Showing posts with label Emma Rios. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Emma Rios. Show all posts

Wednesday, 6 July 2016

Pondering About Pretty Deadly #10

Or a look at contrast and story fulcrums
by Kelly Sue DeConnick, Emma Rios, Jordie Bellaire, and Clayton Cowles; Image Comics



Pretty Deadly continues to be one of my very favourite comics both as a reader and a comics wonk. It is perplexing, challenging, and virtuosic. With the issue #10 the second chapter closes on an appropriately spectacular note. The fulcrum of the issue in particular I think is a really amazing feat of comics, and I really want to take a closer look at it. It's inherently spoilery though. 

This post will contain *SPOILERS* for Pretty Deadly #10





To me this is the fulcrum of the comic, the turning point between an unwinnable conflict and the epic conclusion of the comic. It is also a wonderfully constructed moment that brings nearly every component of the comic together to create a tipping point, a honed moment of contrast that the story teeters on before crashing into resolution. And I think the way the contrast here is constructed and used is really interesting. 






The first page of the spread is a sequence of action and fire and blood. The page shows the armed combat between War and Ginny in a swirling open storyspace. The page flows along sweeping slashes of red capes and carnage and blood that trail across the page and drag the readers eyes through the violence quickly and precisely. It is idealized motion and a very quick page to experience. It is also a page of reds and hot smouldering greys, a page of fiery, passionate colours. It is a fantastic page that encapsulates everything I love about the portrayal of action in Pretty Deadly.




The next page is almost the perfect opposite: it is still, and structured, and cool. The page shows Cyrus, the would be Reaper of Courage, taming the Reaper of Fear. The page is broken up into eight discrete panel-areas, including inset panels which provide structure to the page and slow the progression of the reader and expand the sense of time. It creates stillness. The way the clouds and mist hang in the air, enhances that sense of stillness, since they could only linger like this in the absence of motion. And the colour palette is calming too, blue-grey and icy. It is artful, and beautiful and haunting. 





The way these two pages come together and interact though, is what is truly special. The fiery motion of the left page stands in distinct contrast to the cool, still page on the right. This puts both pages into sharp relief: the violence is brighter and the peace calmer for having the two moments in juxtaposition. It sets both pages as distinct and powerful, especially the right page since it is such a complete visual and structural departure from what's preceded it in the issue. It feels like a turning point built of opposites. At the same time, the pages feel balanced to me, as though even if they are opposite, they are somehow equal. That the combat and motion on the left are as important, as valid as the calm, and stillness of the right page. Which for me, signifies that an act of bravery, that calmly facing ones fear is just as strong, as powerful as actively fighting. To me, it's as if the two pages are balanced on a kind of narrative scale, and it's tipping this scale that is the climax of the comic. Which, to balance a story on such a keen edge, narratively and artistically, is a tremendous feat of story construction. 

Pretty Deadly continues to be remarkable comics. 

Previously:



Wednesday, 17 February 2016

Pondering About Pretty Deadly #8

Or some thoughts on colour in Pretty Deadly #8
by Kelly Sue DeConnick, Emma Rios, Jordie Bellaire, and Clayton Cowles; Image Comics




Something that I continue to find fascinating about the current iteration of Pretty Deadly is just how dream-like the comic is. Between the lyrical story, indistinct yawning battlefields, and supernatural elements, Pretty Deadly feels to me like its constructed out of the collision of a dream and a nightmare. Pretty Deadly #8 takes this sense to the next level, letting the supernatural elements take centre stage, and really unleashing some truly feverish artwork. It's horrible and beautiful and effective. An important element of why this comic is so effective is a great use of colour.

There will be *SPOILERS* for Pretty Deadly #8.



