Justin
Oh 90s comic book art. Overly detailed and sexualized. You'll know a comic is from the 90s once you see it.
I've heard that Nightwing was supposed to be a superior hero to Batman. After reading this, I still don't see it. I'm willing to attribute the lackluster quality to its age however as it falls into many familiar tropes that I'm tired of seeing, but made worse by trying to make this seem like the most cool and dangerous thing as the 90s loves to exemplify.
However, I am interested in seeing more of the setting. There are many things that in concept could work really well, just here were not executed as well as it should have been. It goes out of its way to distinguish itself from the Batman mythos by only having small appearances from Drake (Robin III) and Wayne as an integral part of the story without overstaying their welcome. If I do have to commend this for something, I appreciate it trying to be its own thing without resorting to needless fanservice. Maybe it improves later on - but I'm not interested in continuing this series specifically. Perhaps I will become a Nightwing fan later on in my life.
Aside from the colorful artwork, there isn't much that makes this book stand out from other superhero stories. It's all too familiar even to someone who is relatively new to the DC Universe: Mad Hatter is kidnapping people, Mr. Freeze (without a tragic backstory) dials up the evil by holding blood hostage, and Two Face is acting evil again. None of these stories are bad - just none are memorable and all are too predictable.
Aside from the slight diversion of what I was expecting, it treads all too familiar ground without changing up the formula too much. It doesn't give much depth to Dick Grayson aside from a slight glimpse into his school life and establishing a dynamic with Alfred - both of which are not important to his character and can be seen in other entries.
This can easily be skipped without missing much of anything relating to Batman lore.
Blood Meridian was my second attempt at reading McCarthy. I've enjoyed No Country for Old Men, with a slight preference in the movie adaptation's favor, but found the prose and writing style of the book to be an interesting take on how a book could be written: short, minimalist prose that heightens the tension in a grim, nihilistic world. My wish was granted - only it succeed so well that I found myself never wanting to read another one of his books.
It is so overly serious and cynical to the point it is nigh parody, making everything grim and gloomy that everything about it just becomes nullifying to read even the most gruesome of parts. It is almost as if the author is trying to hard to make a point about the “truth” of the genre, but completely swings too far to a side that it becomes a laughable attempt. There was not a single character that had an ounce of humanity which makes it hard to care about anything that's going on. The judge was the only interesting character, but that comes at the expense of every other character who does not nearly get enough attention - which includes the protagonist himself.
It is entirely possible to create a narrative that deconstructs the western by showing everyone at their absolute worst, but it substitutes critiquing the genre with nuance instead with overt descriptions of violence that it becomes overbearing and numbing. It definitely is not a “realistic” narrative McCarthy creates, but it also is not a very convincing one either.
The writing style is overtly dry and lends itself to incredibly bad pacing issues. So much of this book was describing scenery, making the plot move at such a glacial pace. You can sense that the world is being described as bleak and uncaring, but it comes at the cost of the narrative. There is not much of a balance between the setting and the story.
The way the author withholds information is so disorienting at times that it makes it hard to follow, and especially suffers during the action sequences. Much of this book is declarative statements strung together to act as a sense of urgency, but it just doesn't work for a book this long. Much of it seems structure-less, almost repetitive with the events that take place. Perhaps it is to comment on the neverending cycle of violence, but it also does not make for an engaging story.
This marks the longest I have ever went in a book before stopping completely - with only 75 pages left. Apparently the ending is good, but I just don't care enough to continue.
Even then, I still have faith in the author. If this is his magnum opus, this is more of a misstep that I just don't enjoy. The brilliance of No Country for Old Men keeps me hopeful to read another one of his works.
This is an example of a good story told poorly; what could have been a fascinating examination of the cultural dissonance between the Igbo tribe and English Imperialism is stunted by curt, short prose that stymies emotional investment. It is so interesting to see both sides have a point, have flaws, and Okonkwo - the protagonist of the novel - be a woman beater, child murderer, and still be a sympathetic character. There is no doubt that the ideas presented are enticing to discuss, but the discussion aspect is perhaps more interesting than reading it itself. There are no qualms with the story but rather how it is presented, with the content being glossed over or told so quickly that it doesn't allow for the reader to truly take in the depth of what the story is trying to convey.
