December 21, 2020

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Mike's Favorite Comics of 2020



Welcome to the list of my favorite comics of 2020. I considered not completing a list this year, but I ultimately decided to because I wanted to highlight some wonderful experiences I had reading. I hope this list can serve as a thank you to some excellent creators and as a celebration of their work. Perhaps you've read some of these and share my enthusiasm; perhaps some are new and cause you to see out new books. Or, it could all just be a good way to help kill twenty minutes on your coffee break. Nonetheless, to reiterate, thank you to the creators of all the comics and graphic novels I have read this year. I know it was a hard year for the industry and many creators individually. Additional thanks and recognition to my local comic shop, the infinitely awesome Third Eye Comics, and to the Anne Arundel County Public Library, without which I would not had had access to over half the books on this list.

I have no real rules for my list outside of the minimum requirement that all works be published in the 2020 calendar year. I've chosen my twenty favorite publications and included a few honorable mentions at the end. One recurring idea on the Panel Patter switchboard is the sheer amount of good comics we read this year. Narrowing it down to even a long list was hard for me. I had no number in mind, but I ended with 20, and I feel pretty happy with the list, one I essentially kept running for most of the year. That core list never really changed, and seemed like this original list spoke to what I truly loved this year, with thirteen-or-so additional books I liked a bunch included after my core list. The books below are the ones that filled me with the intangible feeling good literature provides. 

Some statistical analysis:
*Two (maybe three) selections are series that entered their second arc. I think that's notable considering how hard sophomore efforts are. 
*Three books are translations, from three different languages no less. (Additional translations appear on my honorable mentions list).
*Three (perhaps four) are young adult, depending on how you view a few of them. (I say closer to two, but it's not particularly important).
*Two are self-published.
*At least nine are set outside of the United States, more if you consider somewhat ambiguous settings.
*Fifteen different publishers are represented, with Image just edging out Avery Hill for the most.

Enough talk. Let's get going.



A Gift for a Ghost
by Borja Gonzalez
Translated by Lee Douglas
Published by Abrams

It isn't often that I find myself describing a book as simultaneously surreal, absurd, and charming, but I can't think of any more appropriate adjectives to identify Gonzalez's first full length graphic novel. The fact that it can be all those things at once without losing either its heart or ambition is a testament to Gonzalez's gifts as a storyteller. His art feels somewhere on the spectrum of Tom Gauld - fundamentally, he works from the same elevated stick-figure approach - though with more refinement of detail, especially in terms of landscape. He works mostly in muted earth tones, injecting bright color to serve as contrast ever so often. It's in this style that he is able to maintain the charm of the book while exploring more surreal concepts. Gonzalez creates two timelines that intersect via the supernatural, 1856 and 2016. Each is defined both by convention and by the nature of female rebellion. As such, A Gift for a Ghost becomes a mediation of the prescribed path young women are forced to take and the methods of rebellion that allow them to embrace things they truly love, be it Victorian horror poetry or punk rock. What is most impressive, though, is the subtlety with which Gonzalez approaches this discourse. This is a story of breadcrumbs. Finding a way on the path is our job.


All Together Now
by Hope Larson with colors by Hillary Sycamore and Katrina Edwards
Published by Farrar, Straus, and Giroux

Do you know how some creators just get it? They create the types of works that so precisely click that you almost stumble for the words trying to describe how that feat occurs. Hope Larson's All Together Now is that type of work for me. The sequel to the equally impressive All Summer Long finds Bina navigating a new friendship while still trying to discover who she is and what she wants from her. Larson is a pioneer of YA/middle grade graphic novel style. Her vibrant style, aided by Sycamore and Edwards' colors, makes this book a pleasure to read, but it's her characterization that sells this story. Larson is able to capture types while also adding specific personality. She's made Bina the kind of character I'll keep returning to. I always think of my students when I read this series; this is the type of book I want them to read to be able to understand that adolescence is hard, but you can still find your way.




