Book Review: Anne by Kathleen Gros

By Larissa Page

We all know the story of Anne of Green Gables and of Anne with an E. In Kathleen Gros’s Anne, she gives us a modern-day adaptation (sort of) of our favourite classic.

Anne is a foster kid in and out of houses thanks to her quick temper. Green Gables is an apartment complex where Matthew (the building’s handyman) and Marilla (an accountant) live in their parents’ old apartment. Diana is a kindred spirit that lives on the top floor and Rachel Lynde is the cranky old lady from the first floor. Gilbert is still a bully, and Anne detests her red hair. So, many of the elements of this adaptation are key points of the story that we already love with some that have been changed. Either way, Anne is the lovably precocious main character everyone comes to love.

One of the reasons this caught my eye is because I wanted to give it a pre-read before deciding if it would be good for my young reader. She is a fan of graphic novels (as am I), and this one is of a story and character she’s already familiar with. I was thrilled for this graphic novel to be filled with inclusivity, 2SLGBTQIA characters, themes of unconditional love, standing up to bullies, and building a home with new people. It had some young crush themes that were presented in a way that I felt appropriate for a tween/pre-teen.

It was a quick read, and I expect will be for some children as well, but in being so it makes it accessible (particularly for kids who may not be as quick of readers) and easy to pick up. It also had a feeling of nostalgia because these are characters we already love.

I will be thrilled to hand this off to my middle-grade reader. I can see us having some discussions surrounding handling bullies, sharing our feelings, getting a handle on emotions, and things like that. Plus, she’ll be excited to see the pictures, and experience Anne in her own generation.

Thank you, HarperCollins Canada, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: The Wolf Suit by Sid Sharp

By Meghan Mazzaferro

The Wolf Suit is a graphic novel that follows Bellwether, an anxious sheep who just wants to live comfortably in his house doing crafts and enjoying his own company. But every once and a while he needs to brave the forest in search of food, and after one too many close calls where Bellwether’s quest for lunch almost winds up with him becoming lunch, he decides he is done living in fear and puts his crafting skills to the test to build himself a wolf suit. Unfortunately for Bellwether, pretending to be a wolf isn’t easy, and he just might run into some real wolves on his travels.

This graphic novel chapter book is suitable for children six and up and is absolutely delightful. The story follows timid Bellwether as he pushes himself to be brave and leave the comforts of home in spite of the potential dangers. The plot takes a fun twist on the sheep versus wolf dynamic, and I enjoyed how Sharp took the time to let the story breathe. Bellwether is fleshed out as a character and each step of his journey feels well explored while still having a quick pace and a simple story to keep young readers entertained. This book would be great to read as a family, but the pages are also well organized, and the words are easy to read if the young reader in your life wants to dive into the story on their own. The book is also divided into short chapters, which means you can read the story as quickly, or slowly, as you want.

On top of the fun and exciting plot, the art style of this book stands out. It is relatively simple and not too cluttered with enough detail to keep the reader visually engaged. I particularly loved the contrast between the indoor and outdoor spaces and enjoyed how the visuals in the story contradict the narrator at times—while Bellwether feels safest inside, the minimalist and dark space seems so empty once the reader is introduced to the vibrance of the rest of the forest. The simple designs also highlight the important plot devices visually—particularly Bellwether’s window—which I loved.

I also found the character designs absolutely wonderful. Bellwether is a delight to look at, and there were several times when I had to pause and admire a particular expression (typically ones where Bellwether is especially stressed out or flustered because they were just too relatable). Likewise, I found the wolf characters both fun and scary to look at. It felt like we were seeing the wolves the way Bellwether would, and I found the claws in particular to be really well done. I appreciated how the art was interesting enough to hold readers of all ages’ attention while still being designed to not be too scary for the target audience. The art does an excellent job of complementing the writing and telling a complete story, and you can’t have one without the other.

Overall, I absolutely loved this book and the story it told. It does a great job of exploring a character type that most readers are familiar with while telling a fresh story in a fun and visually stimulating way, and I really appreciated the book’s overall message. I would recommend this book to anyone who enjoys a good graphic novel no matter their age, though I definitely think it would be especially fun to read as a family.

