L o b a B l a n c a {dot} c o m

Not wanting the “Public Library” portion of my BookBin2012 widget to go unloved, and because I simply cannot stay out of a library as gorgeous as our neighborhood library, I bring you my latest discovery from the graphic novel section: Epileptic by David B. (or David Beauchard).

Originally released as a six-volume series under its French title, L’Ascension du Haut Mal (which translates as “The Rise of the High Evil”; also, “haut mal” is the French equivalent of the English term “grand mal” in reference to epileptic seizures), Epileptic is Beauchard’s retelling of his family’s journey through the sudden onset of his older brother’s epilepsy when his brother was 11.

Beauchard’s choice to approach his family’s story from his younger version’s perspective brings the narrative to a less convoluted, more accessible level. A story dealing with such a serious medical condition runs the risk of becoming overburdened by medical jargon; telling the tale from the perspective of the little brother who must process all these changes and ordeals as they are happening gave Beauchard permission to simplify his narrative without watering it down.

He balances the various family dynamics and reactions to his brother’s worsening condition, demonstrating not only the extraordinary measures to which family is willing to go in order to save their own, but also the disconnectedness and solitary confinement each member experiences, even in the face of familial cohesion in pursuit of a cure. Though they are together in family experimental journeys into alternative medicinal treatments and alternative religions, Beauchard explores well the varied and separate emotional responses he and his family experience.

Beauchard is not an overly sentimental writer, which I believe serves his story well. He is, however, a phenomenal artist. Just as I praised Craig Thompson for the artistry of his novel, Blankets, I believe that Beauchard is another whose artistic prowess has raised my opinion of graphic novels to an even higher plateau of respect. The inky intricacy of his oftentimes nightmarish tableaux roll over you in swells of beauty, horror, desperation, promise, resentment, and resignation. His artwork is unsettling, reflecting at times the disturbing aesthetic of a Grand Guignol influence.

[Or perhaps I merely think this because they're both French. This is sometimes how my brain works.]

Admittedly, the artwork is bold and distinct enough that it was a bit overwhelming at first. I pressed through my initial discomfort and soon found myself enraptured by the dark details of Beauchard’s beautiful black and white panels. His view of the world, both the real one and that of his exquisite imagination, is rich and complex and full of the fury and impotence with which so many families are familiar when faced with an intractable disease. At times I found myself lingering over a page long after finishing the text, simply trying to take in the layers hidden beneath the words…layers that provided a deeper narrative unhindered by the boundaries of letters.

Final Verdict: I hope that this novel has already found its way into another’s book basket at our library. Definitely another one for the Amazon wish list.

I promise, this will be the last book review for a while. It will also be much shorter than my last two reviews. I don’t want to overload you.

I’m now finished with the stack of CSI graphic novels that I purchased last year, with the fifth in the series, Secret Identity. I thought this was the last one illustrated by Gabriel Rodriguez, but it looks like there might be one more, although it doesn’t seem to be part of the longer serial novels. I think it might be a one-shot novella done back when Ashley Wood was still doing the abstract artwork. More investigating is required.

For Secret Identity, Rodriguez again paired with Steven Perkins on the abstract art. Steven Grant took over from Kris Oprisko as the writer of this story. It’s a shame that this was the last novel Rodriguez and Perkins worked on together, because I believe this is the best of the bunch. Not only did these two artists’ divergent styles merge beautifully for this novel, Rodriguez really came into his own for the main artwork. He invests a great deal of care and creativity into exploring the space of each page, each panel, bringing a sense of grace and artistry to what is also the darkest, and in my opinion, best written story from this batch of five novels.

Steven Grant did a tremendous job writing this story, giving readers something that not only can compete with a television script, but might in some ways surpass what we’ve seen from the show (especially in recent years). It’s refreshing to see such a cumulatively extraordinary effort put toward a medium that, when done in such a mass market style as comic book tie-ins to television series, typically tends to suffer from mediocrity and apathy from all involved. Case in point? Go flip through a stack of hastily written/drawn/published Trek comics and tell me what you think…you know, after you finish peroxide-washing your brain and eyes.

The coloring is again superb, drawing from a palette of soothing to passion-infused, and enhancing the almost cinematic-quality angles of Rodriguez’s cleverly drawn panels. Also, IDW Publishing returned to the standard size for this graphic novel (although it looks like they also offered it in the smaller “New Format” size; avoid this one at all cost), which means larger space for artwork that truly deserves every inch and more.

Final Verdict: Definitely a keeper. I’d vote this the best of the first five CSI graphic novels, hands down. If you’re at all interested in seeing what the comics can offer you, this would be my top recommendation.