Banned Book Club
Written by Kim Hyun Sook and Ryan Estrada
Art by Ko Hyung-Ju
Published by Iron Circus

Reading Banned Book Club, I found myself embarrassed at how much I didn't know about post-war South Korea. It's no secret that Korean culture has captivated the global pop-culture landscape for decades now. I'll be featuring another Korean book below, and there were a few others that were on my long list. Banned Book Club is a little different, though, in that it is (to the best of my knowledge) a book intended for an American audience, not an import of an extant Korean text. (I think it may be in the Korean-translation process). The beauty of this book is the way it functions on two different levels while working towards one goal. It's the story of co-author Kim's coming of age through an intellectual awakening stimulated by her book club. As a result, Sook and Estrada are able to expose the oppression of the 5th Republic, one of intellectual despotism via the criminalization of “dangerous” ideas. Banned Book Club is a beautiful personal narrative, and it's a timely reminder of the need to resist lest someone imprison your mind. Ko-Hyung Jo’s manga inspired artwork gives the story a familiar, comforting feel. 



Bitter Root
Written by David F. Walker and Chuck Brown
Art by Sanford Greene
Color Art by Sandord Greene and 
Lettering by Clayton Cowles
Published by Image Comics

This series doesn't know how to slow down, and I'm here for it. It's one thing to come out of the gates strong, but it's a whole other to build upon that momentum for a second strong arc. But that's exactly what Bitter Root does. This second arc pics up after the revelatory returns at the end of the first storyline. For the Sangeryes, it's only compounding. I love how this series blends horror, social justice, tall tale mythology, and magical realism together without sacrificing any key component. Sanford Greene's art continues to impress me because of his ability to appear wild on certain pages and more tightly organized on others. That shift enhances the pace of the narrative as it can connote moments of peace contrasted with frenetic battles. I love his syncretic take on neo-noir. Greene channels Francavilla and Mignola and ultimately Albuquerque for a style that becomes uniquely his own and results in some of my favorite action panels of all time. Walker and Brown are pitch perfect with dialogue, and have been since the series began. We get a wonderful sense of each character because of the personalities they provide; it deepens the impact of the plot itself, and makes Bitter Root one of the most well-rounded books on the stands.



Blue in Green
Written by Ram V
Line Art by Anand Radhakrishnan
Color Art by John Pearson
Lettering by Aditya Bidikar

If I were ranking books, Blue in Green would be a definite candidate for book of the year. Ram and Anannd's follow up to Grafity's Wall is a mesmerizing account of the dark side of creation. I had the chance to review the graphic novel upon its release, and I was most taken aback with Anand Radhakrishnan's progression as an artist. His richly textured panels that occasionally felt ready to come apart at the seams perfectly complemented Ram's plot of the descent into the madness of creation. This book brings jazz onto the page. At times, it is highly structured, at other times, pages and panels almost seem to fall out of themselves. It is a great example of the idea of organic unity I see Ram and the other White Noise writers employ with their artistic collaborators - an unbroken cycle between narrative and art, each defining and pushing the other. You'll find a similar streak in Coffin Bound or A Dark Interlude. Aditya Bidikar punctuates this effort; his hand-lettered contributions are the proverbial icing on cake, or perhaps, to extend the jazz metaphor, the rhythm section that holds the whole experiment together. And for my money, he's the best rhythm section in comics. 


Breakwater
by Katriona Chapman
Published by Avery Hill

Here's the deal with Breakwater. You spend roughly three quarters of the book waiting for the proverbial shoe to drop, and when it does, you're still taken aback. With a denouement as deft and subtle as Maupasaunt, the execution of plot and methodical pacing culminates in what can best be summed up as a monument to restraint as a storyteller. I've read a number of excellent books this year that focus on mental health, and certainly the sub-genre itself has exploded recently, bolstered in no small part by Covid-19. But the best of these mental health comics - if it's fair to call them that - approach their subject from a distance, approaching from the wide angle, and moving incrementally inward. It's with an expertise of subtlety that Chapman crafts this delightfully unassuming narrative, one that ends with an especially heartbreaking resignation, and not with bombastic tragedy. Her art conveys the same tone as the story structure, luring you in with the nuance of body language and facial expression to the point that, after you've connected all the dots, you find the patterns were there all along. I'm a sucker for pencil shading, and Chapman's beautiful pages, gray like the world outside and like the feelings inside, are the type that I found myself lost in. 