 Thank you to Annick Press for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Rave by Jessica Campbell

By Kaylie Seed

Content warning: homophobia/internalized homophobia

Jessica Campbell’s Rave is a graphic novel that follows soft-spoken Lauren in the early 2000s as she struggles to find her identity when her sexuality and faith are no longer on the same page. Lauren’s family are devoutly religious, to the point where they do not allow Lauren to bring home her textbook on evolution. When Lauren has to complete an assignment using that very textbook, she ends up at Mariah's house, a Wiccan who is unapologetically herself. Lauren and Mariah begin to have a secretive queer relationship that leaves Lauren swirling in Christian guilt and an internalized homophobia that leaves Lauren with an identity crisis.

Readers may find that this short graphic novel wasn’t fleshed out in the way they may have been hoping. The characters are quite one-dimensional with quite a few stereotypes and cliches present throughout. They lacked personality and uniqueness, and I felt like I had already read about these characters before. Campbell allows the illustrations to tell the story more than her writing, so readers will find that this is a quick read if they are not taking their time to analyze each illustration.

The ending is quite abrupt and ends with little questions being answered, leaving readers wondering if that truly was the end of the novel. The narrative felt rushed and underdeveloped, and maybe that was due to the illustrations telling the story more than the words. Rave would be a great read for those interested in coming-of-age stories and would appreciate a quick, to-the-point graphic novel.

Thank you, Drawn & Quarterly, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Something is Killing the Children by James Tynion IV, Werther Dell'Edera, and Miquel Muerto

By Dahl Botterill

Content warning: violence, gore

Something is Killing the Children opens with a sleepover. Boys goofing around, playing truth or dare, telling scary stories. Things ramp up quickly though, and by the next morning only one of those boys remains alive, trying to explain the unexplainable to local law enforcement. He’s scared and possibly in shock, so he tells them he didn’t see anything. After a day of abuse at school from kids who think he had a role to play in the tragedy, he’s approached by an odd, wide-eyed young woman who asks him to tell her everything he remembers and promises that she’ll believe every word. “No matter how weird it is. No matter how scary.” Her name is Erica Slaughter, and she hunts monsters.

Book one of Something is Killing the Children collects the first 15 issues of the ongoing comic series into one oversized hardcover volume. It covers Erica’s experiences in a town called Archer’s Peak, and over these 15 issues Tynion introduces enough characters to really breathe life in to the town. Archer’s Peak is made up of people, and those people lend a real gravity to the events taking place. The missing and murdered children have families, and those families don’t always make Erica’s job easier.

James Tynion IV does a great job of worldbuilding here; not only does he create the very alive and mourning town of Archer’s Peak, but he also provides hints as to Erica’s origins with the Order of St. George’s House of Slaughter. Something is Killing the Children is the best kind of slow burn, where the pacing is solid, generating a better story through detail, exploration, and character development rather than rushing from one action sequence to the next. The immediate tale of Archer’s Peak clearly benefits, but so does the series potential in general. Smart writing ensures that much of the fine and fun detail serves both purposes simultaneously, benefiting both the immediate arc and the ongoing series without overwhelming the reader with information unnecessary to either.

Werther Dell’Edera handles the art side of Something is Killing the Children, and he is a very suitable choice. His rougher drawing style doesn’t always feel as polished as some other titles, but it does a phenomenal job of conveying emotion, and in doing so is one of the ways the book really hooks the reader into the pain and loss of Archer’s Peak. It feels very primal, which is a fantastic fit for a book about monsters and people and the fine lines that separate some of them. The art carries emotional weight, and that lends power to the book’s impact.

This isn’t a book that will necessarily grab the reader by the throat from the first pages, but it will quietly tap their interest, and begin to put down roots. As it grows and swells over its duration into something bigger than it initially seems, Something is Killing the Children becomes not only a really great horror comic, but a great book as well.