The battlefields of Pretty Deadly are muted, dark places. Instead of a colourful world, filled with verdant life, the battlefields are barren places constructed of desaturated colours: greys and grey-browns and grey-olive-drabs. I'd say it's as if the world has been bleached, but the overall colour palette is also particularly dark, colours showing a certain black tone that further increases the gloom of the page and gives the artwork a kind of claustrophobic heaviness. The effect, when summed up makes the battlefields of Pretty Deadly feel like nocturnal zones, a kind of world of twilight that to makes me think of sleep and alienation and a kind dream-logic gulf. It's effective stuff that I think really showcases just how lost and lonely Cyrus, the protagonist of the comic, is. 





Pretty Deadly #8 also introduces a new colour palette that takes a different approach that adds to nightmarishness. The comic features the confrontation between The Horsemen Big Alice and Deathface Ginny and the rogue Horseman of War as well as their proxy/allied armies. This conflict happens in the midst of green clouds of toxic gas and the whirling blood and viscera that are hallmarks and visual signs of War and his power. This choice significantly enhances the nightmare quality of the page. One of the fundamental aspects of colour theory (and really about the limit of my understanding of it) is that certain colours are 'complementary', that they are opposite colours that essentially clash in a way that is striking to the eye. Red and Green are such colour complements, and their use together here makes both colours surge off the page with a feverish intensity. It feels and looks unnatural, lending to the nightmare reality of the comic. It also, when contrasted against the dark, muted palette of the usual battlefield, makes the green/red pages painfully intense. The switch from green/red page to dark/barren page gives the issue a seething pulse, that again evokes the feelings of nightmares and malaise. It's... so effective that staring at the colours now to write about them is enough to get my vertigo going a little and make me feel nauseated. It's great stuff.

Pretty Deadly #8 is a noxious fever dream, and its colours are enough to make me feel sick.


Previously:

Wednesday, 13 January 2016

Pondering About Pretty Deadly #7

Or a look at the relationship between disorientation and spatial context in Pretty Deadly #7
by Kelly Sue DeConnick, Emma Rios, Jordie Bellaire, and Clayton Cowles; Image Comics



I have been trying to put my finger on just what I like about Pretty Deadly #7. There is something really cool about the way the comic is depicting the war blasted wasteland of WW1, that is kind of elusive and hard to articulate. I think it's that the depiction of trench warfare in the comic is somehow both nightmarishly indistinct while still grounded in an a relentless, granular sense of place. And I think a sequence in Pretty Deadly #7 is a great example of this.

There will be *SPOILERS* for Pretty Deadly #7 below.


The battlefields of the First World War have always stuck in my imagination as barren moonscapes.: sort of a brown-grey desolation filled with a kind of dreamy vagueness. And I think Pretty Deadly captures that sense by portraying a dark, open world devoid of life and vibrant colour. Which I think captures the sheer inhumanity of that war and a sense of how emotionally lost the protagonist of the story is. At the same time, Team Deadly has done a fantastic job building a discrete sense of place into this nebulous barren zone. Like, take the trench system on the left: it has the fine grained detail and subtle human touch that lend the broader nightmare wasteland a critical sense of realism that grounds the more fantastical aspects of the setting.

The tension between the nightmarey-vagueness of the battlefield setting and the granular realism of the comic, I think plays out spectacularly in the gas attack sequences. The page on the right devolves into a whirling cloud of toxic gas that the protagonist flees through in a swirling reading path without obvious reference. At first the character seems hopelessly mired and lost. But on a closer examination, the motions of the character within the page depict a clear set of motions which played against the previously viewed trenches reveals the character arming himself and moving to cover. It's the application of spatial storytelling to a chaotic anti-space.


And this page plays with same tension but in a wonderfully different way. Instead of having the character navigate an indistinct toxic cloudscape, the cloudscape effectively navigates around the protagonist's fixed perspective. The hook of the page is that the round panels are the restricted view of the character looking out of his gasmask. As such the comic has a clear implied sense of place: the area immediately around the character, but is still nightmarishly indistinct: the severely limited view of the character is just as disorienting as the thick smoke of the previous selection. It's a great, emotionally resonant effect.