No, that isn’t a mistake, denizens. This will be the final book entry for my 2011 reading endeavors. Even though I was in the process of reading several other books (my attention span seemed to shrink significantly toward the end of last year), I decided I wanted to end the year on a fluffy note. Therefore, the stack of CSI graphic novels that I picked up from Amazon Marketplace a while ago seemed like a great place to go. Besides, as I mentioned in my last post, there was road-tripping to be done this past weekend, and since I wasn’t driving, I chose to entertain myself with reading.

Okay, so here’s the deal: After reading the first CSI graphic novel, Serial, I decided that—true to my obsessive nature—I wanted to read more CSI graphic novels to see if they improved upon what I considered to be a relatively sturdy foundation. I purchased the next four novels. There are more graphic novels beyond five; however, these are the only ones illustrated by Gabriel Rodriguez. I mentioned in my review of Serial that at some point the artwork for these CSI novels turns quite mucky. However, Rodriguez’s artwork in the first novel was impressive enough to assuage my fears that he might be the tainted artist.

In all honesty, it’s Rodriguez’s art and coloring that compelled me to continue reading these comics. His grasp of illustrating our favorite band of Vegas criminalists continued to improve throughout each of these three novels. The disproportionate appearances that I noted in my review of Serial continued through Bad Rap and Demon House, but definitely began to diminish.

[Loba Tangent: If the cover art for Demon House looks a little familiar to regulars here at the lair, it's because I used it as the inspiration for my CSI: Bajor spoof cover, Blood Prophecy. You're welcome.]

By the time I started Dominos (yes, I know the title is misspelled; yes, it did irritate the hell out of me), I was noticing a definite balance in proportions. Also, the likenesses became even more refined with each effort (with the continuing exception of Greg Sanders…I don’t know what it is about our favorite Lab Rat, but Rodriguez simply cannot get him right!). In fact, the only nitpick I can come up with is a minor one and really only something that would bother me: In all three novels, Rodriguez gave Sara Sidle long, sharp fingernails with a dark red polish.

Er, no.

Seriously, find me three instances on the show of Sara Sidle wearing any kind of nail polish and I will send you cookies.

The real beauty of each of these novels, however, is in the coloring. I think Rodriguez did the coloring, but I might be wrong. Fran Gamboa is listed as being responsible for colors in Bad Rap, but that’s the only time someone else is listed. Regardless, whoever did the coloring for these graphic novels did an amazing job. The attention to shadows and lighting gave the panels a gorgeous dimensionality that often is missing from mass-produced comics. The lighting closely mimics the lighting as seen in the television show, which adds a nice connection between the printed and televised worlds.

The flashback and speculation scenes for all three novels were still done in a different, more abstract style than the primary artwork. Ashley Wood continued to do these watercolor renderings for Bad Rap and Demon House. Steven Perkins took over for Dominos. I appreciated Perkins’s abstract style to Woods’s work. Woods’s take on these scenes seemed to degenerate throughout each story, becoming more abstract and less interesting with each offering. Toward the end of Demon House, it seemed as though the abstract artwork became nothing more than scratched-out stick people over a sickly mottling of drab olives and browns. Perkins brought back a more refined level of artistry with his take on the flashbacks, keeping them stylistically different from the rest of the story while imbuing them with an appealing sense of sophistication.

As for the writing, Max Allan Collins stuck around after his first crack at graphic novel storytelling to write the stories for Bad Rap and Demon House. They were acceptable stories, but nothing that would push the boundaries already established by the show. One thing that I’ve always liked about the Trek universe’s forays into comics and novels is the fact that the stories there tend to stray from the canonical path. With few exceptions, nothing shown in either written world is ever viewed as “truth” to the filmed Trek universe. I guess that’s not the case with the CSI universe, because not a whole lot new is revealed in these graphic novels.

Kris Oprisko took over the writing from Collins for Dominos. Again, nothing too different, although Oprisko enjoyed invoking a darkness in his tale that Collins very seldom embraced. Dominos had a much more brutal feel, which inspired equally brutal imagery from Rodriguez and Perkins. It was in these aspects that I felt the graphic novel finally started to reach beyond the boundaries of the show…although that’s not really the case anymore. Ever since CSI switched to a later time slot, they’ve definitely been exploring the reduced level of restriction in what sort of gore they can show their audience.

All that being said, if you’re a fan of the show, you’ll enjoy these dalliances. Are they worth purchasing? Again, if you love CSI, then they’re worth owning if only for the enjoyable artwork. That reminds me: Here’s a more objective nitpick, not necessarily about the artwork but more about the skimping the publishers did to the artwork. Whereas Serial was printed in what has become a “standard” size for many graphic novels, these three were printed in what IDW Publishing called the “New Format.” Reduced size, which means: A) The artwork was skimped the way comic strips get skimped in newspapers; and B) these books now look ridiculous on my graphic novel shelf. All the other books there are a relatively standard size. Even the fifth CSI novel, Secret Identity, went back to the standard size. Guess they realized their mistake and corrected it.

