Magen Cubed's Blog, page 32

Dallas Comic Con: Fan Days 2012

This weekend Irving, Texas is hosting Fan Days 2012, a local convention presented by Dallas Comic Con. I rounded up the troops (dressed as Rorschach and John Constantine, respectively), donned my WWII Captain America Rule 63 costume (which got a lot of praise, by the way — just saying) and made my pilgrimage to Irving. Many photos were taken. Many comics were purchased. Far too much money was spent. All in all, I had a great time. It was a cool, laid-back con, with a good crowd and a lot of familiar faces in the vendor hall. Here are some of the photos from my journey.

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Writing boot-camp: Why fanfiction helps

I was on the phone with my girlfriend the other day, talking about writing. (What? We both write. What are we supposed to talk about? Football?) The subject of characterization came up — or, more notably, characterization in dialogue. She’s been workshopping her character voices for the novel she’s working on, and we both agreed it’s extremely important for your characters to not only act radically different, but sound radically different from one another as well. One of the worst things in any book, I find, is bland, lackluster dialogue. If I can’t tell one character from the next in the middle of a conversation, you’ve really missed the mark. You’re not going to convince me that any of these characters are worth reading about if they all come across as one nebulous dude inhabiting various bodies. Sorry.

So, as she was explaining how she’s working up her characters, I said, “This is where my high school and college career spent writing fanfiction comes in handy.”

“You know,” she says after a moment, as though arriving to some strange epiphany, “you’re absolutely right.”

It’s true: I learned how to write from writing other peoples’ characters. It’s helped me more than most classes I’ve ever taken, to be honest. Whether or not you agree with fanfiction on its merits, it can be a valuable tool for the struggling new writer coming into his or her own, trying to learn how to flesh out believable characters. And here’s why.

But I’ve been living under a rock! What is fanfiction?

It’s not-for-profit, free-to-read fiction written by fans, about characters from established properties and franchises. People write it, in general, for their own entertainment. It’s a long-standing part of fandom tradition, a social activity that involves a lot of keysmashing, loud whooping noises and surges of things we call feels. (At least that was my experience, anyway.) Now, to be perfectly honest, most fanfiction is bad. I mean, so poorly plotted, outlined, written and executed as to be offensive to anybody with a functioning frontal cortex. But! When written well, and it can be, fanfiction is a fun and satisfying way to explore beloved characters and stories in new, interesting ways.

If fanfiction is so bad, how can writing it be good for any aspiring author?

Let me put it to you this way: You’re writing a story about Character X. There are ten-thousand people outside your door waiting for said story, red pens in hand, ready to tear you apart for even the slightest misstep. If Character X doesn’t sound exactly the way they want him/her to, they will be angry. They will send you emails. They will talk crap about you on Tumblr. You know that Burn Book from Mean Girls? Yeah, they have one for bad fanficiton writers, and you will be all over that mother so fast it will make your head spin.

This is your first attempt at writing for an established audience, full of people you don’t know and don’t care about your feelings. The pressure makes you careful. It makes you very, very mindful of how you write and how others will be perceiving your decisions. You find yourself really studying Character X, making sure you understand his/her backstory, contemplating your own interpretations of his/her motivations. You begin seeking out the opinions of others, taking these various viewpoints into consideration as a part of your working model. Soon you’ll be bothering your friends, asking them to read over your characterization, making sure you got Character X just right. After all, you don’t want to look like an idiot in front of ten-thousand people. They know your email address and they will make your life hell.

But then, somebody comments: “I love your characterizations,” or “Your Character X feels so authentic, I feel like I’m reading a chapter from the book/watching an episode/playing the game/etc.” And it was all worth it! You have just unlocked fandom street cred and everybody loves you! Or, you know, you learned how to give a story due diligence and pay attention to how your characters read to others. Which is also good.

Why can’t you learn by writing your own characters?