Chasin' the Bird
by Dave Chisholm
With colors by Peter Markowski
Published by Z2

If you're putting money on the future of comics, Dave Chisholm would be a strong bet. Between his Charlie Parker biography and Canopus, he has demonstrated a staggering artistic versatility, even more impressive considering his relative newcomer status. Chasin' The Bird does not feel like an early career graphic novel; it feels like a midpoint magnum opus. What Chisolm is able to do stylistically throughout the book is borderline perplexing. At times, he and Markowski combine for clean but lush panels, almost recalling Chiang and Wilson. Other times, the duo seem to be channeling the Hernandez Brothers. There are notes of Seth, and painterly panels that feel like a more refined Sienkiewicz. And forgive me for defining Chisholm’s artistic ability in the vein of other artists, but the ability of this book to flip the artistic script is something you have to truly see to understand. And he can tell a story, too. Reliving Charlie Parker's California sojourn through the eyes of friends and collaborators like Dizzy Gillespie and John Coltrane allows Chilsolm to create a personal, friendly kind of dialogue, conversational in its style and deliberate in its description.



Coffin Bound
Written by Dan Watters
Line Art by Dani
Color Art by Brad Simpson
Lettering by Aditya Bidikar
Design by Emma Price
Published by Image Comics

Another offering on this list from the White Noise collective, and another candidate for book of the year, Coffin Bound pushes the boundaries of what a comic can do. The fact that Coffin Bound performs this experimental exercise on the monthly stands speaks to the vitality of the form. I had the opportunity to review both volumes one and two of the series, and I thoroughly enjoyed the cerebral exercise that examining this book requires. Another example of the type of organic unity I contend defined Blue in Green, I can't imagine Coffin Bound being anything but what it is. I can't imagine it looking any different; I can't envision these characters speaking in any other way. The shift between volume one and two is an intentional part of the exercise, helping to pose the question "is it better to veer into or away from the chaos?" Dani's art - specifically her line structure -  is slightly more uniform in this year's issues, but Simpson harnesses the same palette for a level of murkiness that connotes the kind of decay that engulfs the world of Coffin Bound. The experimentation culminates in the formalist experiment of issue seven (cover pictured above) that plays with color and and dimensions to expose the fallacy of choice. Watters captivated me with the thought experiments that define each iteration of this series, and I continue to ponder its layered construction. Oh, and this is another example of Aditya Bidikar's ability to tie panels together with his lettering.




Dancing After TEN
Written by Vivian Chong
Art by Vivian Chong and Georgia Webber
Published by Fantagraphics

I don't know exactly how I felt at the end of Dancing After TEN - was I angry, relieved, optimistic, embittered, depressed? Perhaps all at once. Dancing After TEN (TEN refers to Toxic Epidermal Necrolysis, not a number) is Vivian Chong's harrowing yet heartfelt account of her life with a rare disease, including the callousness of some of her friends and her positively inspiring journey back from a state that would have broken most people. Together with Georgia Webber (Dumb: Living Without a Voice), Chong tracks the increments of her life, interspersing her own drawings with Webber's. Aside from the content itself, what makes Dancing After TEN that compelling the way Chong and Webber handle the narrative, particularly the manner in which Webber's muted, direct approach allows that narrative to shine in both the most gut-wrenching and joyful scenes of the book.



Dragon Hoops
by Gene Luen Yang
with colors by Lark Pien and art assists by Rianne Meyers & Kolbe Yang
Published by First Second

Dragon Hoops, that I reviewed earlier this year, marked a different direction for one of our most well-regarded cartoonists. Gene Yang, famous for harnessing myth and culture, turned instead towards contemporary nonfiction. Part memoir, part chronicle of the an historic high school basketball season, Dragon Hoops is book as much about Yang as it is the people around him. Nestled underneath the top level of story is Yang's own impressively honest self-assessment and reflection. He wrestles with the creative process and continually returns to the theme of "big steps." Never directly expressed, though implied through some of Yang's reflection, is an assessment of Yang's own creativity, specifically the success he's seen through his career and the inevitable pressure that has to have mounted with each new release. For all intents and purposes, Yang's debut was American Born Chinese, a graphic novel many consider to be an exemplar of the form. So where does he go from here? Can he keep mining the same vein, or does he challenge himself with something completely new? Yang wrestles with that notion as he tries to wrap his head around the Bishop O'Dowd Dragons and basketball as a whole. The end result is Yang's best cartooning of his career, and a story that works on works on multiple levels.