Book Review: Death, The Deluxe Edition by Neil Gaiman

By Shantell Powell

Content warning: death 

Neil Gaiman is a writer who has reached superstar status. His author talks and signings sell out weeks in advance. His first major claim to fame was The Sandman, an award-winning comic book series extending off and on from 1989–2015. The Sandman was one of the first graphic novels to ever grace the New York Times bestseller list and won many awards, including the Hugo, the World Fantasy Award, the Bram Stoker Award, the British Fantasy Award, and a whole boatload of Eisner Awards. The series features the family of beings known as the Endless: Dream, Destruction, Destiny, Despair, Desire, Delirium, and Death. Death first appears in The Sandman No. 8 (August 1989).

Death: The Deluxe Edition is a collection of each of Death’s major appearances from The Sandman as well as from the Death miniseries and one-offs. In case you are unfamiliar with the character, Death is no cloaked grim reaper carrying a scythe. No, this version of Death is a perky goth girl with cat’s eye makeup and teased-up black hair, typically dressed in a black tank top and jeans while sporting a big ankh. I was a goth chick in the 1990s, and she was my style icon.

The stories offer a microcosm of late 20th century counterculture. Goths and punks abound, and the stories feature a diverse cast of characters from a wide variety of intersectional backgrounds. Decades later, the stories still hold up, although some of the earliest illustration work is pretty raw and unpolished. It begins with a foreword by Tori Amos, friend to Neil Gaiman and the inspiration for the Delirium character.

My favourite stories are from Death: The High Cost of Living, illustrated masterfully by Chris Bachalo. The collection includes an extensive Death gallery painted/illustrated by a who’s who list of artists: Michael Zulli, Dave McKean, Rebecca Guay, Moebius, Bryan Talbot, Gahan Wilson, Michael Wm. Kaluta, Jill Thompson, Clive Barker, Charles Vess, and more. The book ends with a one-off on AIDS, where Death, aided by John Constantine from the Hellblazer comic book series, explains safe sex and demonstrates how to use a condom.

Although the colour quality is superb throughout the book, I am disappointed with the layout and the thinness of the paper. On pages with a lot of white space, the material from the reverse side is visible. On dark or busy pages, this is not so much of an issue. My main complaint is with the layout: not enough white space goes around the comic cells, which means that in order to see the art and read the text, I must open the book so wide I’m afraid I’ll crack its spine. Because of this and the thinness of the paper, I don’t think the book will survive a lot of readings. That being said, the book itself is gorgeous, with a full-colour glossy dust jacket and an equally beautiful wraparound design on the book cover.

With Audible’s recent full-cast audiobooks of The Sandman and the forthcoming The Sandman Netflix series, I expect the comic book series and its spin-offs (including Death: The Deluxe Edition) will be flying off the shelves.

Thank you, DC Comics, for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Swim Team by Johnnie Christmas

By Christine McFaul

Swim Team: Small Waves, Big Changes is a new middle grade graphic novel by Vancouver-based author and artist Johnnie Christmas (publication date May 17th, 2022; currently available for pre-order).

The story opens with young protagonist Bree leaving Brooklyn for Florida, where her dad has accepted a job. Bree is nervous about the move, making friends, and starting over at a new middle school. She tries to approach the coming changes with a positive attitude but it’s hard not to let doubts creep in,  especially when she finds out her top choice of elective—Math Puzzles—is full. In fact, the only elective left for Bree to take is Swim 101. Which is a big problem, since academically oriented Bree doesn’t know how to swim.

Soon Bree is skipping class to avoid anyone finding out her secret. But after a worrisome tumble into the pool at her apartment complex introduces Bree to a new swim coach, she finally begins to find her way to the water. She quickly learns to out-swim her doubts and many of her peers, a feat that sees her qualifying for her school’s floundering swim team. As the newest member of the Manatees, Bree makes friends with her teammates and even places at her first meet; life is good! Until the Manatees learn that simply placing is not good enough. They will need to start winning meets or risk losing their pool, which is slated to be sold to a frozen smoothie chain. Bree’s newfound swim skills and friendships will be tested as she works with the Manatees to beat their hyper-competitive private school rivals, win the state championship, and ultimately save their pool—the last one in their community that is still free and available for public use.