I think this page, though, is my favourite. It is a wonderful example of the beautiful, brutal violence that I think characterizes Pretty Deadly and it showcases the clever page construction that allows the reader to quickly navigate through the key action on the page. This sequence also uses the same combination of disorienting setting with a really rigorous application of spatial positioning. This composition is, at first glance, spinning madness in an indistinct toxic cloudscape. The use of a perspective that wildly rotates around the protagonist lends the page a bewildering insanity that is punched up by the noxious red/green colour palette. It is pure feverish nightmare. But at the same time, the individual moments of action occur in a distinct spatial context. If you deconvolve the action and imagine each snapshot of violence depicted from a single, fixed perspective it all fits together perfectly. This page very much has an implied, mundane reality constructed into it that despite the madness inducing expressionism gives everything clarity and a realistic context. Which really makes this page a spectacular fusion of gritty realism and supernatural horror that is, I think, at the very core of what I love about Pretty Deadly.

Previously:

Friday, 27 November 2015

Pondering About Pretty Deadly #6

Or a look at narrative structure in Pretty Deadly #6
by Kelly Sue DeConnick, Emma Rios, Jordie Bellaire, and Clayton Cowles; Image Comics


A return of Pretty Deadly means a return to essays talking about why this comic is so, so good. I don't really have any preamble: so without further ado, I'm going to take a look at how artwork, script, and lettering intersect to create different modes of storytelling in Pretty Deadly in what I think is a pretty spiffy way.

There will of course be *SPOILERS* for Pretty Deadly below.


I've written a lot about what I like Pretty Deadly, pulling specific examples of how individual sequences are constructed to artful, or impactful, or just generally effective storytelling. What was maybe lacking is some of the broad factors of Pretty Deadly, the general things this comic does exceptionally well that help make it such a pleasure to read. One of these things, I think, is how the story is organized on a structural level, and how this creates these discrete moments.

Take this page here: the main story of the comic opens with a wide open establishing shot of a wild west homestead. Then the story provides this palette establishing sequence of snapshots: tight, singular moments of noise or sensation that build this moment or feeling. In this case a bleak frontier roughness and a kind of undefined sadness. With this emotional moment established the comic moves into new story information: a sickroom and an obviously old woman being given a drink before the page deploys it's final moment and coda. A final moment that structurally the whole page builds towards, and which comes to this sharp point that redefines and provides the context of entire preceding sequence. A final moment that is also sharp and barbed, which cuts to the truth of the page in a pretty brutal and honest way, and opens the way for the story going forward. It's a very effective way of pacing the page and creating this moment of narrative clarity that I found very engaging.



These inverted storytelling triangles can be found throughout Pretty Deadly #6. Emotion palettes are established, a wider angle panel shows the main events, and then the composition hones in on that key moment of frisson that completes a narrative moment and advances the story. It's this repeating storytelling device that builds and delivers a complete narrative moment. Which... it's like a stanza of comics. Which is an interesting approach since it lends Pretty Deadly #6 a decided poetic sensibility and also gives much of the comic a structured, deliberate rhythm. Which makes this triangle device not only an effective way to generate beautifully charged story moments, but also a metric that provides the majority of the comic a narrative identity.



The sense of narrative identity that the inverted-triangle-stanza delivers becomes important in the most supernatural moments of Pretty Deadly #6 which have a completely different story structure. Instead of the tight, mechanical layouts used to make the triangle-sections work, the mystical moments of the comic adopt a more open format and a swirling, organic flow of the narration and artwork. This creates a clear demarcation between the mundane and magical portions of the comic, which goes a long way to making the supernatural parts of the comic feel distinct and special. It's a really smart use of contrasting layout approaches.

Which is all evidence of the kind of general storytelling brilliance on display in Pretty Deadly and how macroscopic, repetitive storytelling choices can be really effective.