You can, but it’s a steeper learning curve. Who knows your characters better than you? Nobody. Unfortunately, a lot of time that means people reading over early drafts of your work aren’t going to catch as many of the little mistakes you make along the way, or chalk it up to “Well, I don’t know this character that well yet.” If you don’t have a concrete, fully-realized characterization in mind, you will stray, and before long your characters will be weak and inconsistent. It’s totally possible to know your characters inside and out, but you really have to train your brain to think that way first.

But I feel weird about writing fanfiction!

Why? It’s just a writing exercise, like anything else you do in a classroom. (Some of the most celebrated authors in history have written fiction about characters and stories from other authors, just because they enjoyed them so much. No shame in the game.) If you’re afraid it will jeopardize your shiny author street cred when you try for that three-book deal with Simon & Schuster, don’t post it anywhere. Just write something about a character you know and love, and show it somebody familiar with that character as well. Get their opinion and go from there. Simple as that.

Okay, time to put up or shut up: I want to read your fanfiction.

Of course you do. It’s freaking fantastic. But that Star Trek AU novella I’ve written about the life and times of Gary Mitchell, as well as my sweeping period romance about Captain America and Iron Man, will have to wait for another day. (I know, I know — dry your eyes, everybody. We’ll get through this.)

And before the Butt-Hurt Brigade shows up to condemn fanfiction as a form of parasitic voyeurism that steals money from authors’ mouths, I’m obviously not advocating trying to publish fanfiction. (I’m looking at you, E.L. James.) When used correctly, it’s a hobby, social activity and writing exercise all in one. It can be both fun and informative, and if it helped me, chances are it can help others, too.

Comic review: Captain Marvel #5

The pieces of Carol’s high-flying, time-traveling adventure fall into place in this issue of Captain Marvel. Full of both action and heart, writer Kelly Sue DeConnick spins us the delightful story of Carol and Helen’s adventures in 1961. Watch them as they fly fighter jets, ride motorcycles, break into NASA and beat the crap out of anybody who stands in their way as Carol hunts for the cause of these timeline hijinks. This issue is just unabashed fun; there’s really no better way to explain it.

As always, DeConnick’s dialogue is smart, but the dynamic between Carol and Helen is just wonderful. Sharp, funny and tough, both of these women complement each other, and have a great rapport. Even for all the action, the best part is watching them get up to no good as they try to find the origins of the alien artifact that has brought their timelines together. The threads of the time-travel storyline begin to reveal themselves here as Carol and Helen wind up traveling forward in time to the day that Carol got her powers, hinting to a larger Kree involvement than what was previously implied. This is just smart, original comic writing.

The real star of the issue is by far artist Emma Rios‘ interiors. When I first saw preview art for this issue a while back, I was in love, but the previews really don’t do enough to show the breadth of Rios’ skill. The entire book is just gorgeous from start to finish. Every page nails it, brought to life by Jordie Bellaire’s warm, inviting color work. Every month this book just gets better and better, and #5 is no exception.

Worth a read: Seriously, if you haven’t been picking up this book, you’re missing out.

Everything’s Coming Up Phil: Why We Love Agent Coulson

It was the shot heard ’round the internet this week, when at New York Comic Con this weekend Marvel TV head Jeph Loeb announced the return of Agent Phil Coulson in ABC’s upcoming S.H.I.E.L.D. series. Played by actor-screenwriter-director , ever since his first appearance in Iron Man as the G-man looking to meddle into Tony Stark’s superhero business, Phil Coulson has become a deeply loved fan-favorite of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. As his character was expanded on in reoccurring roles in Iron Man 2 and Thor, his very dedicated fan base grew, spawning everything from t-shirts to amazing works of art. (I, for one, have been proudly displaying my Agent Coulson Lives button all year.) Probably the greatest show of support came from the annual DragonCon parade, when Coulson fans made their stance on his supposed death in The Avengers known.

