crowded narrative. Spears' artwork remains breathtaking, even as his sequential storytelling occasionally struggles to match the quality of his illustrations. Two issues in, I'm still fascinated by the monsters and mysteries, but I'm increasingly eager to see how all these pieces fit together.

There's something irresistible about the classic monsters. Dracula, Frankenstein's Monster, the Wolf Man, and their fellow creatures of the night have been frightening and fascinating audiences for generations. Whether you first encountered them in Universal horror films, Famous Monsters of Filmland, Aurora model kits, or the pages of Creepy and Eerie, these characters have a way of sinking their claws into your imagination and refusing to let go.

With Mark Spears' Monsters #1, writer and artist Mark Spears brings that old-fashioned monster magic into the modern comic book world. The result is an intriguing, visually distinctive opening chapter that owes as much to the horror nostalgia of the 1980s as it does to the gothic traditions that inspired these creatures in the first place.

Set in 1981, the story opens with a series of disturbing events, including a grisly murder, a missing child, and the suggestion that something ancient and terrible is stirring. A mysterious monster hunter known as the Slayer emerges from retirement, while a collection of seemingly unrelated characters find themselves drawn toward an approaching supernatural threat. Before long, it becomes clear that Dracula's return may be at the center of it all.

One of the issue's more intriguing sequences is a flashback revealing that Dracula was previously imprisoned by an unlikely alliance of legendary Victorian adventurers: Sherlock Holmes, Allan Quatermain, Abraham Van Helsing, and the mysterious Slayer. It's a wonderfully pulpy combination of characters, reminiscent of Alan Moore's The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, and exactly the sort of literary crossover that appeals to my fondness for Victorian adventure fiction and classic horror.

Curiously, the flashback is introduced with a caption reading "London, England. 1986." Considering the main story takes place in 1981, I'm inclined to believe this is a typographical error and the intended date is 1896. Not only would that place the events squarely within the Victorian era, but the artwork shifts to black and white, visually reinforcing the sense that we're witnessing a much earlier period. More importantly, it raises an intriguing question about the Slayer himself. If he helped imprison Dracula in 1896 and remains active in 1981, he's clearly no ordinary mortal. Whether this extraordinary longevity is supernatural in origin or something else entirely remains to be seen, but it's one of the more interesting mysteries introduced in this opening issue.

Spears doesn't attempt to explain everything in this first installment. Instead, he introduces several characters and plot threads, allowing the mystery to build as the reader begins to piece together their connections. It's an ambitious approach, although the constant movement between storylines occasionally makes the issue feel more like an extended prologue than a complete chapter.

The artwork is unquestionably the comic's most distinctive feature. Spears employs a highly rendered digital painting style that gives his monsters an almost three-dimensional appearance. His dramatic lighting, rich colors, and elaborate character designs create images that would look perfectly at home on the packaging of a premium collectible figure or the cover of a vintage monster magazine.

Unfortunately, that visual richness sometimes comes at the expense of sequential storytelling. Reading Mark Spears' Monsters occasionally feels like looking at a comic book through a View-Master. Each panel is a beautifully rendered, almost three-dimensional illustration, but the sense of movement between those panels is sometimes missing. Rather than flowing naturally from one moment to the next, the story can feel like a succession of elaborate still images.

Compounding this problem is the occasional absence of traditional comic book sound effects. A well-placed CRASH!, THUD!, or BLAM! might seem unnecessary in artwork this detailed, but those familiar visual cues serve an important storytelling function. They convey impact, suggest motion, and give action sequences a rhythm that even the most beautifully rendered illustrations can't always achieve on their own.

This becomes particularly noticeable when an action is communicated through a series of otherwise disconnected images. Without the visual punctuation of a sound effect, the reader must sometimes work harder than necessary to understand exactly what has happened. The problem isn't that Spears needs to fill every panel with oversized lettering and explosive onomatopoeia. It's that the absence of those elements occasionally makes an already static sequence more difficult to follow.

Comic books are, after all, a unique marriage of words and pictures. The best artists understand that what happens between the panels can be just as important as what appears inside them. When that visual continuity breaks down, even the most spectacular illustrations can struggle to communicate a relatively simple action.