Previously:

Monday, 24 August 2015

Visiting The Island #2: I.D. pt 2

Or a look at the effects of research and detail in ID pt. 2 
by Emma Rios with consultation from Miguel Alberte Woodward, MD; Image Comics



I once read an X-men comic allegedly set in my hometown of Vancouver, Canada. I was pretty excited since very few comics are set here, and seeing my favourite city portrayed in media is always fun. Unfortunately the artist on the book didn't bother to actually reference what Vancouver looks like. So instead of the intersection of ocean, looming mountains, and skinny green-glassed skyscrapers, there was a vaguely defined collection of generic highrises and apartments with the odd Canadian flag thrown in. Instead of seeing the familiar shape of my home in an X-men comic, I was reading a comic that might as well have been set in Cityville City. It was a huge distraction.

Which goes to show that details matter in fiction.

I.D. in Island #2 is a great example of how fine attention to detail can enhance a storytelling world.

This post will contain *SPOILERS* for I.D.



In my day job I work as an academic research scientist in cardiac cell biology. This is only relevant here in so far as it makes me really picky about the portrayal of Science and Biology in fiction. I mean, it's fine when things are left extremely vague ("there is a surgery that let's us transplant brains, cool?"), I can go along with the premise in service to the story. But once a story tries to engage with the Science-maguffin, I find that this invites scrutiny which often just blows holes in the story, subtracts from my suspension of disbelief, and leaves me distracted from the core narrative. It can be another un-Vancouver moment. 

Like, in I.D. #2 the volunteers are told they will be infected with a virus that adds light-sensitive firefly proteins to their brains. The goal being to allow for optogenetic surgery which allows lasers to cultivate neuron growth and brain integration. Which, despite the delightful moment about bug-DNA, is kind of problematic. Fireflies are best known in Science as the source of luciferase, a bioluminescent light-emitting protein that gets used a lot to measure when a particular gene is being transcribed, or activated. Off the top of my head, fireflies are not really a source of commonly used light sensitive proteins. Optogenetics, the use of light to control cells, generally uses channelrhodopsin, a light-sensitive protein derived from the eye that can be used to transport ions and which has been implicated in neuron activation, axon growth, and synaptic potentiation. Jargon speak aside, this means that channelrhodposin would make a more plausible tool for the kind of brain-integrating surgery portrayed in the comic than a "modified firefly gene".

I can be downright crazy about this stuff.



The thing is, despite this crazy person quibble, I.D. does a fantastic job incorporating Science. The overall approach of using optogenetics, light directed surgery and virally transduced genes, is shockingly plausible. The drawings displaying the surgical setup, or the process of using a lentivirus and vector are textbook precise. The use of Science jargon is pitch perfect and complex. Basically I.D. displays a level of biological expertise beyond what I have ever encountered in another comic book. I mean, the fact I can quibble about which light-sensitive protein would be the most realistic in this situation at all is truly remarkable event.

The effect of this is that I.D. is elevated from a clinical character study using a Sci-fi plot device to a serious work of Science Fiction that is having a serious discussion about well developed and well thought out technologies. Which for me makes the entire premise feel more real, which lends the comic an unsettling, visceral quality that a less realistic, un-Vancouver-style comic would lack.

I think this really showcases the value of researching background/setting material in fiction: while a scant go-with-this contract works, a comic that invites and stands up to technical scrutiny is much more satisfying a reading experience.

Which goes to show that detail matters,

Previously:
Island #1: I.D. Part 1
Island #1: Multiple Warheads

Monday, 20 July 2015

Visiting The Island #1: I.D.

Or a look the opening page of Why Don't You Like Your Body 
by Emma Rios; Island Anthology, Image Comics



Island is a new comics anthology run by Brandon Graham and Emma Rios, two comics creators whose work I profoundly enjoy. And since both of these artists have multi-part stories currently running in the comic and because I've been in the mood to try an anthology comic, Island was a must read for me. I was not disappointed.