Now Coulson has a regular appearance on Disney XD’s Ultimate Spider-Man and a major role in this year’s six-part miniseries Battle Scars thrust him into mainstream comic continuity. With the big news coming out of NYCC this week, it looks like things are only going to get bigger and bigger for what started off as a one-note character. So why all the love? What is it about Phil Coulson that makes him so endearing, and has exploded into the fandom phenomena that he’s become? Why is everything coming up Phil for us fan-girls and -boys?

1. Because he’s like us.

Agent Coulson is the consummate Every Man. In a crazy world of super soldiers, demi-gods, iron guys and big green monsters, he acts as the viewer’s through-line into the fantasy to keep it grounded. He’s cool, he’s funny, he’s professional, but still relatable, interacting with all the heroes in very different ways. From his comfortable rapport with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, to his fanboyish admiration for Steve Rogers, and the sense of trust and total respect he has for his fellow S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, we get these flashes of bigger stories in every movie, and it makes him very real to us. Coulson is a little bit of everything to everybody, and he brings a bit of heart along with the humor to the table.

2. Because Coulson’s story is brimming with potential.

There’s so little we know for sure about Coulson’s backstory, it’s exciting to see what comes next. In the Battle Scars miniseries, writers Matt Fraction and Christopher Yost depict him as an Army Ranger who aids friend and fellow Ranger Marcus Johnson, the secret son of Nick Fury, before they both join S.H.I.E.L.D. On Ultimate Spider-Man he’s undercover as the principal of Midtown High, tasked with keeping Spider-Man, Nova, Power Man, Iron Fist and White Tiger out of trouble as the young heroes complete their S.H.I.E.L.D. training. The character is so flexible, while still retaining his sense of humor about him, that the possibilities really are endless.

3. Because Clark Gregg is a flawless human being.

Follow him on Twitter if you need evidence of this. I’ve been stalking him from afar like a wounded gazelle and it’s been a highlight of my internet existence.

4. Because Coulson is a badass

Look, I know being a badass is a superficial and highly subjective thing. It’s not a term I throw around all willy-nilly. But, in this case, he is just a freaking badass.

But, before we all get ahead of our selves, let’s all just take this moment to bask in the glory of knowing that — even after his tragic loss and months of stanning in the face of certain Whedon-esque doom — Coulson, most assuredly, lives.

An open letter to The Walking Dead

Dear AMC’s The Walking Dead,

Your highly anticipated third season premiere is tomorrow night, so I thought this would be a good time to write you this letter.

How are you? I am fine. I’d just like to start out by saying that I think you’re a cool guy and I’ve always wanted good things for you. Your concept of an evolving narrative from an on-going comic book series is clever, and the way you differentiate yourself from comic book canon is fun. You have such a good cast, and any vehicle to allow a sweaty Norman Reedus to cruise around without shirt-sleeves gets my vote hands-down. I was even cool with the lack of zombies in lieu of character drama last season, and ultimately I found the Sophia storyline satisfying. So, you know, there is that.

But, man, I got to tell you: Your female characters really suck. I mean, like, a whole lot. Not the characters themselves, who seem like fairly reasonable people in their own rights (well, as reasonable as you’re going to be in the middle of the zombie apocalypse, I guess), but the way you represent them.

I mean, there’s Lori, who you seem determined to make wrong at every turn. You have her constantly see-saw between the strong matriarch figure of this survivor camp, to gibbering idiot who wants to do people’s laundry and tell all the other women how to act. She’s caught in a very tenuous emotional situation between these two men she cares about, and no matter how badly Rick and Shane act because of it, it all goes back on her. Even when she’s finally right about something, you go out of your way to paint her in such a way as to make her completely unlikeable and undermine her. Remember when she was going to try to abort her baby out of survival, and you tried to make Rick look morally superior because he wanted to keep it? Yeah, that was lame.

