UK publisher Panini churned out a bunch of modern digest-sized reprint books that collect a wonderful quantity and variety of Marvel comics, mainly from the 1960s through the 1980s.
We have a few Christmas traditions here at Casa MacQ; one of them is the annual reading of Berke Breathed’s ‘Red Ranger Came Calling,’ a simply marvelous holiday story that I stumbled upon in a Target store about ten years ago. The cover caught my interest, partly because it’s Berke Breathed, and partly because of the vintage toys all scattered around, so, while waiting for family to find whatever they were looking for, I picked it up and started skimming it.
Marvel has finally started publishing digests – a few decades too late, but better late than never. The first two, focusing on Spider-man and the Avengers, are reviewed in brief.
For once, a book introduced me to my new favorite movie. It was actually a double whammy of finding two new treasures. At the only dedicated romance book store in Los Angeles, The Ripped Bodice, I was enticed by a sequel book launch event for Heroine Worship by Sarah Kuhn. Lured by the attraction of local comedians doing the reading, cupcakes, Japanese food truck, and a bunch of local talent, I decided to check it out even though I had not read the first book, Heroine Complex at this point. The event was a rousing success as it was super fun and memorable but also encouraged me to check out the first book.
With accidentally apt timing for Halloween, Travis revisits his roots by reviewing a book he read for school, with Agatha Christie’s Hallowe’en Party.
All the news about Harvey Weinstein in the last couple of weeks has gotten me thinking about this age-old question again: Where do you separate the art from the artist? What do you do when you discover that the creator of a work you love is an asshole, has done something heinous, or is even an outright criminal? Is there a point where a person becomes SO repugnant that you can no longer support the creative work they were involved in?
ROAD TRIP! On the thinnest of business excuses, Julie and I inflated a brief meeting into three days of goofing off.