I was also super impressed by Emma Rios' comic I.D., particularly the form and function of it's opening page, which I think is worth exploring in detail.

There will be *SPOILERS* for I.D. pt. I below. 




I am deeply fascinated by opening pages: how do they go about establishing a theme, setting a mood, or opening a contract with the reader. Viewed through that lens, the opening page of Why Do You Hate Your Body is a really impressive feat of comics.  One that functions on a variety of levels.

From a purely storytelling perspective, this page manages to elegantly drop a ton of information on us. The first three tiers of the page each focus on one of the main characters, giving us tiny glimpses of each person, and just enough to compare them. Broadly speaking these tiers show us a feminine woman with pedicured nails and mannerisms, a bespectacled man with glasses, and a third, slightly androgynous person with delicate hands. The page also drops setting hints, with two shots that anchor the composition to a restaurant, or more likely, a coffee shop. And, judging from the nervousness and sidelong glances, that these three characters are probably strangers and somewhat uncomfortable with each other. Which is a huge amount of information for a page of textless snapshots.

Layered into this narrative information is some really adept work with theme. I.D. is a comic about extreme cosmetic surgery, which, at its heart, is about fixing those aspects of yourself which displease you. I say you here because the reality is, no matter how broadly happy you are with yourself, there are probably little quibbling aspects about your body that bug you. I'm balding in the weirdest way, which I am largely fine with, but I'm worried that it is revealing that I have an overly large forehead, what Raymond Chandler would say "was so much more head than you expected". I am slightly unhappy with the area where eyes and nose meet, the lack of architectural interest along my too straight nose, and the size and prominence of my mouth. I mean, taken all together everything works alright, and I am generally happy with my face, but treating each of these things in isolation, it becomes easier to focus on the bad. And I think this page of I.D. captures that experience, that breaking down to focus on individual aspects, eyes, hands, mouths, noses; those specific things that the characters might want nipped or tucked or surgically altered. Which works to evoke those feelings of insecurity that lurk in us all, to empathically transmit those insecurities onto the characters in the composition, and to generally establish the themes of cosmetic surgery.

This composition takes this thematic aspect a step further by combining snapshots of physical traits with the furtive glances of the characters. We get the sense that not only do these characters judge themselves, but that they are also judging each other; appraising the bodies of the other characters. Which in a way draws attention to the physical characteristics of these people and invites us as readers to judge and appraise the various bodies in the comic. It's also, given the final revelation that these characters will be undergoing a body transplant, presumably each others, a wonderful bit of foreshadowing.


Another cool thing about the opening page is how this later page calls back to it to close a storytelling loop. The first page uses a group of circular tight shots focusing on individual body parts to show a group of strangers nervously and warily judging each other. This later page, right before the end of the comic, uses similar round, hand focused shots, to show these three characters uniting to escape a protest/riot in the streets outside their coffee shop. This choice makes the two sequences echo each other and closes the storytelling contract established in the opening page: our protagonists have met, united and are working together. This page is also really clever, because the human chain of joined hands no doubt foreshadows the swap of bodies that will occur following the body transplant operations. It's really adept story structure.

Based on this sample, I.D. is going to be an interesting and technically adept comic that you ought to seek out. And if you are looking for an anthology comic to try, Island #1 is filled with good comics and at $7.99 for 100+ pages of content, is ridiculously good value.

Thursday, 5 February 2015

Sound Adivice: Captain Marvel Volume 1.1

Captain Marvel Volume 1: In Pursuit of Flight
Kelly Sue DeConnick, Dexter Soy, Emma Rios, Jordie Bellaire, Clayton Cowles; Marvel Comics



So, you’ve heard Marvel is producing a film called Captain Marvel in 2018 and want to know where to start reading about this hero?  You have come to the right place.