And what’s with Andrea, anyway? You make her this amazing independent crack-shot sniper to help her come to terms with losing her sister and contemplating suicide, and that’s awesome. Then you immediately turned her into this reckless idiot who shoots at Daryl with every single dude on the show screaming at her not to. That totally makes her look stupid, and invalidates her growth from ten minutes earlier. Oh, and remember that time you had Andrea and Lori arguing over Beth when she was trying to kill herself? When Andrea was trying to stand up for Beth’s autonomy and right to end her own life, and Lori was telling her that Beth has obligations to the camp because she’s woman and needs to be there to make a home for everybody else? For real, guys, what the hell is that?

And Carol? Does Carol even have a personality? Does she even have a function, outside of being sad over losing Sophia and hanging around with Daryl? (I love their relationship, but come on.) About the only person I don’t think I have a problem with is Maggie, but I can’t tell if that’s because she’s written well or if I’m still hung-over from how awesome she was as Bella on Supernatural. Could be both. I’m really not sure.

I get it, okay. Society breaks down? Everybody relies on hunter-gatherer gender roles in an effort to maintain status quo. It sounds great on paper, but you’ve done a really crap job with that so far. Also, it’s, you know, 2012 and stuff. It’d be really cool if we didn’t do that this time around.

So, I’m just saying. I think you’re a cool guy, but if your ladies didn’t suck this year, I would be super-pleased. Take that as you will.

Love, Magen

(P.S.: Every time I see Andrew Lincoln in Love, Actually in that scene where he runs away from Keira Knightly’s door crying as Dido swells up romantically in the background, I think of that horse from season one. Now I’ve ruined both Dido and Love, Actually for myself. Oh, well — it’s not much of a loss.)

 

National Coming Out Day: Just leave me out of it

So, in case you didn’t realize, I’m a queer person. That’s the short and the long of it. There isn’t much to tell, and it’s not something I enjoy discussing. But if I were to be asked, as I often am by people with widened eyes and hushed tones, it’s just like being anything else — and I do mean anything else. It is a simple matter of circumstance, like being short or being female or having blue eyes or being into comic books or liking horror movies. I can’t tell you what it’s like to be something when I don’t know else to be. My dating women is just one tiny part of a much larger picture.

It’s like breathing. It’s automatic. And it’s none of your business.

I don’t wear badges or armbands. I don’t have bumper stickers or window decals or march in pride parades. If you do, that’s fine, but it’s not my scene. What labels I carry around under my jacket has nothing to do with anybody else, twice-folded and tucked away as they are, forgotten most days. They are not up to scrutiny or debate, or to be worn on shirt-sleeves for everybody to see and ask me about. While I exist under these shared umbrella terms and statistics, my struggles are my own, my concerns private to my experiences. No matter what you were told, we are not the same. That’s not a bad thing; it’s just a fact.

I get why we have days like National Coming Out Day. I get why we have Pride Weekend. I get why people paint their bodies and march arm-in-arm, waving signs and making others take notice. These exercises in solidarity are reasonable for people in need of safe spaces, but they’re not for me. I’ve been dragged unwillingly out of closets, both real and imagined, by people who “just want to clear the air.” I’ve been chased into uncomfortable situations by the well-intentioned (and the not-so-well-intentioned) who assumed too much.  Most of the time, the biggest offenders are other queer people, who take it upon themselves to decide what’s best for me. This is why I don’t like days like Coming Out Day. It’s like having everybody at a party stare at you the moment you walk into the room. Suddenly, for one day, you’re the topic of conversation.

Are you out? If so, how out are you? How out is out, anyway? If you are out, are you a visible member of the community? Are you doing enough for everybody else? Are you queer enough to meet your designated monthly quota? Are you attracted to me? If not, why aren’t you attracted to me? Why don’t you go to gay bars? Why do lesbians do that thing I don’t like? Why can’t you justify the actions of other lesbians to me on command like a trained dog? What do you mean, you’re monogamous? I thought you were a lesbian?