Swim Team: Small Waves, Big Changes introduces readers to a vibrant and engaging set of middle grade characters. The sport story is both relatable and layered as Christmas seamlessly weaves the history of racism in America’s public pool system into the plot. Christmas strikes a perfect balance between the information that is delivered through writing and that which is conveyed visually. His previous experience in comics shines as he expertly wields his pencil to further develop his characters. The colour choices (featuring a lot of turquoise and yellow) create a sunny Florida swim vibe that shifts subtly with the moods and action of the story. Every detail, down to the lettering, draws out the middle grade experience (some of my favourite moments include “Bree’s Favourite Things” which have the look of notebook doodles, and the visual representation of Bree’s doubts throughout).

Graphic novels are becoming increasingly popular across all age categories of kid lit, and after finishing this book, I can absolutely see why. Swim Team: Small Waves, Big Changes is a warm and layered read enhanced by its beautiful and nuanced illustrations. An excellent middle grade choice for either academic or personal reading.

Note: I encourage anyone whose interest in Swim Team: Small Waves, Big Change was piqued after reading my thoughts to check out opinions provided by graphic novel aficionados (as this is my first review in this genre!) as well as by reviewers who can add a personal perspective to Bree’s experiences within the American public pool system as a Black middle school student.

Thank you to Harper Collins Canada for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review.

Book Review: Moonshot edited by Elizabeth LaPensée and Michael Sheyahshe

By Dahl Botterill

Moonshot: The Indigenous Comics Collection was originally released by Alternate History Comics in 2015. They followed it up with a second volume a few years later, and all three volumes are now available through Inhabit Education Books. Each book collects short works by a variety of Indigenous creators from all over North America, and the third volume is another fantastic collection. Moonshot Volume 3 focuses on stories that illustrate the concept of “Indigenous Futurisms,” stories that tell of “the past, present, and future as being a nonlinear reality.” It’s a concept that provides the Indigenous creators being showcased a lot of room to breathe, and the result is a truly diverse collection of comics and illustrated stories.

There’s an abundance of different art styles at work here, from the classic superhero stylings of “Slave Killer” to the soft shades and lines of “Sky People,” and the bold blocks of bright colour in “Sisters.” The stories also vary a great deal in tone and scale. “Our Blood” and the aforementioned “Sky People” follow a few characters over a short while in settings that feel fairly contemporary. “Future World and Xenesi: the Traveler” blends science fiction with broad temporal strokes, while “They Come for Water” and “Waterward” blend tradition with horror and a sense of timelessness. 

Moonshot Volume 3 is comprised of over a dozen tales written and illustrated by a wide variety of Indigenous creators from all over the continent, and the result is a fascinating collection of stories from distinct voices. If there is a disappointing aspect to the book, it’s that including so many stories require each tale be fairly brief and will leave the reader wanting so much more. Along with a foreword that expands on the concept of Indigenous Futurisms and provides some additional information on the individual stories, the collection also includes a short sketchbook of concept drawings and biographies of the contributors, including references to a number of their longer works. Perhaps a little something to read while hoping for the fourth volume of this important and thought-provoking series. 

Book Review: Buckaroo Banzai Against the World Crime League et al. A Compendium of Evils by The Reno Kid with E. M. Rauch

By Dahl Botterill

I was very excited to discover that Buckaroo Banzai Against the World Crime League: A Compendium of Evil existed. While I’ve never read The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension, I loved the movie; it’s a ridiculous steamroller of uninhibited creativity that plays like a love letter to every bombastic film genre you’ve ever seen. To be perusing the shelves at a bookstore and see a sequel staring back at me seemed too good to be true, and I couldn’t wait to read it. I went in hoping for a wild and crazy thrill-a-minute mess in all the best ways, offbeat and colourful, full of weird characters and over-the-top twists and turns. 

Well. It does have some weird characters. And it is indeed a mess.

It isn’t that nothing interesting happens, or that the characters aren’t weird, but the writing style is such that everything happens at a positively glacial pace. Twists and turns become long lazy arcs that the reader has entirely too much time to prepare for, and the bulk of that time is spent on tangents, blind alleys, and dialogue that goes nowhere. In a different book or genre that might work, but Buckaroo Banzai suffers; it feels like a book that doesn’t know what it is. 