Familar Face
by Michael DeForge
Published by Drawn and Quarterly

It's through the dissolution of form that Michael DeForge is able to comment on said form. What I find to be the most avant-garde of DeForge's work in both style and substance, Familiar Face duly earns its place in the canon of critiques of late capitalism. I read and subsequently wrote about this book mid-quarantine, and I'll always wonder if that particular lens allowed me to connect with the narrative in a particular way. Regardless, DeForge, who abandons manipulates geometry and structure throughout the book, provides one of the most apt expressions of our continued relationship with and reliance upon technology. The book is very much a thought experiment about what happens when we reach a point of no return with tech, and what happens to our ability to construct true relationships. Check out more of what I had to say about Familiar Face in my essay from August.




Far Sector
Written by N.K. Jemisin
Illustrated by Jamal Campbell
Lettering by Deron Bennett
Published by DC Comics


In a year when I read fewer mainstream and superhero comics than ever before, I would be remiss if I didn't express my affection for Jemisin and Campbell's ultra-lush cosmic epic, Far Sector. It's a book that I consistently recommend because of Campbell's captivating sequences. The way the man can fill a page with impeccable precision and attention to detail, all while giving the book a three-dimensional feel is absolutely impressive. Characters feel like they might pop off the page, and action sequences appear as if there is actual motion. I adored Campbell's work on Naomi, but he's able to make this series far brighter. But we shouldn't sell short Jemisin as a writer, either. Her comics debut is impressive if only for the fact that she is known for writing long, detailed, epic stories (check out The Broken Earth Trilogy for some superb science fantasy). Paring things down for a twelve-issue series while introducing a brand new iteration of an established legacy hero and re-tooling some of the mythos of said heroic canon is a feat in and of itself. Jemisin embarks upon one of my favorite tropes of space-oriented science fiction - the cosmic detective story. Jo, short for Sojurner Mullein, the hero and de facto detective of this story, grows into herself each issue; it's thus a compelling mystery story and also a great "rookie year" document. Coupled with Morrison and Sharpe's The Green Lantern, its singular approach is great alternative to the Johns era Green Lantern stories.




Genius Animals?
Written by Vali Chandrasekaran
Illustrated by Jun-Pierre Shiozawa
Self Published at www.geniusanimals.net

Shortly after the release of Genius Animals, I had a chance to interview Vali and Jun about their self-published webcomic. To be fair, it's really a web graphic novel. There were a few books that truly made me laugh out loud this year, but none as much as Genius Animals. Vali Chandrasekaran, an experienced writer from such hits as Modern Family and 30 Rock, brought certified comedic skills to the script, executed brilliantly by Jun-Pierre Shiozawa, an artist whose range of style is nothing if not impressive. (Seriously, check out his illustrated Ulysses). Part slapstick comedy, part genre homage, part post-modern detective story, Genius Animals? is one of the best-paced books I've read in 2020. Jun deftly executes the punchiness of Vali's script, and he adds to the surrealism of the pop-culture references to concepts as disparate as Bugs Bunny and Werner Herzog. Wait. Strike that. I think Werner Herzog and Bugs Bunny are really in the same end of the sandbox, holding a mirror up to the world to expose the absurdity of it all. In the end, that is exactly what Vali and Jun do with Genius Animals?, send you down the proverbial rabbit hole and ask you to confront whatever it is you find.



The Impending Blindness of Billie Scott
by Zoe Thorogood
Published by Avery Hill

If I were awarding books with specific accolades, I would assuredly christen this book with Best Debut. In fact, it's almost staggering to think about this book as a debut graphic novel considering how fully formed it is. The Impending Blindness of Billie Scott is a story of youth and tragedy, about finally discovering you direction in life only to discover the road is closed. It's also an aptly-named book, because it isn't about blindness, or even necessarily going blind, but the impending nature of looming blindness. The journey is punctuated by the heart and sincerity with which Thorogood approaches the story and characterization. She paces character development incredibly well, creating the type of book that actually feels much longer (in a good way) than the number of its pages. Artistically, Thorogood's prime gift his her ability to play with dimensions and create visible depth on her panels. Her best pages connote a collage effect; there is a tangible thickness to the pages, even on a screen. Billie Scott is the type of book that can work for multiple age groups because it has a good amount to say both about the journey itself and how to view it after the fact. Zoe Thorogood is certainly a talent to keep your eyes on in years to come. I wrote about the books just before it's publication. Check it out here.




Kent State: Four Dead in Ohio
by Derf Backderf
Published by Abrams

An absolutely remarkable book, encyclopedic in its construction and impeccably precise in its artistic detail, Kent State was one of the most gripping books I read this year. We could easily exhaust the parallels between the Trump and Nixon administrations, and this book certainly gained a degree of relevance as a result of the protests that moved the nation early this summer. However, Kent State would be an enthralling read in any time period. Derf's exhaustive research gives the book a definitive authority - it feels both academic and anecdotal. It's also a heavy book, and that weight connotes something more than sheer size. This isn't a quick run through of a tragically fateful day in American history. No, it's a detailed account of everything that led to the infamous day and the ensuring aftermath. Artistically, it's Derf's most elegant work. He combines lavishly thick inks with gorgeously contrasted shading for a sharpness of detail and ultimately very striking pages. When people wonder what black and white comics can do, this is the type of book I would hand them. It can't be in color; it needs to be black and white, and it triumphs because of it.




Mujurishi
by Naoki Urasawa
Translated by John Werry
Lettering/Touch ups by Steve Dutro
Published by Viz Comics

I need to send a special shout out to the Panel Patter Crew - especially Rob, Scott, and James - for introducing me to Urasawa and manga in general. I'm new to manga as a whole, and I spent the end of '19 and most of '20 devouring perfect editions of 20th Century Boys. It was towards the end of this year that I had a chance to pick up Mujurishi, thanks again to a recommendation from James (whose generosity also helped introduce me to Pluto and Master Keaton) and I absolutely adored the book, devouring it in one sitting, a testament to the way Urasawa is able to unwrap plots, compounding intrigue and suspense with each stage. Though Mujurishi was originally serialized, it's far shorter than his typical work. Yet, despite the length, it feels as deep as any other Urasawa work I've read. He plays with both pop and high culture, intertwining the two to create a a heist story that is charmingly goofy, but heartwarming and clever. What I think shines the most here, though, is the notion that Urasawa, known to craft longer and more complex epics, can build suspense, and, more importantly, attachment in a short work that amounts to one collected volume (it was originally serialized in Japan).



Planet Paradise/Hedra
by Jesse Lonergan
Published by Image Comics

I'm going to go ahead an combine Hedra with Planet Paradise for the simple reason that they feel spiritually connected, and because the former was short form and wordless. But I'm here mostly for Planet Paradise, a work that has the distinction of being the last book I read this year. I'm fascinated by Lonergan's use of negative space, of the way he utilizes unconventional panel structures, and the contrasts in line structure. In a world of increasing digitization, I love that both Hedra and Planet Paradise look and feel like handmade zines (yes, I know Hedra originally appeared on near-disintegrated newsprint and don't remind me because I want a copy SO BAD). Moreover, I appreciate the way he lets the story unfold. While Hedra is wordless, no one is going to confuse Planet Paradise with the next Bendis piece. But the way he constructs his stories, with subtleties of expression and emphasis on the in-betweens, feels refreshing. In comics, it's all too easy to bludgeon readers with the obvious. I like that Lonergan takes a step back and asks his readers to connect a few of the dots, or even just appreciate something simple, like a spaceship drifting through the stars. 



Rodeo # 2
by Evan Salazar
Self Published

The second issue of Rodeo improves upon the promise of the first offering with an expanded and more complete story of Abigail Knox and her Quixotic quest to investigate her family's background and potential connection to a somewhat obscure if provocative Russian writer. Salazar refines his cartooning technique ever so slightly, but it's in his ability to expand the depth of storytelling that makes this issue so impressive. He deepens Abby's character, building on the background from issue 1 (you don't have to have read the first issue to appreciate the second) and sending her on a quest. Abby feels a compulsion to unravel the ball of yarn that is Nadja Knorozov. There is feeling of mystery to the Knox family, perhaps real, perhaps the lingering effects of childhood imagination. I feel that in other hands, a story like this would have some emphasis on ironic detachment, but Salazar eschews that trend. Instead, Rodeo feels personal; it's well-executed, paced appropriately, and perhaps most impressive, tight. Impressive, especially considering this is only the second issue. 