More interesting to discuss than to read.
Pale Fire makes all the writers in the world look bad. One part beautiful poetry, the other part a manic analysis of it.
Nabokov is able to create a beautiful poem that meditates upon death, the afterlife, and the fear of being forgotten that is authentic enough to be from himself rather than from the point of view of a fictional character. The poem itself is heartfelt and touching as it is existential about what it means to have lived a meaningful life that has experienced tragedy in-between. It's heartfelt. It's worded soundly, with such profound lines such as:
“I was the shadow of the waxwing slain
By the false azure in the window pane”
But Nobakov manages to find a way to make this even better in a way that comically mocks scholarly literary criticism; through careful deliberation of every line in the 999 line cantos, through the point of view of an insane fan, he annotates the poem to find meaning that doesn't exist. The reason why the book is so long is that the rest of the pages following the poem are footnotes that analyze the poem that tell a story in itself, through connections. The connections are tangible at best and rambling and comically wrong at its worst. Through the extensive use of footnotes, he manages to tell multiple stories that are spurred off a few lines of poetry that barely connect - one a random kingdom that may not exist, another about his experiences with the author himself, and what leads to the author's demise.
He is able to defile an “autobiographical” poem in a way that enhances the reading experience without taking away the brilliance of the former. If the poem was anything less than okay or even slightly tongue in cheek, the book would have lost its impact. For the book to work as a whole, every part had to be great. It is through the critique of literary analysis that the book's nature shines: creating a memorable poem first that could be read on its own and a memorable experience that pokes fun at what was written.
I am not usually a fan of poetry - having read much of Shakespeare and having taken a chance on Sylvia Plath's poems as well, much to my disappointment. Pale Fire's poem was one of the few to actually move me emotionally, as well as impress me. He made a poem that is touching in his third language (with difficult vocabulary) and may as well have been a joke. This book has multiple layers to it - the forward, the poem itself, the annotations (which make the bulk of a novel), and the index - all equally brilliant in of itself.
Nobakov is able to make every sentence dense with allusions, such rich vocabulary, and a poetic structure. It is not an easy book to read, but it is a rewarding experience to have read. It may be a book that I appreciated more than I enjoyed, but those feelings are incredibly close together.
This is not a poorly written book, but one that is just simply “not for me”. It is just written so plainly, without divulging into the depth of the character that it makes for a dry reading. Everything is so surface level that it saps away from any emotional investment from the character aside from his relentlessness in catching a fish.
This is my second and probably last attempt at reading Hemingway; his style does not fit my personal taste. I understand that this is all a part of the ice berg theory, where so much content is left vague and left for the reader to figure out, but it does not make for an enjoyable read.
Somewhere in Giovanni's Room, there is a great story. But it falls short of having an emotional effect due to the pacing being constrained by its length, not allowing for the main relationship to have much weight to it.
It doesn't feel rushed, but more unearned in how the two fall in love with each other; it is a product of lust rather than something born out of intimacy and connection due to their social isolation. None of the characters are as fleshed out as they should be. Giovanni doesn't have much character to him for much of the book, falling into the unfortunate archetype of the manic pixie dream boy who lacks any depth until the last third of the book. David's character is only interesting when he's not with Giovanni, where he struggles with the shame he feels for loving another man and the impending doom he bears with his fiancee coming to visit. But there is not much of a connection between these two - the plot almost mandates they fall in love too quickly and skims over much of the crucial aspects of how that came to be.