Oh, and if you’re interested, I’m nearly finished with Secret Identity. I promise my comments on that one won’t be nearly as long as these comments.

Final Verdict: I’m keeping these three for now. I like my obsession-related collections. Prophets know I have plenty of Trek-related books. While my CSI collection will never grow to that level of insanity, I’m having a fun time collecting for a new obsession…at least until the Buffy collecting bug kicks in…

I suppose it would be a bit naive of me to think that I can have an objective opinion of Craig Thompson’s illustrated novel (his rather concise term) Blankets. Even though I knew nothing about the novel when I hefted it from the library shelf and added it to my pile, it ended up being one of the most surprisingly accessible books I’ve picked up in a very long time.

Thompson, born one year before me, is a contemporary not only in age and pop culture references (his affinity for the grunge music scene is particularly well defined through mostly wordless background references that might slip past you if you’re not paying attention), but also in religious experiences. His autobiographical protagonist goes through many of the same ordeals that I went through as a student at a Christian high school. His questions, fears, conundrums, and ultimately, his deliverance from these spiritual quandaries are more often than not identical to my own experiences.

And there I’ve gone and given away the ending. But only if you know me well…

Thompson’s journey through his religious and familial morasses is much darker, much more complex than mine ever was, which adds a newness to a slightly recognizable story and provides greater opportunity to develop a sense of empathy for our hero. His experiences with the ostracizing impact of adolescence and fumbling attempts at first love ultimately make him more fallible and more endearing with each page. Also, Thompson’s artistic skills are enviable. Blankets is a perfect example of why the graphic medium is such a powerful contributor to the literary world. In fluid lines and simple shadowing, Thompson is able to convey the complexities of emotion and beauty that often defy description. His artwork is elegant, observational, reverent, and beguiling.

Final Verdict: Alas, I must return this copy to our library where, hopefully, many others will discover its subtle beauty and depth. I would love to have a copy of this book in my library. Dear Amazon.com Marketplace, make me an offer I can’t refuse…

This was a last-minute impulse grab from the graphic novel section as I was trying to leave the library during my last visit. I’d already pulled a stack of books from this section (most of which I’ve already finished and written up here), but there was something so very…forsaken about this novel. It sat, separate from the other novels, missing its dust jacket, its hardback cover showing its title and author only on the spine. I don’t know why, but I have a bit of a soft spot for hardback books that have lost their jackets.

And thus I ended up adding Jessica Abel’s La Perdida to my stack of selections. Translated as “The Lost,” La Perdida leads us through a year-long look at life in Mexico City, as experienced by the novel’s protagonist, Carla Olivares. Born to an American mother and Mexican father, Carla spends most of her early life trying to distance herself from the Mexican half of her heritage. However, as she grows more disillusioned with her urbanal existence as a 20-something Chicagoan, she decides to leave everything behind to drop in on her ex-boyfriend Harry, a rather stereotypical “wealthy WASP” who has chosen to live in Mexico City because his literary hero, William S. Burroughs, lived there for a brief time (he fled to Mexico City to escape possible jail time in Louisiana only to end up in a Mexican jail after killing his wife during a drunken game of William Tell.)

[Loba Tangent: There is a part of me that was greatly amused by the serendipity of discovering so many references to Burroughs throughout this novel, considering my recent discovery and appreciation of Beat Generation literature.]

Harry soon tires of Carla’s presence and kicks her out. However, rather than return home, Carla chooses to remain in the country illegally, an expatriate desperate to not only experience “true Mexico” but to be accepted by a collection of locals with whom she has become friends since her arrival. These include Oscar, a winsome if somewhat witless drug dealer who dreams of one day touring the United States as a renowned DJ and with whom she falls into a rather indeterminate relationship; and Memo, a false prophet of ¡La Revolución! who hides his more unscrupulous activities behind a constant barrage of criticism and condemnation he lays upon Carla for her comfortable capitalistic American upbringing.

I won’t go into the events that transpire once Carla finds herself totally immersed in local life. I wish I could say it’s because it’s a fascinating story. It is somewhat intriguing, if not utterly predictable. Also, I can’t help but feel as though this tale is ultimately a negative stereotype, both of Americans and of Mexicans. If this story is to be believed as embedded in truth, we’re all reprehensibly spoiled and consequently naive in regard to the harshness of life outside of our insular capitalist existence (okay, one or both of those statements are admittedly true in more instances than they should be). And all Mexicans are manipulative, shiftless, and criminally inspired.

There are positive aspects to the novel. Abel, who lived in Mexico City for 2 years, captures the straightforward, simple beauty of the city and her characters through art that is equal parts restrained and elegant. Her black and white linework vacillates between comic caricatures and renderings of surprising realism. Also, the insider view of life in Mexico that does not directly relate to the main story is fascinating. Even though I understand that the ultimate point of La Perdida was to tell the story of Carla’s unfortunate adventure during her year abroad, I wished that the book had been more of an illustrated travel log of a less-titillating variety. More focus on the experience of adjusting to total immersion in a foreign culture and less focus on “Hey, how can we make everyone look awful by the end of this story?”