The writing often feels childish, with the frequent curses misspelled for some largely unexplained reason and a plethora of attention given to toilet humour and bodily functions. The expected audience is ostensibly declared to be young but what may be intended as juvenile comes off as crass and off-putting much of the time. Not only is the self-indulgent style hard to get into, but the language occasionally feels so out of place as to knock the reader right back out. There is certainly a dedication to the weird and offbeat, but it all feels overwritten. The end result is prose that feels manic but lacks any momentum, and the novel is crippled by this incongruity. Rauch takes hundreds of pages to cover what a classic science fiction author would have divulged in thirty, resulting in a story that suffocates under the weight of its own world-building.

I’m sure there are some folks out there that would enjoy this book. Given an effective editor and some very deep cuts, there might have been an entertaining sequel in here somewhere, but in its current form I find it hard to believe it saw publication.

Book Review: My Body in Pieces by Marie-Noëlle Hébert

By Dylan Curran

Content warning: eating disorders 

My Body in Pieces is an impressive collection of illustrations that lend themselves to thought-provoking ideas on self-worth and the impact of everyday actions. This was a graphic novel that made me feel seen and heard. The anxieties embedded within its pages linger, slowly fading into nostalgias of worries we've all had: Do I look good in this? How can I be thinner? When will all these workouts start to show results?

As a reader, you feel yourself grow weary of Hébert’s choices. You know that these early decisions are hurting her—her friends, her family, her body. But you can't stop her. And you can't stop yourself from reading, from slipping into the familiarity of her actions.  

You feed yourself on her mistakes. Eagerly, you take another bite, devour the book whole. 

An examination of Hébert’s journey, the novel is told in evocative black and white, each frame reminiscent of family photo albums or photo essays. Every emotion in its pages is expressed with such certainty and depth that we feel ourselves leak into the pages and become embedded in these memories. As readers, we are shaped by the words "each day I focus on finding fault with my body, one piece at a time...I am good at it." 

The clarity of moments sketched in fragile charcoal strokes emphasizes the contrast of other characters' seemingly insignificant suggestions that have a huge toll on Hébert’s self-esteem. She is all too conscious of her image, ever reminded of her (self-perceived) failures, forever plagued by the reflection in the mirror. But what Hébert does not see, we as readers do: the love that follows her throughout the book. We catch glimpses in the wordless frames of Ganache, of Matilda, and even between family members. There is a tentative tenderness in each of these conversations. But, ultimately, we cannot deny that it is a genuine depiction of body dysmorphia, anti-fatness, and eating disorders. An all too familiar life for a woman who struggles to see the beauty within herself.  

Once layered in self-hatred, Hébert slowly polishes the pieces of herself through therapy and begins to reveal new aspects of herself: a friend, a daughter, an artist. 

We cheer for her in the final pages, revel in the positive changes she has made for herself. We too share an ice cream with a smile on our face. 

A note on the impressive task of translating a graphic novel: Shelley Tanaka has done wonders to translate the text from French to English, and in doing so, has conveyed a level of anxiety one assumes is found murmured throughout the original text. Tanaka effortlessly manipulates language to form swift, short snippets that flow between each frame. In this way, the translation blends seamlessly with the original graphics (illustrations by the author herself, Marie-Noëlle Hébert). Overall, My Body in Pieces is a striking debut and an impressive graphic novel that deserves a home on your shelf. 

Thank you to Groundwood Books for the complimentary copy in exchange for an honest review! 

Book Review: Providence (Compendium) by Alan Moore and Jacen Burrows

By Shantell Powell

Content Warning:  sexual violence, harm to children, racism, eugenics, homophobia, misogyny 

Providence was written by Alan Moore and illustrated by Jacen Burrows. It was first released as a monthly/bimonthly comic book series in 2015 and was rereleased in July 2021 in compendium form. Alan Moore is famous for such graphic novels and comic books as The Watchmen, Swamp Thing, and V for Vendetta. Providence is his final foray into comic books, and what a swan song it is. The back cover blurb declares Providence to be the Watchmen of horror, and I agree with that assessment. I believe this graphic novel will become a classic of literary horror.  