The pacing is the problem with the book. It is much too short to give the depth that is needed for any of these relationships to flourish. The emotional beats are there, and if the previous chapters didn't suffer from the issues it had, it would have been effective. It would have been devastating. I felt cold for not feeling much during these brutally emotional moments of cowardice and despair, but I could exactly pinpoint why. This goes to show how great Baldwin is at his craft - his prose his excellent, with every sentence so dense with information but with the craft of a poem. He can take some of the most mundane moments of everyday life and make them full of meaning. The first chapter especially - which prepared me to expect a novel that would become one of my all time favorites - manages to weave in so much about David's life. The way sex was written didn't remind me of smutty literature, but instead something that was a beautiful augmentation of love; how it is awkward, but the connection between the two could be felt that it was inevitable. The act itself was described in a way that didn't glorify the details, but the emotions involved.I was almost in tears by the end. I understood where David came from, his guilt about loving a man and disappointing his father by telling him. It was heartbreaking, but unfortunately the book does not keep the emotional momentum it had in the first chapter.
I can appreciate Baldwin's craft - but I cannot find myself enjoying it. I can appreciate the fact that he made same-sex love a universal story, where the focus isn't on hiding, but on embracing the human aspect of love, but I wanted more. I didn't get enough of the relationship to really feel the impact it wanted to have, and behind Baldwin's beautiful prose and raw emotion, was a story that was simply too short on the intimate details.
First time actually reading Poe (rather than listening to it), and I have finally realized what makes Poe so great - the prose. He manages to weave a simple story into something that is only subtly terrifying, through the exploration of the mind of a mad man it becomes even more so.
The way Poe distorts things with subtly, gives the impression of madness. The story would not work from a different perspective, the horror comes from the thoughts of the narrator rather than the events themselves.
The concept and the story are so good, it's just that Lovecraft gets lost in these lurid descriptions that it slows the story down. Especially in the third chapter where it is incredibly difficult to read due to his decision to make it nigh incomprehensible dialogue from a drunk.
His writing style isn't for me, so much so that after reading the Wikipedia plot summary to clarify some points my appreciation for the story shot up. It got to his points quickly, and actually left much more of an impact on me than the actual story did.
Go figure.
It could just be a case of me being unable to appreciate Lovecraft's style as much as others. It could be me just being stupid and taking multiple days to finish a short novella.
The Golden Compass fails to build off the momentum it once had; a once promising fantasy adventure that leads with the impression of a sordid and macabre journey across an icy landscape fails to become anything more than a dollar store brand of it. Full of fantastical concepts that are failed to be sufficiently explained, the world within the novel is shallow and half baked, with concepts that don't make sense coupled with a story that lacks a creative flare to it.
The most prominent concept in the book are creatures called Daemons, who are extensions of a human being that follow them around. However, a concept of a companion is stretched so thin without significant explanation as to how they operate within society, the emphasis that Pullman places on them is baffling. These creatures speak and have human like traits, but lack any resemblance of a personality; it is impossible to gain sympathy for these things because Pullman barely talks about them. They should be significantly overpowered, with the animals of children being able to shapeshift into anything - that is almost never used. Their importance is contrived and forced because Pullman makes no attempt to make them interesting. Pantalaimon, the protagonist's Daemon, is useless - there is not a single point in the novel where I can say that he comforts her in any significant way, and yet we are told about their bonding, but never feel it emotionally. This wouldn't be such a big deal if the plot literally didn't revolve around this asinine concept, expecting us to be horrified around the revelation of what the villains to them - only they explain the ramifications within the same paragraph.
What do Daemons even do? It shouldn't be hard to write them like dogs or some other pet that entertains them. Or maybe they can act as a guardian since they can shape shift? But they should give the humans a significant advantage if the importance on them is so great that they become horrified when they see a human without them. They are an unearned emotional focal point that lacks the depth of one. You leave the book knowing almost just as much as you did entering it.
Perhaps with the emphasis that Pullman placed on Daemons, he perhaps forgot to create an interesting world. The most we get is a couple locations - which is fine - but the world lacks character. The most depth we get about the world is through Oxford, where we see a sharp class divide and gypsies living in the lower half - but we quickly leave that area before anything interesting happens, and instead we go on an adventure in such a boring area - ice tundras full of talking bears and witches. Each location is bereft of any interesting history, and the world is not believable enough for it to be excused. It is surface level: not described in great detail, just there to serve the plot.