It's an interesting contradiction. Spears' artwork is so meticulously detailed that individual panels practically demand to be studied, yet that same quality can interrupt the pacing of the story. The images are wonderful to look at, but they don't always work together as effectively as they should.

The writing is similarly a mixed bag. There's plenty of atmosphere and an obvious affection for the material, but the first issue introduces so many mysteries that it leaves relatively little room to develop its characters. The result is a story that's easier to admire for its premise and presentation than to become emotionally invested in—at least so far.

What I find most appealing about Monsters, however, is its willingness to embrace the classic horror tradition without treating it as something that needs to be reinvented beyond recognition. There's a sincerity to the project that I appreciate. Spears clearly understands the enduring appeal of these characters and the generations of monster fans who grew up loving them.

In many ways, the comic feels like a spiritual descendant of the monster magazines, trading cards, and illustrated horror collectibles that filled the shelves of hobby shops and comic stores decades ago. That nostalgic quality may ultimately be its greatest strength.

As a first issue, Mark Spears' Monsters offers more questions than answers, and its elaborate visual presentation sometimes overshadows the storytelling. Nevertheless, there's enough atmosphere, mystery, and affection for classic horror to make me curious about what comes next.

For readers who grew up loving the Universal Monsters, Hammer horror films, and the wonderfully lurid monster art of decades past, this is certainly a comic worth investigating.

The verdict: Mark Spears' Monsters #1 is a visually stunning, nostalgia-soaked introduction to a new monster universe. Spears is unquestionably a talented illustrator, but beautiful illustrations and effective sequential storytelling aren't necessarily the same thing. The story hasn't quite found its footing, and the static artwork occasionally makes the action more difficult to follow than it should. Still, there's enough classic monster magic here to make me want to turn the page—even when the artwork makes me want to stop and stare.

Batman: Gotham by Gaslight takes one of comics’ most obvious great ideas—Batman hunting Jack the Ripper—and somehow manages to execute the idea even better than it sounds.

Writer Brian Augustyn relocates Bruce Wayne to the late 19th century, stripping away the Batmobile, computers, satellites, and most of the technological advantages we associate with Batman. What’s left is the part of the character that matters most: the detective.

Batman (err, sorry...The Batman) fits the Victorian setting naturally so the story never feels gimmicky.

Bruce returns to Gotham after years of training just as Jack the Ripper begins murdering women in the city, and he soon becomes personally entangled in the investigation. The story moves quickly, but still feels appropriately foggy, gothic, and grim. Gotham has always looked like it belongs somewhere between a cathedral and a nightmare, so gas lamps and horse-drawn carriages suit it remarkably well.

The mystery itself isn’t much of a baffler. The identity of Jack the Ripper is telegraphed fairly early, but solving the crime isn’t really the point. The mystery is the vehicle that carries us toward the inevitable confrontation between Batman and Jack.

That isn’t a criticism of Augustyn’s writing. Quite the opposite. He does an impressive job of building an entire Victorian Gotham in only 48 pages.

Then there’s Mike Mignola’s artwork, inked by P. Craig Russell.

This was years before Hellboy, but the DNA is already there: heavy shadows, looming architecture, figures emerging from darkness, and the sense that something unpleasant is always waiting just beyond the edge of the panel. His Batman looks less like a superhero than something Victorian criminals might genuinely believe crawled out of Hell.

You can see Mignola developing the visual language that would later reach full maturity in Hellboy and the wider B.P.R.D. universe. It’s a shame he never returned to wander Gotham’s shadowy back alleys.

Gotham by Gaslight would later become the template for DC’s Elseworlds concept, and it’s easy to understand why. Even though the story might have benefited from a little more room to breathe, it remains a remarkably effective combination of mystery, horror, superhero adventure, and atmosphere.

This Batman returned in the Jules Verne-flavored Master of the Future, later appeared in Countdown Presents: The Search for Ray Palmer, and eventually saw his world expanded again in Batman: Gotham by Gaslight – The Kryptonian Age. Those stories range from interesting to very good, but none quite recapture the strange magic of the original.