Imagine being a curiosity to straight people the rest of the year, then becoming a pariah to other queers on high holidays and special occasions. Imagine that you just can’t win, no matter what you do, because somebody, somewhere, is going to judge you for whatever it is you are or aren’t doing for everybody else. After a while, if you’re me, you’re going to stop caring. My being queer is not important to me. It’s doesn’t weigh on me, or rouse me, or make me any better or worse a person for it. I still get up every day. I go to work, I pay my bills, I write things. This is what I would be doing with or without these labels and pride parades that I have no use for. I’m not beholden to anyone because I happen to fall under another’s umbrella.

If you need the parades and the calendar holidays, I understand. Maybe you need that sense of togetherness and safety; that someone, somewhere has your back, because maybe those close to you don’t. Maybe this is what helps you through the dark times, because, no, it doesn’t always get better. Maybe you just need a few days a year to feel free to be yourself, in whatever form that takes. I understand. I feel for you, I truly do, and I wish you the best.

But this isn’t my day to share, and I’m okay with that.

Comic review: Uncanny Avengers #1

Now that Avengers vs. X-Men has ended, this book helmed by Rick Remender and John Cassaday tells the next chapter in X-Men/Avenger relations in the aftermath of the event. But is this attempt to bridge the divide worth picking up?

The book’s opening is unexpected, leading to a closer I didn’t see coming. Soon the main story begins, as Logan and the rest of the X-family bury Charles Xavier, the mutant community still reeling from his loss. While Logan gives his eulogy, Alex Summers visits his brother Scott in S.H.I.E.L.D. lock-up. Their confrontation is less than satisfying for Alex, who walks away from their meeting disappointed with his brother. Scott is still vague and unreadable when asked of his role in bringing the Phoenix Force to Earth and killing Xavier, a fractured shade of the man he once was. There are still no clear answers in the aftermath of AvX, and it doesn’t look like things are going to get any less muddled.

Immediately after leaving The Brig, Alex is approached by Captain America and Thor. They offer to make him an Avenger in an effort to foster positive mutant cooperation moving forward, because, as Cap brings up, We never did enough to help you. Captain America seems convinced that Alex is the perfect candidate to represent mutant issues and lead the fight to preserve Xavier’s dream. It’s nice to see Alex get a chance to shine on his own, but whether he is the man for the job remains to be seen. His past is somewhat dodgy and right now being Cyclops’ brother can’t be doing him any favors, as Alex himself openly questions Cap’s logic in the decision.

However, any further debate takes a backseat as a deranged (and surgically altered) Avalanche launches an attack in New York City. He’s come to spread a message: The mutants are back. Thor, Cap and Havoc rush off to deal with the threat, in a nice tight little battle scene. Already they work well together, saving the civilians caught up in Avalanche’s violent display, only for Avalanche to fall willingly to his apparent death. Meanwhile, Scarlet Witch goes to pay her final respects to Xavier. She is found at his grave by an angry Rogue, who still holds her accountable for erasing the mutants in M-Day, one of the many storylines that led to the AvX event. Their fight is cut short as they are suddenly attacked in an effort to steal Xavier’s body. The book ends in a shocking and unforeseen cliffhanger. What comes next, I honestly can’t tell you, and I like that.

Overall, this book’s first issue feels like a strong beginning to Marvel NOW, maintaining a good balance of action and heart. It is a team-up book, and there is a lot going on with the scope of the issues being addressed, but Remender manages to tell a natural and compelling narrative. The sliding the focus of the story allows the reader to see how the loss of Charles Xavier is going to reshape the Marvel Universe by seeing it from multiple vantage points, and how each key player deals with it in his or her own way. Every character reads very naturally, and the story assumes a certain level of familiarity with the previous storyline as to move along quickly and not get bogged down with unnecessary exposition.  (New readers will likely be able to keep up just fine, as well.) Cassaday’s art is lovely and highly engaging, rounded out by Laura Martin’s wonderful coloring, helping to put out a book that deftly handles the changing tone of the story. Whether you’re following the continuing adventures of these characters or you’re a new reader looking to pick up an interesting book, I expect good things to come from Uncanny Avengers.