None of the characters particularly stood out to me. Lyra is a decent enough protagonist, but has almost no depth besides going after her uncle. Every character has a goal, but not much of a motivation as to why - creating a flat character as a result. There are instances of interesting characterization, such as Chapter 18 where the action finally slows down and they talk about the world and themselves, but overall Pullman continues the narrative without attempting to make the characters interesting. No character arcs or flaws - just people going through the motions of an adventure.
The Golden Compass is an undercooked fantasy that fails to deliver on both ends on what makes an entertaining epic: a solid story and a solid world. The flaws present in the first act become more apparent as the story descends in quality from the first third of the book, failing to deliver on anything it promised. And no, I will not read any other entry if that was obvious already.
The book was originally written as a screenplay, evident in McCarthy's restrained prose allowing for action and story to take center stage. The story itself is basic, stripping down the genre conventions down to its basic tropes and its archetypes (the psychopath after the money, the old cop, and the action survivor) but playing them straight, deconstructing them by taking them to their logical extreme when placed in a real world. It depicts senseless violence and nihilism so bleak and extreme that it becomes a critique of the genre as a whole. No matter what their intentions may be, they cannot escape their fates. Anybody could die, and McCarthy finds a way to balance the macabre as to not make it gratuitous; every death means something upon analyzing the text. There is more nuance to the story than what appears on the surface; every character acts as a symbol commenting on McCarthy's worldview of society.
What really stood out to me was the way that McCarthy wrote: seldom any run-on sentences, with as little as punctuation as he can fit. It does make for slightly confusing reading as when it pertains to dialogue, but it works as for what he is going for: restraint. It imbues a sense of urgency to every sentence, as he starts incredibly late in the story - within pages of introducing Moss, he finds the money that everyone is after; Chigurh immediately is committing murder; Bell, though the slowest, finds the crime almost as soon as the plot happens. It calls for a style that enhances the urgency of the plot, no time should be made to distract with prose or descriptions of scenery. The style of minimalist sentences enhances the suspense, making use of dramatic irony and relying on only bits of information given.
However, my only complaint pertains to something outside the book: the adaptation, in which in my own personal case, I believe does it better. The movie is doggedly faithful to the book, translating seamlessly to the medium without much compromise. But what the Coens excise from the book actually serves it better, less being more. Especially true in the ending, where the book just drags that while the film wraps up as neatly as it could.
In my experience of watching the film first, I couldn't help but compare throughout my reading; I should judge it by its own merits, but my brain is a jerk like that. It only slightly lessened my enjoyment. No Country for Old Men is still a masterpiece nonetheless, brilliant in its subtle critique of the world and being a masterclass in suspense.
I'm not one to discredit entertainment made for children so quickly, but needless to say I was a bit disappointed with the world renowned classic The Little Prince. Maybe I'm a cynic or an overly analytic reader, but to say that I got more than mild enjoyment from this book would be a lie.
The book starts off projecting what it's going to be like for the next 80 pages, of how growing up sucks and that creativity dies with it. Not a bad message, but it is the book's hill to die on with almost every page of the book repeating that same message. There is no nuance to it or any reason stated that adults become this way, they just do. Almost the entire beginning of the book is just dedicated to the prince going to different planets that represent the worst parts of adulthood in a disparaging way. Which is representative of the book's worst problem: its structure, which lends to awkward pacing problems that even with its small amount of pages - still goes on for far too long at some points.
The book does however stick its landing with its other (much stronger ending) about making something (or someone) meaningful, which lends itself to such a strong, poetic ending.
I'm probably not the target audience for this, but I just didn't find the magic in The Little Prince like everyone else on earth did. Maybe I do belong on the planet of those who have forever lost their imagination.
I have done it - I have finally done it.