Captain Marvel is Carol Danvers, a former USAF pilot, current Avenger, and my all-time favorite super hero. I feel like it’s only fair to tell you before we move on: I have an ongoing Carol Danvers Situation, capital S necessary. There is a bias in this post, and the bias is that I think Carol Danvers is actually THE BEST.

Marvel Studios’ recent Phase 3 announcement brought us the news that a Captain Marvel film  will be hitting the big screen in July of 2018. I’m completely floored by the news, but for many people, the announcement bought questions about who this character is, why she should be the character to land the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s first female-led title, and why this matters. With In Pursuit of Flight, collecting issues 1-6 of Kelly Sue DeConnick’s 2012 run of Captain Marvel, we see many of the story elements that have me excited for the hero Carol Danvers to gain a wider audience.

As I talk though these points, *SPOILERS* will arise, so continue at your own risk.

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1. She looks like a female superhero should look.

Carol Danvers looks strong and powerful without surrendering her femininity. Jamie McKelvie’s redesigned uniform drew me to Captain Marvel in the first place—here we have a woman fighting in a flight suit instead of a bathing suit, wearing something that fans refer to more frequently as Carol’s “uniform” than her “costume.” Though a costume change may seem like a small thing, consider my own comics experience—thought I’ve been reading comic books since I was a kid in the late 1990’s, the look of a superhero was never intriguing enough for me to pick up a book until Carol’s Captain Marvel uniform hit the stands in 2012.

The art of In Pursuit of Flight supports this strength. Dexter Soy, who provides the art for the first part of this trade, is a favorite artist of mine because of how powerful Carol looks, and how dynamic his world feels on the page.


Emma Rios, who provides art for the second portion of the trade, brings a completely different style, one in which Carol has never looked more ethereal and magical.


Both artists avoid exploitive poses or costumes, and both are masters at showing emotion in their drawing.

2. Carol Danvers is confident about who she is and what her strengths are.

For all that this book touches on the question of names and titles and how those concepts impact our identity, Carol is very clear about who she is—She’s an Avenger. First and foremost, Carol Danvers is fighting to protect, save, and to serve, because that is what heroes do. She also clearly knows that she’s good at it—Her dialogue during fight scenes is some of the best I’ve read, because Carol is very aware that she excels at punching and blasting. Her confidence borders right on the edge of cockiness, and it’s a sort of confidence I think we see very rarely from female super heroes. “These girls have never seen anything like this in their lives,” she narrates as she begins to face down some powerful alien tech. “I’m an Avenger…we call this Tuesday.”

This is not, I should point out, to say that Carol Danvers isn’t smart. All the time she is reacting in the moment, she’s also putting together the pieces of what’s going on, considering her plan, and adjusting as new information arises. The USAF veteran is also a tactician, one who often adapts her plans on the fly, even if she sometimes does so recklessly, disregarding her own safety.

3. Her weaknesses are just as familiar to her.

The central plot of In Pursuit of Flight circles around a time travel adventure that sees Carol dropped unexpectedly into the era of WWII. She realizes this when she runs into the Banshee Squadron, an all-women group of WWII pilots, and realizing the potential of altering history Carol fully acknowledges that she has no idea what she should be doing. Though I’m usually not one for time travel plots, this one calls itself out early on. Time travel is a compelling problem for Carol to face, because it isn’t one she can't easily fight head on.



4. Carol maintains interpersonal relationships with other women.

For some reason, varied relationships between female characters can be hard to come by in comics. In just the first volume, we see a number of these relationships in Carol’s life, such as a supportive friendship with Jessica Drew, Spider-Woman, a friendship with Tracy, a older friend and former coworker who Carol is supporting through a fight with cancer, and even her relationship with Helen Cobb, clearly someone Carol views as a hero or mentor, and later, when the time travel plot brings Carol together with Helen’s young self, as competition. We see Carol relate to the Banshee Squadron as a fellow soldier and as a leader, as well. As a medium, comics can sometimes forget that friendships can cross generations, and that relationships have a huge spectrum of variation, In Pursuit of Flight remembers.