I’d love to see another creator revisit this version of Batman with a proper Victorian mystery. Put him against H. H. Holmes in the Murder Castle. Pair him with Sherlock Holmes against Professor Moriarty. The gaslit streets are simply too good a setting to leave behind.

Until then, when the weather turns brisk and the shadows grow longer, return to Victorian Gotham and follow the Batman as he hunts a killer who, in another telling, would boast that he "gave birth to the 20th century.”

Victorian Undead Vol. 1 asks a question nobody knew Arthur Conan Doyle had forgotten to answer: what happens when Sherlock Holmes has to deduce his way through a zombie apocalypse?

Writer Ian Edginton begins with a meteor streaking across London in 1854 and bringing something considerably worse than bad weather. The resulting outbreak is quietly buried by Her Majesty’s government, but decades later the dead begin walking again—and naturally Sherlock Holmes and Dr. Watson find themselves investigating.

The fun comes from how seriously Edginton treats the ridiculous premise. Holmes approaches reanimated corpses with exactly the same analytical confidence he would bring to a locked-room murder. Zombies aren’t supernatural horrors to him. They’re simply another problem with evidence, causes, and—presumably—a perfectly logical explanation.

Things get even better once Professor Moriarty enters the picture. Because apparently controlling London’s criminal underworld wasn’t ambitious enough.

Davide Fabbri’s artwork gives Victorian London plenty of fog, machinery, laboratories, and suitably unpleasant revenants, while the steampunk additions expand the world without completely overwhelming the Holmes atmosphere.

Victorian Undead could easily have been nothing more than a novelty mash-up, but there’s a surprisingly solid Sherlock Holmes adventure underneath all the rotting flesh.

The game is afoot.

Unfortunately, some of the players are dead.

The Fury of Firestorm #5 turns down the nuclear explosions—well, relatively speaking—and goes straight for Ronnie Raymond’s emotional reactor core.

With the Firestorm Matrix effectively controlling Ronnie’s body, Lorraine Reilly and Professor Martin Stein make a desperate attempt to reach the man still trapped somewhere inside. Meanwhile, Ronnie is lost in memories of his early days with the Justice League, including a battle with Eclipso. It gives Jeff Lemire an opportunity to contrast the bright promise of Ronnie’s superhero past with the considerably darker place he occupies today.

It’s heavy stuff, but Lemire wisely remembers that this is still a Firestorm comic, not group therapy with flaming hair.

Rafael De Latorre’s artwork does much of the emotional lifting. The transitions between Ronnie’s memories and the increasingly desperate battle surrounding him make the issue feel simultaneously nostalgic and unsettling, while Marcelo Maiolo’s colors give the Firestorm sequences exactly the radioactive punch they need.

What I’m enjoying most about this series is its willingness to dig through Firestorm’s history without simply pointing at old comics and shouting, “Remember this?” The past actually matters.

Issue #5 feels like the emotional payoff the series has been building toward—melancholy, occasionally strange, and still wonderfully superheroic.

The Fury of Firestorm #4 gives Lorraine Reilly the spotlight as she finally tracks down Professor Martin Stein — and discovers that the history of Firestorm is considerably messier than anyone knew.

Much of the issue is built around Lorraine confronting Stein about Project Firestorm and his manipulation of Ronnie Raymond. But Jeff Lemire uses that confrontation to explore Lorraine’s own history with Ronnie, framing their relationship around the idea of atomic bonds: opposites attracting, connections forming, and sometimes violently breaking apart. It sounds like the sort of metaphor that could become painfully obvious. Instead, it works remarkably well.

Then Stein drops another bombshell—figuratively, for once—about the larger government program behind Firestorm and several other unusual DC heroes. It’s an intriguing expansion of the mystery, although I’m still deciding how much I want every strange corner of the DC Universe connected by one grand conspiracy. Sometimes a mad scientist can just be a mad scientist.

Rafael De Latorre’s artwork remains one of the series’ greatest strengths. His Silver Age-inspired flashbacks give Ronnie and Lorraine’s past a wonderfully nostalgic glow, while the present-day sequences feel colder and heavier. A particularly clever sequence dives from old-fashioned Ben-Day dots down into molecules themselves, turning the visual language of vintage comics into part of the story.