After somehow avoiding anything associated with the wizarding world -avoiding the books, the movies, having my only exposure being the iconography and the retconning controversy - I decided to read the books for the very first time, and faster than I usually read a book: I laughed, I re-read passages because I was so impressed with the prose, I was amazed with the detail of the world, I loved the characters, and I am one of the few in the world that can honestly say that I cried at the end.
Suffice to say, I loved Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone. From the very first chapter, where Rowling hones in her inner Dahl and writes in such a bizarre and playful way, introducing us to the world through the eyes of a bigoted muggle - she gives the story a sense of wonder. She leaves details out, and that is due to the hurrying way she wrote this chapter, but it is with the ellipses of detail that makes the reader so intrigued with what is happening; it works so much better than starting off with the second chapter. Knowing that somehow Harry's life will change and he is destined to get out of his miserable home life is an excellent use of dramatic irony - it continues to make the reader want to know “what's next?”
That makes the reveal and Harry's adventures at Hogwarts that much more satisfying. Hogwarts itself is such an amazing setting so full of vibrancy and life that it becomes a character in the story; I wanted to know every detail of the place. It makes the general lack of plot for the first half more excusable, because you are so invested in the world that Rowling builds - you WANT the general lack of plot to keep going, to see what else Hogwarts has in store. But Rowling doesn't skimp out on characters in service for worldbuilding; it is as if she doesn't know how to make a boring character. Even from the briefest of cameos, there is always a sense of charm for each of each and every one of them - each distinct in their role in the story. The main trio themselves are likable - but become amazing in their selfless acts in the second half of the book. Even in the giant cast of unique characters and magic, they manage to be distinct in spite of that and I cannot wait to continue along their adventure.
So, in the span of five days (could have even been less if I wasn't so lazy) I became a fan of Harry Potter. I want to get every book in the series, don the scarlet robes and declare myself a part of team Gryffindor and hop onto a broomstick and play Quidditch. The book is just so full of imagination and wonder that I can't possibly see how can she top this - but knowing the reputation of the subsequent books in the series, I can't wait to see her do just that.
Honestly sort of hated reading this initially; its heavy emphasis on parentheticals and slapstick that seem to be better acted out than to be read. It's a bit weird, confusing as to what it is even trying to do, and the dialogue runs in circles. But upon further analysis and reading this, my appreciation for it has increased with its surprising philosophical depth that derives from just two people waiting for someone who doesn't exist. Beckett purposely made this as absurd as possible, intending for the audience to be so confused as to what they're even supposed to feel in the moment. Nothing in the play makes sense, and it is almost impossible to make any sense as to what is happening - if even anything has happened at all.
Still, it doesn't make for the most entertaining read as I just felt like I was missing out on all the fun stuff. Slapstick isn't nearly as funny in my head than to see other people do it themselves on stage.
The Gunslinger, even when revised, is an incredibly flawed introduction to the (supposedly) greatest fantasy works of all time - famously denounced by King himself. The novel manages to be entertaining in spite of its flaws, with an interesting fantasy western post apocalyptic world and an interesting dynamic between a cowboy and a child.
But oh boy does this novel make some hard left turns with some head scratching decisions; almost bordering on parody with its uber serious tone and absurd situations that King tries to cover up with overly complex explanations. But King is also guilty of failing to explain concepts of his world where many were confused (including myself) at these passing references to things not explained. I knew what ‘ka' was going into this book (its magic system), but the book refuses to go further in depth as to what it even means even despite its prominence in the book. It becomes a word that adds flavor to the world rather than a concrete concept. The characters themselves feel like they were written around this world, feeling like archetypes that have hints of characterization.
The book also feels disjointed with its nonlinear structure, probably in due part to its origin as a collection of short stories weaved to become a novel - where in to continually jumps around in chronology for extended periods of time. There is so much time spent wandering in a desert bereft of anything interesting, only for it to flashback for an extended amount of time before re-entering the present. Not helped by King's prose (who I usually think to be an excellent writer), which in here sometimes comes across as crude and often a bit juvenile (referring to the gunslinger's want to be a part in an orgy with his parents (???)). It isn't entirely unreadable, but there are some jarring moments that make it something wildly different from what I have read from King.
