(This review is part of Eight Days of Wolkin, my unnecessarily narcissistic semi-exploration of various incarnations of Jews and Judaism in comics, for better or for worse. It’s my way of celebrating Chanukah. That’s how I spell it. Do you have another way of spelling it? I don’t care.)
Ragman: Suit of Souls #1
By Christos N. Gage and Steven Segovia
A Note for the Reader: There is only one way to properly read this comic. First you must develop serious issues with your mother, a la Portnoy’s Complaint. Then you must have a Bar or Bat Mitzvah. You should not have the meaningful kind, though. You should have the kind that focuses on the party instead of the meaning, and none of your relative should get along with each other none of them. This should be the type of event that brings out the worst in your loved ones, leading you to question what it even means to have a Bar Mitzvah. But then you should realize that there is no such thing as “having” a Bar Mitzvah. A Bar Mitzvah is something that you become. Then you should go on an Israel trip, come home and find a non-Jewish dating partner, stop talking to your parents for a while and find a good therapist or something. And then finally, just as you think you’re finally ready to read this comic, read “The Chosen” by Chaim Potok, watched Yentl once, Fiddler on the Roof Twice and Schindler’s List three times.
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Batman Odyssey #2
By Neal Adams and 17 editors.
Batman is talking to me why is Batman talking to me this doesn’t make any sense.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Batman act like this before but I swear I’ve seen it somewhere where have I seen it?
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Superman #700
By J. Michael Straczynski, Eddy Barrows and J.P. Mayer
(A Note to the Reader: This review takes place in the aftermath of DC’s recent retooling of Wolkin. Please keep in mind that Wolkin is unaware that Straczyski, the writer of the comic being reviewed, is also largely responsible for undoing what was until recently, a very happy existence.)
Things have been really strange lately and I don’t really know how to explain it. I woke the other day to a closet full of old tuxedos and while it seems like my life has always been this way, it just feels wrong. I wish I could go to church and talk to a priest and get some guidance, but it’s been so long since I’ve believed in God. I was at my job at S.T.A.R. Labs today fitting some guy with a bionic arm and the minute I put it on, he slapped me in the face and asked me why I couldn’t have prevented it.
You know what? He’s totally right.
So I decided to start walking. I walked until I got to a comic book store, and then I bought this Superman comic because he is also walking on the cover. Let’s see what happens inside…
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Green Lantern #55
By Geoff Johns, Doug Mahnke and Christian Alamy
A note to the reader: there’s only one way to correctly read this particular review. It goes something like this:
The year is 1991. You’re a ten year old boy and it’s your third summer going away to camp. While you’ve finally gotten used to camp and you’re starting to feel like it’s becoming a home to you, this year is different because there are all of these new boys who seem to be best friends from home. And they’re into all kinds of things that you haven’t really heard of before, like 2 Live Crew. It’s pretty tough to connect at first because you’re so unfamiliar with their interests, but once they finally start to accept you, they get really excited about introducing you to all of their stuff. About two weeks into the summer, all the boys in your age group go out on a camping trip, and once the counselors are in bed, your new friends take out a Walkman and ask you if you’ve ever heard of a guy named Andrew Dice Clay. When you tell them no, their eyes light up at the opportunity to provide you with your first Dice experience. You put on the headphones, and press play, and you begin to hear the voice of a man with a very thick New York accent:
“Little Miss Muffet sat on a tuffet, eating her curds and whey. Along came a spider, sat down beside her, and said…
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Secret Six #22
By Gail Simone and Jim Calafiore
A note to the reader: There is only one way to correctly read these reviews, and I’m sorry that I didn’t share it with you sooner. You should imagine that you are locked in a room with Christopher Walken. There is wall to wall shag carpeting, and there are several blacklight posters on the walls with pictures of Elvis Presley’s head on Granny Goodness’s body. Walken is dressed like Colonel Sanders and is holding a long-haired miniature Dachshund, who is also dressed like Colonel Sanders. Christoper Walken sits down cross-legged exactly three feet away from you, places the dog in his lap, looks you in the eye and begins to speak…
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