Worth a read: I was really impressed with this book, and would definitely recommend it.

An open letter about street harassment

 

This is a blog about writing and comic books and horror and weird stuff. Tonight, it isn’t.

–

Dear man on the street, in a restaurant, on a bus, on the corner, outside my house, outside my classroom, at my job, who may be my coworker or my boss or my classmate or my neighbor or just a stranger. If you’re reading this and you’re offended by the things I’m about to describe, I’m not talking to you. But if you don’t fall into that category, then this letter is about you. And I want to make myself very clear: I don’t need your attention.

I don’t need your roaming eyes or itching fingers or tongue licking at your bottom lip as you look me up and down and tell me you’re into something different. I don’t need your pity, your sympathy, your oh-I’ll-throw-her-a-bone-I’m-a-stand-up-guy routine. I have no use for your bones or any other part of you, all six feet of solid meat and heavy breath. I’m not yours to crowd in, pressed against a shelf in a grocery store or a bus stop hutch. I’m not yours to pant on or grab for, touch or pull. This skin is my own, this skeleton of imperfections held together by cloth and twine. It doesn’t need your approval, your wants or intentions. I’ve made it twenty-six years without them so far.

I know it isn’t me. It’s you, because I’m just some dumb bitch or ugly cunt out of the hundreds you see every day and I should be grateful for this. There’s a dozen other girls prettier than me and I should be glad for whatever I can get. I got that. But I’m still going to take it personally.

Yeah, you’ll whistle at me from your car at a stoplight, or try to grope me in a bar or on the street or on my way to class. You’ll try to stop me when I’m walking home and yell things at me and call me names when I don’t go to my knees and kiss your feet for the attention. I know you. I know a thousand faces just like yours. You’ll all tell me I need to be grateful for whatever I can get. You’re doing me a favor, after all. You’re just trying to pay me a compliment. You’re just trying to make me feel good about my mouth and my tits and my ass in these jeans that you can’t stop staring at.

Because I’m too fat, or too ugly, or too short, or too whatever to do any better for myself, and you just want to make sure I know that. Even if you call me beautiful first, I’m an ugly slut when you’re done with me. I’m a frigid bitch and I need to learn to accept your attention with a big stupid smile on my face. You want to make sure I never forget. Nobody forgets. No girl gets the chance to, no matter where she is or what she looks like. You all make sure of that. But I want to make you remember something, too.

Every time I’ll just keep walking, or I’ll push back, or I’ll punch or scream. I’ll call for help when you harass me on the bus and I’ll involve everybody around me when you smile and lie and say we were just having a conversation. I’ll stand in the middle of the aisle at Wal-Mart on a Friday afternoon and shout about what a rapist you must to be to accost someone in broad daylight until you go away, huffing and red-faced, fists balled up, ready to make me regret it. I’ll fashion a blackjack for my keychain that I’ll swing like a billy-club as I walk to my car after work. I’ll smile at the cops on bicycles who stop and nod at me and move aside, because they now why I have to do these things.

You’ll make me do this, but you won’t make me afraid.

I don’t need you, and I won’t be swayed by you.

–

Everything in this letter is true. What you do with it once you’ve read it is entirely up to you.

Tattoos: A study in completion

I come from a family of tattooed people. My father and my brothers all have ink, each tattoo deeply personal and individualized to their personalities and interests. From my dad’s Air Force eagle, back from his days in the service, to my youngest brother’s trinkets of Cold War-era paranoia and A-Bomb Americana. Even my middle brother, whose love of video games and nerd culture has manifested on his arms. Everybody I’ve worked with over the years has flowers on their feet and lyrics on their backs, sea creatures of every size and stripe winding down their shoulders to their wrists. I remain one of only a few people in my immediate circle that has yet to get a tattoo. Others find that very strange.