The Gunslinger is an uneven read, however mercifully short and briskly paced. It does not reach the heights that King would reach beyond his sophomoric effort, but it is still a mildly entertaining read that is an essential introduction to the rest of the series - hopefully, his magnum opus. I am interested in seeing what is next.
In an attempt to remain morally ambiguous, all characters become reprehensible through their actions which consequently, induces a sense of apathy to any of the events without a single likeable character to relate to. Moore's anarchist biases are so pronounced through the novel that it becomes obvious - not debatable, not ambiguous - where his ideals truly lie. V is barely a character, but instead a bundle of political beliefs that he sporadically spouts alliteration advocating anarchism and violence.
In fact, most of the characters themselves are caricatures and ciphers rather than actual people - which makes that entire first book almost insufferable to read due to how blatantly Moore makes his characters to be as propaganda pieces. He dehumanizes the government, making them all undeniably horrible people that you side with V's ideas of anarchy since there is no other choice, making his side almost holy in comparison. It is with the extreme endorsement of anarchism that the book runs into ethical problems, seemingly endorsing torture and violence in support as long as the ends are justified. Mental rape happens, only for it to be brushed off after the girl realizes how great anarchy really is (?).
The book doesn't challenge you, nor does it want to ask you a question to convert you to its side. It masks moral ambiguity with strawmanning and propaganda, making anarchism seem like the answer to all.
Still didn't hate it for some reason, probably because I stretched this reading over the course of 1 month. But it is so obviously a flawed book that I can't imagine rereading this.
As a fan of the first volume of the series, which took me by surprise considering the (in my opinion) lackluster start - I was anticipating reading this, preparing myself for the wildly imaginative macabre world Gaiman crafts. And on that front he delivers, expanding the scope of the world.
But where the story faulters is Rose, the teenage girl who happens to be the vortex to the dream world. She was much too passive to be an interesting character, and the story suffers because of her lack of compelling traits. She loves her brother, but it only serves as motivation rather than something essential to her (which is seriously brushed off by the end). It is such a disappointing follow-up considering the great character in the previous volume.
The story is so dense with its ideas that it becomes cluttered. And while the story does somehow wrap up in a satisfying way, it has its highs and lows in getting there - suffering from a meandering story and inconsistent pacing.
I enjoyed this volume, but my hype for volume 3 of this series has waned a bit. Unfortunate, because the art and creativity behind this is awesome.
Capote finds humanity in such a senseless, cruel tragedy of a quadruple homicide of a family in an otherwise innocuous small town in America. From exploring the different perspectives involved in the case - the police, the people, and the perpetrators -he not only weaves a compelling narrative of a seemingly impossible task of capturing murderers with almost no clues, but manages to engender empathy for everyone involved: the criminals included.
Without sensationalizing or glorifying their actions, Capote gives insight into how they came to be through carefully researched documentation and interviews. It is not a way of engendering sympathy for these men, as for every ‘sympathetic' trait Capote includes, he is quick to remind the reader of their depravity - but it is his way of asking the reader to understand what made these men act the way they are, whether it was a stroke of bad luck or the way they are. It is through the inclusion of juxtaposing traits and tragic history that plague these men, that Capote only offers a complex question that has a subjective answer unique to the reader. Are these men born of sin or are in need of guidance? Capote takes no sides, but gives only the facts needed to understand the question asked.
The prose in this novel is so masterful, immersing me in the story almost forgetting that these were not fictional people in a fictional world; filling the environment with so much detail, giving many individuals personalities to flesh out the community that was rocked by such a horrific disaster. The most minute of details are given notice by Capote, with prose that weaves in exposition masterfully within the story. His research is evident, but his passion for the story even more so, as the story pours with detail without feeling overabundant.