Alan Moore is a ceremonial magician, and his nuanced knowledge of the occult is on full display in Providence. He is also a filmmaker, and his visual direction is cinematic and specific. Jacen Burrows’s crisp, clean illustrations are crucial to the magical realism of the setting. Kurt Hathaway’s lettering is put to good use: Providence is in epistolary form and contains pages and pages of dense, handwritten text. Juan Rodriguez did the colour work, and his sombre palette adds to the unease of the book. The story plays with a lot of tropes (cursed books, creepy cultists, ancient evils, descent into madness, breaking the third wall), and does so with surgical precision.  

The story takes place in New England not long after World War I, but it does not remain stuck in time or place. The protagonist is Robert Black—a queer Jewish reporter whose ex-lover has just died unexpectedly. Shaken by the death, Black takes a sabbatical from his job at the newspaper. He is researching an urban legend about a book called Sous Le Monde. Supposedly, anyone who reads the book ends up dead. He is intrigued by this and thinks researching the story will inspire him to write a novel. His research takes him throughout rural New England where he meets Howard Phillips Lovecraft and experiences increasingly unsettling events. 

In case you are unfamiliar, Lovecraft was an extremely influential horror writer. His sense of horror was on a cosmic scale but was influenced heavily by his xenophobia and ideals of racial purity.  Providence is a metafictional Lovecraftian story containing Lovecraft himself. Over the past decade, his fictional entity Cthulhu has become a kitschy part of pop culture, inspiring bobblehead and kawaii incarnations.  

Providence strips away all the kitsch to reveal just how disturbing and terrifying the Cthulhu mythos actually is, and just how dehumanizing things like eugenics, class warfare, and homophobia are. If you would like to revisit the Cthulhu mythos with fresh eyes, you need to read this. But be warned—you may want a brain-bleach chaser.

Book Review: Motor Girl Omnibus by Terry Moore

By Dahl Botterill

"I don't need any help! Okay? I carry my own load! No one has to help me! I help them! I'm the strongest person in the room! That's how it works!"

Samantha Locklear lives and works in a junkyard in Nevada, pulling parts from old cars with only the company of a 600-pound gorilla named Mike. It's a reclusive life, and it suits her just fine, until late one night, a flying saucer crashes into the junkyard. She quietly helps the aliens get on their way, and the next day assumes it was all a dream until her tiny little world is suddenly filled with new faces trying to get in on the UFO game.

Sam Locklear is also a veteran with three tours behind her, having survived two bombings and ten months of torture as a prisoner of war. She suffers from debilitating headaches, hasn't contacted her family since returning home, and her best friend in the world exists entirely in her head. 

Terry Moore's Motor Girl layers comedy and drama over one another in a moving exploration of psychological trauma, focusing on Sam's intentionally small slice of the world and the way that slice is shaped and defined by the physical and emotional injuries she sustained as a Marine in Iraq. Sam is both incredibly strong and tragically broken, and each of these aspects sometimes gets in the way of the other. Her PTSD makes it difficult for her to help all the people she wants to, or even to stare reality full in the face, and her refusal to be anything but “the strongest person in the room” at all times prevents her from dealing effectively with her trauma. Moore's character work is on full display here, with everybody playing dual roles; most are developed both as individuals and as reflections of Samantha's own personality.

Terry Moore is probably most famous for Strangers in Paradise, and in Motor Girl, his cartoonist's sensibilities are on full display as he returns to a style of art that will feel particularly familiar to readers of that other work. It's a little rougher style than some of his more recent titles—he apparently returned to primarily using a brush for this title—and it fits the work perfectly. Moore's art is minimal without being simple, each line full of emotion and gravity, and it does a masterful job of tying the serious and silly aspects of the book together. Motor Girl is a great book that packs a huge amount into its relatively short length. It's an obvious recommendation for anybody that's already a fan of Moore's previous work and a great introduction to Moore's style and writing for anybody a bit overwhelmed at the idea of diving into one of his lengthier titles.