“Let me see your tattoo,” people will say to me on the street, conversationally, like it’s nothing at all. When everyone else is rolling back pant legs and sleeves, untucking shirts and pulling up hair. Swapping stories and comparing scars, the hows and whys and whens.

“I don’t have one,” I tell them with a shrug.

The look I get is always a little weird. “Oh. Really?” they ask. “You just seem like the person to have them.”

Yeah. I get that a lot.

There was a period in my life when I was gun-ho to get a tattoo, like most  young people eager to punch holes in their faces or mark up their bodies. Anything to make me stand out like the precious little snowflake I knew I truly was inside. That’s a bad attitude to have, and as I grew older, I began to appreciate what a tattoo was. It’s a piece of art. A memory, a moment in time, good or bad. It’s something to be enjoyed and remembered and displayed, whether for others or just yourself. For me, I’ve found few things worth marking myself with, far too fickle and fashion-conscious to commit to something as permanent as that. Instead I funneled this youthful exuberance into fashion. There I could craft something a little more lasting for myself.

Piercings are just accessories to me, like this week’s dye job, my novelty nail polish or the spikes on my boots. It’s an impression that I can control. I can swap the jewelery out for every occasion, studs for hoops, tapers for spirals, my nose ring for a bone or a screw. Of course I punched holes in my face, because I love having them. I feel like a complete person with them. And I always want more, because the more I have, the more put-together I am. They make me more cohesive than I am on my own. With a tattoo I don’t know if I’ll get tired of it, and I certainly can’t swap it out when I get bored. Piercings I can change the appearance of. Tattoos are forever.

That’s a lot of responsibility for little old me. Sorry.

I don’t dislike tattoos by any means. I admire them, and the people who get them. I just haven’t felt the desire to get one for myself. It wouldn’t complete me, and I don’t have much time or patience for unnecessary trinkets. Maybe one day that will change…

Comic review: Captain Marvel #4

The time-travel storyline kicks into high-gear in Captain Marvel #4. This issue picks up where we last left off, opening in an aerial battle between Carol and the Banshee Squadron, aided by squad leader Jerri in their hijacked Prowler, and the monstrous alien ship. After a brief skirmish, Carol stops Jerri from killing herself by flying the Prowler into the ship, instead flying inside of it herself to destroy it from within. Carol’s narration of the battle serves to ground in the reader, something writer Kelly Sue DeConnick does very well, reminding us that Carol’s history as an Avenger gives her a unique perspective on this craziness. While the women of the Banshee Squadron are making the best of this situation, with their limited training and experience, Carol takes control easily, leading them to victory against the Japanese military camp. The opposing side surrenders peacefully, but can tell them little about how the Banshees ended up stranded there.

As Carol and Jerri try to figure out how they wound up in this predicament, the book switches gears to tell the Banshee Squadron’s backstory. Civilian pilots, the women of the squad were originally civil service ferry pilots, highly skilled but unable to fly for the armed forces. On a flight from California to Hawaii to deliver newly manufactured planes, the Banshees suffered the same instrument malfunction that befell Carol’s T6, plunging them into a tail spin before they crashed. Realizing they were brought there under the same circumstances, Carol soon sees her own plane flying overhead. She follows it back through the portal where she arrives in the 1950s, and the story closes as Carol meets a young Helen Cobb. Something is bringing all of these women together through space-time, and we still have to find out how Cobb is their connection.

A solid issue with consistent writing from DeConnick and great pencils from artist Dexter Soy, it does throw a few curve balls at the reader. The origin of the Kree technology being used by the Japanese soldiers hasn’t yet been clearly addressed, and the time-jumping might be a little difficult to get one’s head around. That said, there are some nice bonding moments between Carol and Jerri in this issue, and it continues to keep the fun, exciting tone the book has set.

Worth a read: For those following the book, absolutely. If you’re new here, I’d definitely go back to #1 or #2 first, as this one gets confusing.