My feelings about this book (or this entire philosophy in general) are a bit mixed; I respect so much of it, but I can't say that I agree with all of it. I can say however, that I will be surely changing up my mindset (maybe lifestyle) after reading this book, and that is perhaps the most important takeaway from this. I may not agree with his aggressive stance on disassociating yourself with a near cosmic point of view, becoming apathetic to the arts and sensual pleasures to focus on yourself and well being. Adhering to the laws of stoicism sounds burdening, where enjoyment of life would be hampered by the lack of pleasure or socializing - even with the stress he places on community relationships, I just don't buy that it will be helping you make many friends.
But what I will take away is that life is too short - in his words, a “fraction of infinity taken away in an instant” - to be concerned with the opinions of people whom will never affect the way I live if they approve of my lifestyle or not. With the amount of stress he places on the brevity of life, of course you have to make the most of it - build a lifestyle that will make you reach your peak physically, mentally, and spiritually. I just can't agree with the logical extreme he takes.
Getting to listen to Cumberbatch's commanding baritone he has coupled with that posh accent is worth it in of itself. He nails the inflections of every character in each story, stealing the waning attention I had pertaining to the story onto his voice.
It was indeed Sherlock Holmes fan fiction, where I only sort of paid attention to the content of the stories due to my interest burning out real quick, but even while I was mindlessly doing my tasks, I was thoroughly entertained by Cumberbatch's voice.
(I've really got to learn how to focus on audiobooks)
It starts off with a bang and ends off with a whimper, with such an incoherent and terrible story line that doesn't know what to do with itself. Even to an unfamiliar reader, the portrayal of Batman just feels...wrong. Nearly every character interaction aside from the Joker just feels so shoe horned into a mess of a story; it bends over backwards trying to include as many Batman references as it can in the madhouse, but it ends up being ridiculously convoluted without any payoff.
But the art is great; it captures the grotesque imagery as well as putting the reader into the POV of insanity, with such garish colors that are hand painted. It does go overboard at points, where it becomes so macabre that it borders on self parody - but the art remains consistently good.
Still, this was not the comic book I wanted to read after my hiatus. Disappointing at the very least.
I truly understand where the praise of this book comes from, but for me personally I didn't find it as satisfying as I thought it would be. For the latter half of the book, I already have heard all the advice Frankl describes as “logotherapy” from my own personal experiences unrelated to the book; it felt like I was reading an echo chamber of my beliefs, something that didn't really change my perspective from where it already was before about what a meaningful life was.
However, what did impress me was how Frankl describes what it means to suffer but with a purpose - to not cling onto false hope, but to find meaning within the suffering that makes survival more rewarding. That was truly impressive, and I only wish there was more of that in the book.
The most interesting part of the book was Frankl's memoir about his experiences in the concentration camp, where his best writing was found. How he describes the situation, his thoughts, and how it revolves around a central theme of trying to find a purpose in all of this was captivating.
From this book ALONE, it launched Superman into one of my favorite characters of all time - perhaps my all time favorite comic book superhero ever. The word “boring” to describe Superman be damned, because this reinvigorates the familiar story of an alien coming to earth by skipping that part entirely, instead focusing on his early career on donning the red cape. This is the perfect introduction to those dismissive of Superman being an overpowered super being, focusing on what makes him great - his personality. Mark Waid allows this to be the forefront; it is not about the battles he faces, but the hope he brings to the world. He has genuine joy in helping and inspiring hope, but he also has insecurities and fears despite his powers. And despite meeting men who see to take advantage of his abilities and kindness, such as Luthor who contrasts Clark in nearly every way, he always comes victorious through his virtue.
This is a subtle coming of age story late in a man's life, about someone learning to embrace his identity not only as a superhero, but his roots as humble man who comes from a small farm raised by loving parents. He does the impossible by remaining modest and kind on top of his abilities, and that is as inspirational as any other story out there. We can all be at least a little like Superman.
It's a great story told in a dated manner, but still a very engaging read. Through the lens of today, I have problems with the parts that are just merely summarized and the Greek chorus - but at its core, the story of a vengeful goddess (who is never seen) playing with the lives of her subservient men, shines through.