His Story's History


Of all the striking details in March Book One — and there are more than a few —
what I keep coming back to is this: At the age of five, John Lewis began preaching to
his family's chickens.

Title; protesters with signs; John Lewis and others at a lunch counter

Lewis, an organizer of the March on Washington in 1963 and since 1987 the U.S. Representative for Georgia's Fifth District, is a great storyteller. March is a great story. I've just left those sentences alone after too much time spent considering adjectives other than "great" due to how easy and vague the word is, but it's apt.

You Wanna Be
Kickstartin' Something


The Kickstarter campaign for a print edition of Dean Trippe's Something Terrible launched this past Friday.

profile of downcast boy inside silhouette of Batman's cowl

A poignant, inspiring piece of work, Terrible is drawn (in more than one sense) from the author's experiences of childhood sexual abuse. Dark as the short, 14-page story is — about kids, for anybody who has ever been a kid, but not for kids themselves — it brightens as Trippe's younger self finds strength in Batman and other fictional heroes, unfolding mostly in sharp, haunting two-color panels.

The Fingerprints of Myth


I was thinking recently about my school library in 3rd grade.

Not sure why. It could've been the recent news reports on libraries without books — without physical books, anyway; rather, they're community spaces with computers where users can surf the Internet and check out E-books — that got me remembering how I'd settle down in the stacks in front of the encyclopedias and basically use the references in the article at hand the way we use hyperlinks online today.

I have several fond memories, general and specific, of libraries. One suspects many readers do. Those I've shared on the blog before include — nestled in a post on TV's Supernatural — memories of my favorite aisle in this particular library. What brought me to that aisle was books on Greek and Roman mythology, a subject I read about voraciously and to an almost literally exhausting degree. Based on periodic scans of various library and bookstore shelves, I may well have gone through every relevant volume in print. Some books were, from my youthful perspective at least, stuffier than others, a category in which I preferred Edith Hamilton's Mythology to Bulfinch's. There were plenty of slim paperbacks and large, illustrated tomes aimed more directly at my age, too, with D'Aulaires' Book of Greek Myths atop the heap of the latter.