Issue #4 slows the action without losing momentum. It’s a story about relationships, betrayal, and the uncomfortable realization that Firestorm’s origin may have been engineered in more ways than one.

Turns out splitting the atom may be easier than untangling Firestorm’s family history.

The Fury of Firestorm #3 pulls back another layer of the mystery surrounding Ronnie Raymond—and manages to make the Firestorm origin considerably more disturbing in the process.

While Lorraine Reilly continues searching for Professor Martin Stein, the rogue Firestorm Matrix is busy demonstrating exactly why everyone should be terrified of it. Watching Firestorm casually neutralize members of the Justice League is an impressive reminder that rearranging matter at the molecular level is a ridiculously useful superpower when you stop worrying about being polite.

But the real fireworks come from Jeff Lemire’s revelations about Stein.

The traditional accidental origin of Firestorm gets a darker reinterpretation as we learn Stein deliberately manipulated events surrounding Ronnie and the creation of the Nuclear Man. It’s a potentially controversial change, especially for longtime fans, but Lemire makes it feel connected to the larger mystery rather than simply rewriting history for shock value.

Rafael De Latorre and Marcelo Maiolo again make the past and present feel visually distinct, with the warmer flashbacks contrasting nicely against the frightening spectacle of Firestorm cutting through superheroes in the present.

Issue #3 considerably raises the stakes. Firestorm isn’t simply out of control anymore. He may have been created to become exactly this dangerous.

That’s probably something Professor Stein should have mentioned earlier.

The Fury of Firestorm #2 takes a trip inside Ronnie Raymond’s head—and discovers that becoming a nuclear superhero may have left behind more than a little radioactive emotional debris.

As the increasingly inhuman Firestorm remains a threat in the present, Ronnie digs backward through his own memories, revisiting his childhood, his need for his father’s approval, and eventually his first meeting with Professor Martin Stein. Jeff Lemire uses the familiar Firestorm origin to show why Ronnie and Stein formed such a strong bond long before they became two halves of the Nuclear Man.

That extra character work makes the eventual transformation considerably more unsettling. Firestorm’s origin has always been pretty bizarre when you stop to think about it: two people blasted together into a single superpowered body, with one of them essentially living inside the other’s mind. Lemire simply removes the bright superhero lighting and points out how creepy that actually is.

Rafael De Latorre has a lot of fun shifting between nostalgic superhero imagery and fractured psychological horror, while Marcelo Maiolo’s colors help keep Ronnie’s memories, the Matrix, and the present visually distinct.

Issue #2 slows down the immediate action, but it deepens the mystery considerably. Ronnie remembers how Firestorm was created.

Unfortunately, remembering who is currently driving appears to be the harder part.

Absolute Green Arrow #1 takes one of DC’s most recognizable street-level heroes, removes Oliver Queen from the equation almost immediately, and turns the Emerald Archer mythos into a full-blown urban horror story.

Following Oliver’s murder, someone armed with green arrows has begun hunting corrupt billionaires. The mystery lands in the lap of Dinah Lance, here working as an executive protection specialist and tasked with identifying a killer whose targets are the very sort of people Oliver spent his life railing against.

Writer Pornsak Pichetshote leans hard into the slasher-movie premise without losing Green Arrow’s traditional obsession with wealth, power, and inequality. The result feels less like a superhero mystery with horror elements and more like somebody dropped an archer into Halloween and gave Michael Myers a political philosophy.

That approach works largely because Rafael Albuquerque makes this new Green Arrow genuinely unsettling. His skull-like mask and looming silhouette turn a character normally associated with wisecracks and trick arrows into something people should be genuinely afraid to see standing at the end of an alley. Marcelo Maiolo’s sickly greens and deep shadows push the atmosphere even further.

The biggest surprise is how little this debut feels like a traditional Green Arrow comic while still remaining completely interested in the ideas that have defined Green Arrow for decades.

It’s brutal and stylish. The politics of the book are a little juvenile and it wears it's politics on it's sleeve.

Apparently the Absolute Universe looked at boxing-glove arrows and decided we had been having things far too easy.

Absolute Evil #1 finally pulls back the curtain on the people who really run the Absolute Universe, and—surprise!—they aren’t particularly thrilled about all these superheroes popping up.