5. She considers the value of legacy.

First we see it at the start of our story, when Carol has to decide if she’s going to take on the mantle of Captain Marvel. It’s clear that part of her is worried it somehow lessens Mar-Vell’s legacy for her to do so—and part of her clearly wants the power and history of that legacy to become part of her own story. We see it again when Helen Cobb leaves Carol her plane in her will—Carol’s first act is to set off to prove that Helen Cobb’s flight record is accurate.

The whole of this arc of Carol’s story also considers a broader legacy—that of the women that came before her. The Banshees are our first reminder, couched in this fictional world, of a very real sexism experienced by women throughout history – women could not be pilots in the armed forces in WWII, so women much like the Banshee Squadron served in civilian support roles, even though they often were putting their lives on the line just as much as enlisted forces.  They thought of themselves as soldiers, even if no one else would recognize them as such.


Our second reminder comes with another jump to the 1960s, where the women pilots of Mercury 13 are facing down the injustice of a system that won’t allow them to pursue a NASA training program. Their hopes are dashed by their gender and their era, and it’s heartbreaking to witness these women’s devastation for both the reader and for Carol.


This story is absolutely about the legacy of women such as the Banshees and the Mercury 13 left for women who came after, an unashamedly feminist statement about how important it is for us to remember and honor their struggle for equality. DeConnick does her best to honor them in story, and Carol clearly recognizes how these women helped pave the way for her own service and the pursuit of her own dreams to fly.

6. For as much as legacy is valued, Carol sees the importance of continuing to move forward.

It’s a letter from Helen that is the final push Carol needs to take the title of Captain Marvel. “Helen would punch holes in the sky,” she reasons to herself, sitting at the edge of space thinking about her place in the world. When in the final arc of the book, she finds herself in a position to reset, to remove the weight of legacy, Carol can see the value of who she is, and when the moment comes, she rushes right in because someone needs saving, and that is what heroes do. Not only is this who she is, but it’s who she wants to be.



Carol’s story is one of continuing to dream and to push forward. She encourages it in others and expects it of herself. “You and me’ve always been like this,” Helen writes in her letter. “Always dreaming. Of higher, further, faster, more. The Lord put us here to punch holes in the sky, and when a soul is born with that kind of purpose, it’ll damn sure find a way.”

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In Pursuit of Flight is the beginning of Carol Danvers’ tenure as Captain Marvel, and is as much about the shift in how she names herself as it is about the time travel shenanigans and fighting bad guys. The volume features an adventurous plot and a cast of characters to be marvelled at. The dialogue is snappy and engaging, a balance between being believable and sounding exactly like what a super hero would say.  I can, at the same time, relate to Carol’s relationships and wish I could have abilities as awesome as hers. It’s a fantastic volume if you’re new to super hero comics, or if you’re just looking for a new hero to love.

And Carol Danvers? I believe this list is just a few of the many reasons Carol Danvers as Captain Marvel has resonated with so many people. Carol is everything I want in a hero: she’s strong and confident. She lifts up and encourages those around her, but still banters playfully with her friends. While she’s facing down a challenge, she knows her strengths and her weaknesses, and isn’t afraid to own that there are some things that are not her forte. She’s both confident and questioning, strong and soft.  She flies fast, kicks ass, and looks fly as hell while she’s doing it.

I often describe Captain Marvel as the book I wish someone could have handed to 12-year-old me, but the truth is I need to hear what she has to say even now, on a pretty much daily basis. I needed a hero like this at 8 and 12 and 16 and 19 and even now at 26. When she’s on the big screen in 2018, girls won’t have to wait until they’re an adult to see a hero they want to be.


Fly. Be bold. Honor those that came before you, but never stop pushing for your own dreams. Punch holes in the sky.

Post by Jennifer DePrey

Previously: