Avatar the Last Airbender: The Secret

by Gene Luen Yang, Gurihiru, Bryan Konietzko & Michael Dante DiMartino
collects Avatar: The Search parts 1-3
Avatar: The Last Airbender reviews: one | two
The Legend of Korra reviews: one | two

Spoilers ahead!

Aang and crew’s post-series journey continues, this time picking up the huge question left off from the series finale: what happened to Zuko’s mother, Ursa?

But what I really want to know is WHERE. IS. MY. TOPH.

One of several disappointments of the book was excluding Toph completely – granted, she would have been one too many with Azula, but that doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.

The Search reveals all the answers to Ursa’s past and gives Zuko a whole lot of attention to his family dynamic – does therapy exist in Avatar’s world? This poor kid could sure use some. But in the end, Ursa’s story was too simplistic, with disappointing spirit world deus-ex-machina, and no real focus on developing Ursa’s character as an individual.

Ursa makes virtually no decisions by and for herself, and she is constantly defined by one or more men in her life: her grandfather Roku, Ikem, father in law Azulon, husband Ozai, and her son Zuko, whose growth is the real point of the story. I’m not saying men should have been completely absent from her story; rather, she should have done something not informed by her relationship towards one or more men. Ursa also has a lukewarm personality, a byproduct of this issue – I can’t name any of Ursa’s traits that were passed down to Zuko or Azula.

spoiler-y examples in this paragraph. Specifically, Ursa should have done something other than pine for Ikem and be victim to Ozai’s cruelty during their marriage. What if she had used her status to undermine Ozai’s radical, hateful rule – like leading a rebellion as the Blue Spirit, conspiring with Iroh and the White Lotus, or like her son, searching for the Avatar to end the war? She could have done something after leaving the palace and before reuniting with Ikem. This would have shown us more of who Ursa is, separate from her partners and children, and tied her legacy to her grandfather, Avatar Roku, as well as Zuko. Instead, Ursa never looks beyond her own victimization in order to help others – part of Zuko’s growth I once assumed came from his mother – and instead she remains paralyzed by fear of Ozai’s wrath, and chooses to forget her old life, which was passive and cowardly (at least she admits that). As a survivor of abuse (it’s hinted at being more than just emotional), Ursa’s choice to wipe her memory is even more troubling in today’s climate. – the story was written in 2014, and I wonder how things might have been different if it was written after the #MeToo movement – or, frankly, if a woman had written the story. In the end, Ursa is handed a happy ending, without doing much or facing harsh consequences, she’s essentially unchanged – because Ursa’s story is really about Zuko’s growth, not Ursa’s.

spoilers continue. Doubly tragic is Azula’s treatment. Even though she’s the catalyst for Zuko’s journey to find Ursa, she never actually meets their mother (with Ursa’s memory intact). Yang robs Azula of the opportunity for her own healing, understanding her relationship with her mother, and to a lesser extent, redemption with Zuko. Like Ursa, Azula remains unchanged, and Aang betrays Yang’s priorities when he says repeatedly this story is about “a mother and son,” not a mother and daughter. Azula is a fun villain, but not giving her any chance for growth and change (which can occur without losing her villain status) makes her a nuisance and obstacle in the story – a really disappointing choice.

So my major complaint from the last book still stands: the growth and character development of women is still not important in Avatar. Toph, Katara, and Azula remain stagnant (or not present at all) in this book. I’ve mentioned everyone else so I’ll just add here that Katara could have had an interesting moment connecting with Zuko, as she also lost her mom – this was a major connection between the two in the series. But instead, she is relegated to “Sokka’s sister” in a B-plot whose connection to the main story was very on the nose. And before you say it, Legend of Korra is separate and doesn’t give Avatar the right to ignore the women in its series.

Otherwise, there are plenty of small references and explanations in Ursa’s flashbacks – most importantly the Blue Spirit mask – and the director’s cut describes the intense collaboration between all of them. There is a lot of love and reverence for Avatar here coming from Yang and Gurihiru, and it shows. Unfortunately, that love seems firmly invested in Zuko, Aang, and world building elements – the rest, including Ursa, is window dressing.

Guihiru’s art continues to shine, and I especially loved how the panels are laid out during “the deal” between Ursa and Ozai. Their anime style is a natural fit for the series. Unfortunately, while Gurihiru does the best they can, bending loses some of its kinetic magic in still frames.

Continuing this series won’t make you love Avatar any less, and it’s a great salve for those hungry for more adventures post-series. But I will admit, unlike Korra’s series, it isn’t making me love Avatar any more.

Fence: Rivals

by CS Pacat, Johanna the Mad, Joana LaFuente, and Jim Campbell
volume one | two | three | four

At the end of Fence’s third volume I said I wouldn’t be sticking around for volume four – and yet, here we are. I hoped things would improve, and part of me – begrudgingly – sees potential in the characters, intense dedication to fencing, and not so subtle queerness of most, if not all, of the boys on the King’s Row fencing team.

This chapter is more of the same, on all counts – even though this is the first volume published as a graphic novel instead of monthly issues. So if you loved the first three volumes, there’s no doubt you’ll enjoy this one too. The championship tournament has begun, and Nicholas and team are facing MLC – the team that knocked out King’s Row last year. Will the team come together in a sport that focuses on individual matches?

You’d hope that four volumes in we were past the exposition of the sport, but now we’re in Tournament Mode and there are More Rules to learn! Yippee! Not really, my eyes glazed over as the coach and other characters yammered before and between matches about the point system, tournament matchups, and player order – and it really wasn’t necessary. Some footnotes in the back would have been preferable; if I was reading Fence to learn about fencing, I’d read a Wikipedia article instead. And once again, the rest of the book is just one match. For all its focus on a sport that values precision and agility (according to all the rules I’ve learned), Fence continues to move at a glacial pace. If you don’t care about the characters, you won’t make it to this volume.

Granted, this chapter does a better job of balancing fencing with character development, even though it’s spread pretty thin among the whole team (but not the coach), while focusing on Nicholas and Seiji’s “friendship” which will obviously turn into something more (more on that in a second). There is a clearer goal in this volume (for the boys to come together as a team) and higher stakes (losing the tournament) that really lends itself much better to growth than before.

There are also a *lot* more queer references and even coded language in the fencing dialogue itself (see below), and I can’t tell whether dancing around it is a positive thing or not. In other words, every relationship is a “will-or-won’t-they” slow burn, and I’m not sure if living solely in that tension translates to a positive queer story. Whether or not it’s good, it does fit several tropes about queer and sports books (see here), so folks familiar with one or both genres know what to expect.

Finally, Johanna the Mad continues as Fence’s artist, and while his style is largely the same, there’s a different kind of fluidity to his art. I’m not well versed enough in art to pinpoint exactly what it is, but it feels different, and honestly I can’t tell whether it’s an improvement or not. It’s possible that publishing this volume as one graphic novel altered his schedule, giving him more or less time. Regardless, there were definitely a few panels that looked rushed.

I’m still not sure where I stand on Fence. You might say I’m on the – nope, can’t do it. I’m sorry. It’s clearly very popular (Fence now has a novel adaptation*), and maybe I’m just not that demographic. Fence has enough potential to reel me back in, but seems to be set in its ways, but because it could be more well rounded, focused on character, and committed to being a queer positive book, I feel like my time would be better spent reading something else.

*I was about to to write ‘you couldn’t pay me to read it,’ but on second thought….yes, yes you could.

Invisible Kingdom: Edge of Everything

by G. Willow Wilson & Christian Ward
collects Invisible Kingdom #6-10
volume reviews one | two

Wilson and Ward’s interstellar space opera continues in volume two. Its first arc combined interesting world-building with progressive characters and Ward’s phenomenal, Eisner Award-nominated art, but it was also bogged down by on-the-nose metaphors of Big Business (Lux) and Religion (The Renunciation).

This second chapter largely deals with fallout from last volume, as banished nun Vess and space captian Grix deal with the consequences of their choices – leaving the Renunciation and exposing Lux’s corruption, respectively. While on the run, Grix and her Sundog crew encounter a space pirate named Captain Turo, who only adds to their problems.

Christian Ward’s art continues to be the highlight of the book. Even though some panels feel unfocused or unfinished, his bold colors and character designs really lend themselves to science fiction. He does the heavy lifting of world building, which is critical in a successful sci-fi story.

However, Wilson’s writing continues to weigh things down. While the metaphors have retreated into the background (for now), the story slows down to a snail’s pace once Turo takes over the Sundog. Not only are we stuck in space, but the Lux/Renunication plot doesn’t move forward until the very end.

It’s even more frustrating that, while it’s amazing to see queer women take the lead in a sci-fi book (even though Grix fits the personality of every space captain), there is barely any character development. I can’t describe Vess’ personality beyond her commitment to a religion that betrayed her, and the other crew members, while recognizable, are barely given any attention.

spoilers this paragraph. There’s also a romance element that has, for me at least, no emotional investment, which is tough when it involves the two protagonists. There’s no clear understanding what Grix sees in Vess and vice versa, especially when Vess’ character isn’t explored. While Invisible Kingdom is science fiction genre first, it’s frustrating to not have any reason to cheer for a romance that will clearly be a bigger part of the story moving forward.

I’ve heard this will be a three part trilogy, and frankly, the fact that there’s one more volume is probably the only reason I’ll read it at this point. (I’m kind of shocked if that’s the case, why this book spent so much time in one place, with both characters and story.) I’m more looking forward to seeing what Ward will create for a climactic ending more than anything else – and perhaps Wilson can turn things around. But the latter looks far more bleak going into the finale.

Solutions and Other Problems

by Allie Brosh

Allie Brosh’s fantastic first memoir, Hyperbole and a Half, combined silly and hilarious stories with her raw and deeply relatable experiences with anxiety and depression. Her sequel Solutions and Other Problems has been years in the making, and as one of her fans who every once in a while checked her blog, only to find it dormant, this long awaited second chapter is simply massive – over 500 pages.

Brosh’s witty, irreverent humor is back in full force, along with her crude art. The figure on the cover is Allie’s depiction of herself, and the other people in her life, along with made up characters and other folks, get a similar MS Paint-style treatment, with handwritten words alongside typed prose. Even though an art critic might dismiss Brosh’s style as simple or sloppy, it not only communicates her exceptional humor, delight in the absurd, and her raw emotional experiences.

Just as in Hyperbole, many of Brosh’s chapters cover funny childhood experiences and nonsensical aspects of life. Arguing with her ex about bananas, a drug-induced night in the wilderness, her quirky dogs and cats over the years, and Brosh trying to fit herself into a bucket as a child. Many of these short vignettes had me almost in tears from laughing, but some were disappointing – especially as the book wore on. About midway through, Brosh hits the reader with the devastating reasons why her blog went quiet for years, what’s taken her this long to write a sequel. I really don’t want to spoil this, because it’s best to go into it blind. Several wordless pages were brutal.

Brosh is astonishingly vulnerable, still witty but also unflinching in her humanity and her regrets. While many of the vignettes are outlandish and hilarious, the reader also joins Brosh as she works through depression, existential crises, and severe loneliness. Anyone who has experienced the dark side of life – the moments of tragedy and humor that can sometimes coincide – will find much to relate to here. In the final chapters, Brosh confronts loneliness and becoming friends with ones self, with her trademark humor and a profound sense of contentment.

Solutions was edited verbally during quarantine, and that might have been a disadvantage – sometimes the book feels a bit lost within itself. After veering into serious territory, the silly vignettes felt a bit hollow, without a connecting thread or overall sense of purpose.

It might seem surprising to use terms like profound, powerful and “astonishingly vulnerable” for a book like this – and granted, some of this is just exceptionally silly. But Brosh also strikes a nerve that is our messy, unresolved, very crude humanity. I think her first memoir strikes a better balance of both humor and seriousness better than this one (and in far less time), but fans of the first should still check this one out.

The Unbelievable Gwenpool: Lost in the Plot

by Christopher Hastings, Irene Strychalski, Gurihiru, Rachelle Rosenberg
collects The Unbelievable Gwenpool #21-25
debut series: volumes one | two | three | four | five [complete]
miniseries: Gwenpool Strikes Back

Gwenpool’s first series comes to a close with issue 25, and this final volume was a mixed bag. It’s worth the read for any Gwenpool fan – or, frankly, anyone who’s made it through all four volumes – and to me, the good elements outshine the drawbacks. Overall, one’s opinion of this closing volume will likely depend on your investment in Gwen, and how much you like reflective meta in your comics.

The first two issues of Gwenpool fall flat – Gwen tries to hunt down Doctor Doom because if she defeats him, for some reason, she’ll be able to join the Avengers – for some reason! Her panel-jumping powers develop a bit too, and it’s fun to see Strychalski and later Gurihiru play with form and perspective. But it’s largely aimless with little payoff until the third issue, more than halfway through, when Gwen reveals it’s about mortality – in a sense. Gwen sees her pages running out, knowing she’s about to be cancelled, and neither an Avengers membership nor compliance with being a supervillain can change it. Gwen (and unsurprisingly, Hastings) chose the right villain to hear Gwen out: a newly reformed Doctor Doom with an understanding of multiple dimensions – and rebooting your own story. Finally, the book shifts into a more meaningful and reflective closing chapter.

Is it possible readers in 2018 were kept in the dark about Gwen’s cancellation until this issue? Perhaps, and that surprise might have had a huge payoff. But more often, readers learn months in advance between solicits, publisher announcements, and creative teams working on new titles. Instead, the midway “surprise” feels like a lot of time was lost in getting there. As Gwen starts to see her final pages count down, I couldn’t help but think of the forty or so spent in the first couple issues.

The rest of the book has a gentle pace as we see multiple guest stars – including Hastings’ sweet, silly Baltroc – return, as Gwen, breaking the fourth wall and beyond, meditates on her cancellation and what that means for her tiny pocket of the Marvel universe. What about characters invented for her title? How will future writers change Baltroc? As another character mentions, this is a far cry from trigger happy Gwen in the first volume, who was happy to murder anything that moved, because in her mind, none of it was real. There are some very sweet moments, particularly the very last issue, and I appreciate that Hastings pushes the envelope on the particular Gwenpool style of meta that can only be achieved in her book.

Unfortunately, the ending is also a mixed bag. There’s a predictable time-travel twist, because something very similar was used in the opening issues – it probably had more of a punch in the individual issues with months in between. There are some happy endings and cameos, which is nice to tie up loose ends, but some characters like Cecil weren’t given enough time for much payoff. Also, odd to not see an Easter egg for Gwen’s participation in the West Coast Avengers team book, whose premiere issue premiered six months after Gwen’s closing issue. (Perhaps it was also a reveal at the time.) And while WCA’s writer Kelly Thompson might not have known how this series would end, an opening line from Gwen connecting the two books would have been very sweet.

The art for Gwen’s final chapter is appropriately divided between her two central artist teams. First was Irene Strychalski and Rachelle Rosenberg, who take the lead for the first three issues, and the final two were wrapped up by Gurihiru (aka Sasaki and Kawano), who probably worked on Gwen’s title the most. Personally, I’m not a fan of Strychalski’s style – especially panels with maskless Gwen, whose eyes always looked off. I resonate much more with Gurihiru, but that could be because my first Gurihiru book (of many) was volume one of Gwenpool.

Even though this wasn’t the strongest conclusion to Gwenpool’s first solo series, it’s still a strong celebration of her character, growing far beyond the joke variant cover that launched her as a lovable, witty antihero. It’s wonderful to see that her character has continued to live on, both in and outside comic book pages; and I’m looking forward to reading her latest solo series, Gwenpool Strikes Back, very soon.