Ra’s al Ghul, Veronica Cale, Elenore Thawne, Hector Hammond, and the mysterious Joker have all been pursuing their own agendas, but the sudden appearance of figures like Batman, Superman, and Wonder Woman has given them a common problem. Writer Al Ewing turns their uneasy gathering into something closer to a corporate board meeting from Hell, where everyone is immensely powerful, deeply suspicious, and probably already planning how to betray everyone else.

The issue is surprisingly light on traditional superhero action. Instead, Ewing builds tension through conversation, history, and the growing realization that the villains of this universe aren’t simply reacting to the heroes—they helped create the world the heroes are rebelling against.

Giuseppe Camuncoli and Stefano Nesi give the meeting an appropriately ominous atmosphere, while Romulo Fajardo Jr.’s colors reinforce the feeling that something unpleasant is simmering beneath every page.

There are also some terrific surprises, including our first glimpse of an Absolute Green Arrow whose heroic career proves considerably shorter than anyone might have expected.

Absolute Evil #1 expands the larger mythology without feeling like homework for the individual series.

Apparently even supervillains eventually realize the importance of networking.

The Fury of Firestorm #1 wastes no time reminding us just how terrifying Firestorm’s powers would be if the Nuclear Man ever stopped behaving like a superhero.

The sleepy town of Bedford, Colorado, has become Firestorm’s personal laboratory. Buildings are transformed, people are horribly altered, and the entire community is reshaped seemingly on a whim. The government turns to Lorraine Reilly, better known as Firehawk, hoping someone with a personal connection to Ronnie Raymond can figure out what has gone catastrophically wrong.

Jeff Lemire takes one of DC’s more colorful superheroes and nudges him firmly into science-fiction horror. The clever part is that he doesn’t need to invent anything particularly new to make Firestorm frightening. Matter transmutation was always an absurdly powerful ability. We were simply more comfortable with it when Ronnie was turning guns into flowers instead of townspeople into glass.

Rafael De Latorre’s artwork sells that unease beautifully, shifting between the eerie devastation of Bedford and a wonderfully brighter, more traditional vision of Firestorm lurking somewhere inside the Matrix. Marcelo Maiolo’s colors make the contrast even sharper.

As first issues go, this is an excellent hook: familiar enough to feel like Firestorm, strange enough to make you wonder what happened to him, and creepy enough to make you reconsider the wisdom of giving a teenager control over molecular structure.

Maybe Professor Stein should have installed parental controls.

I avoided All-Star Batman & Robin, The Boy Wonder for years.

After The Dark Knight Returns and Batman: Year One, Frank Miller had earned enormous goodwill with me. Then I read The Dark Knight Strikes Again and watched most of that goodwill flee Gotham at high speed.

So when Miller teamed with Jim Lee for a new Batman series in 2005, I passed. The furious reviews, infamous dialogue, and glacial publishing schedule only reinforced that decision.

Eventually curiosity won.

And, surprisingly, I didn’t hate it.

The key is accepting that this is not our Batman. Miller’s Gotham is a warped, cynical reflection of the DC Universe, and its Batman is a product of that world: arrogant, unstable, brutal, and absolutely convinced that referring to himself as the “goddamn Batman” is something normal people do.

I also can’t help feeling that the modern Absolute DC Universe—with its darker, harsher reinterpretations of familiar heroes—owes at least a little of its storytelling DNA to All-Star Batman & Robin. Miller was already experimenting with the idea of taking the recognizable shape of the DC Universe, stripping away much of its optimism, and seeing what crawled out of the shadows.

Oddly enough, that makes the book work better for me as a prequel to The Dark Knight Returns than The Dark Knight Strikes Again works as its sequel.

My biggest problem is the artwork—which feels ridiculous to say because Jim Lee’s pages are gorgeous. They’re simply too polished and heroic for Miller’s grimy, dystopian story. The words say Sin City while the pictures say blockbuster DC superhero comic, and the two are constantly wrestling for control of the page.

All-Star Batman & Robin is messy, excessive, frequently absurd, and definitely not for everyone.

But it is never boring.

And sometimes that’s enough to make me turn the page.