Umma's Table
by Yeon-sik Hong
Translated by Janet Hong
Published by Drawn and Quarterly

Another contender for my favorite book of the year, I find it almost impossible to qualify how much I adored Umma's Table. I can't recall every reading a book - prose or graphic - that make me as hungry as this one. Yeon-sik Hong's ability to impart the smells and sensations of Korean cooking permeated my mind to the point that I think I can taste kimchi just writing about it. Food, including the growing and preparation, is the connective tissue of the book. Yeon-sik Hong captures the dueling elements present in familial duty through Madang, his stand-in cat character whose devotion to his mother is tempered by a degree of resentment, notably the understanding level of unresolved anger directed towards his father. But the food. It is what binds Madang to his mother, and it's what gives him peace, allowing him to retreat into his own garden toiling to offer him some purpose, some degree of control over his own life. Umma's Table is touching and almost synesthesic ( I don't think that's a word), but is above all things genuine. The honesty of emotion that pervades this book is what resonated most for me.



Victory Point
By Owen Pomeroy
Published by Avery Hill

If Victory Point were wordless, I would still include it on this list. I found myself lost in some of the page, obsessing over Pomeroy's details like cracks in stone or the grain of the wood comprising the boat of the main character's father. At points, it's almost entirely single panels - Pomeroy works in boxes just more rectangle than square, almost like windowpanes on the page, appropriate for the architectural beauty and scenic vistas of his imagined seaside village. Part of the beauty, though, is in the snapshot plot Pomeroy constructs. He gives us little snippets of a particular day in the life of Ellen, a late 20s/early 30s type, returning home to her tiny village of a home town, almost begging for a sign to take a step in her life. Her return results in a reckoning of sorts. What amounts to a day off in her home town and a short visit with her father allows Ellen the perspective to diverge from her current path, perhaps inspired by an idea of legacy, possibly spurred on by the idea that her own hometown is an incomplete masterpiece. Check out Scott's review here.

Honorable Mentions

I read more than any other year - close to 200 titles. As such, even establishing a proverbial "long list" proved difficult. Narrowing it down to twenty required some hard decisions, none of which should be read as a slight to the following books, all strong candidates themselves, all present on another iteration of this list at some point, be it in a notebook somewhere, or in a different dimension.

  • A Map to the Sun is easily one of the most beautiful comics of the year, and Sloane Leong proves she can work in a variety of different genres and still impress.
  • Laura Lee Gulledge's The Dark Matter of Mona Starr is a touching book and remarkably strong debut; I'll be looking for her name in the future. I wrote about it here.
  • Year of the Rabbit is as vital as any book on the this list, as painful as Dancing After TEN, and as thorough as Kent State. Kudos Tian Veasna. 
  • Rick Spears and Emmett Helen channeled punk energy for an excellent take on the coming of age story in My Riot that I reviewed earlier this fall.
  • In Wendy - Master of Art, Walter Scott frequently made me laugh out loud, and I'm now a Wendy devotee.
  • Killadelphia is easily the best vampire book in recent years, and I'm continually impressed by what Rodney Barnes, Jason Shawn-Alexander, and Luis NCT put out each month. I looked at the first volume this spring.
  • Josh Pettinger's Goiter # 5 recalls Chris Ware and had a delightfully absurd twist that sets it apart from the typical slice of life comic.
  • The design alone of Adrian Tomine's The Loneliness of the Long Distance Cartoonist was enough to pique the interest for this stationary and notebook nerd, but I also enjoyed Tomine's wry approach to success.
  • Tom Scioli's biography, Jack Kirby: King of Comics was everything a Kirby fan could ask for: honest and comprehensive, celebratory of Kirby, but by no means purely an apology. 
  • With Eight Lane RunawaysHenry McCausland created a work that was both sublime and surreal, causing me to often lose myself in the pages.
  • What We Don't Talk About felt like an animated film, and I still don't understand how Charlot Kristensen manipulated natural light the way she did.
  • Cankor spoke to the way we can use science fiction as metaphor, and it has made me a Matt Allison fan for certain. Sean was fortunate to both interview Allison and write a great review.
  • I plan to do a DC-specific round up this year, but I'd be remiss if I didn't highlight the glorious insanity that is Daniel Warren Johnson's Wonder Woman: Dead Earth.

I'd like to acknowledge the books I didn't get to, knowing that they have received tremendous accolades. Many of these are sitting in my library holds; others are on a wishlist somewhere: The Winter of the Cartoonist, Vision, One Story, Altitude, Paul at Home, Remina, The Sky is Blue with a Single Cloud, and Paying the Land. Additionally, I started, and thoroughly enjoyed but haven't finished, Under Earth.