Final Verdict: This was an uneven yet somewhat intriguing graphic novel (as well as one of the wordiest illustrated stories I think I’ve ever read), and many of Abel’s illustrations are quite captivating. I don’t foresee adding it to my graphic novel collection, but I’m glad that I grabbed it from the shelf as I was leaving. It gave me a mildly informative glimpse of life as a temporary expat. It also taught me the phrase “Chinga tu madre.” That’s bound to come in use at some point…

I feel as though I am already turning against a newly acquired friend before our relationship has even had a chance to take root.

Oh well.

I very much wanted to like Miss Lasko-Gross’s graphic novel Escape from “Special.” I was instantly convinced to check it out from the library after reading the following line from the description:

Subjected to the whims of her bemused parents and, as the years pass, rejected by her peers, the opinionated Melissa copes by watching horror movies, psychosomatically vomiting to get out of temple, and making comics.

This is a girl to whom I can relate (minus the psychosomatic vomitting part…that’s kind of…no). Lasko-Gross offers readers a semi-autobiographical telling of protagonist Melissa’s development from off-center child to ostracized-and-unconcerned-about-it adolescent. She presents Melissa’s story through surrealistically drawn vignettes that lack any form of “prettification.” The artwork is rough and the writing is coarse. Then again, so is the subject matter. I’ve said it before, but it bears repeating: There isn’t enough money in the world to convince me to relive my adolescence. It was awkward and uncomfortable and strange and, while I wouldn’t change any of it since it turned me into the Wonder Geek I am today, I definitely wouldn’t want to go through it again.

That’s kind of what it felt like at times when reading this graphic novel, which left me feeling decidedly displeased. At other times, it felt like I was witnessing something completely removed from anything my brain could properly process. Melissa’s attempt to create a protective second skin out of her own snot is one of the more outlandish moments. It was also one of the moments that left me rolling my eyes in such a cartoonish way that I’m sure they made clickety noises that others could hear.

The bottom line is that I think I’m well beyond the target age for this particular graphic novel. I think it’s something that someone closer to the age of the protagonist could better relate to; I’m old and clickety in places other than my rolling eyes. Would I recommend this as reading for a high schooler? I think it definitely has redeeming qualities for someone in that age bracket who was feeling marginalized by their peers and looking for someone to whom they could relate. So, yes. Yes, I would.

Would I recommend it for someone beyond the high school wasteland? Probably not. As I mentioned in my last review, there is definitely not a dearth of graphic novel memoirs out there to be enjoyed, so spending time on one like this when there are several other better ones to experience? No, I’d not choose this one over those others. Right off the top of my head, I’d name Alison Bechdel’s Fun House as a holistically superior coming-of-age tale.

Final Verdict: Add another graphic novel to the return pile.

One of the most fascinating things that I have discovered about the graphic novel is how many depict writers’ attempts to plumb the depths of their (or their families’) souls in poignant and uncomfortable ways. Uncomfortable for them. Uncomfortable for us. Sometimes, the best literature is the kind that leaves us feeling unsettled afterward.

When it leaves you feeling somewhat apathetic, that’s either a sign that you haven’t done something correctly…or that your audience reads too many disturbing memoirs.

I think Jonathan Ames’s The Alcoholic falls mostly into this latter category. I’ve read several graphic novel memoirs of darkly revelatory natures. I’ve also read several regular memoirs that deal with similar issues and vices as those of Ames’s protagonist (admittedly, though, Ames is the first one to feature an “octogenarian dwarf” in his storyline). Ames falls somewhere in the middle of these previous reads. His story about his submersion into alcohol and drugs is compelling, his writing style is engaging, and the accompanying artwork by illustrator Dean Haspiel is clean and sometimes clever. However, I think the cover art is the most appealing design work from this book. I love the components of the bar scene used in such a tantalizing tableau.

I don’t mean to come across as so dismissive of Ames’s novel. If you aren’t like me and make a habit of picking up similar works on a regular basis, you might find this to be a provocative memoir. Ames is honest and oftentimes quite funny in that self-deprecating way mastered by the damaged. The ending is patently predictable, but that can be forgiven in light of a solidly and entertainingly told story preceding it.

Final Verdict: Again, it was an interesting diversion, but not something that I foresee purchasing for my library.

Our beautiful library’s graphic novel section just keeps getting better and better each time I visit. It’s a ploy, denizens. They know what to do to foil my desperate attempts to read only books from my own library. If only I was strong enough to resist the clarion call of all those beautiful books, just waiting to be mine, if only for a little while…

During this recent trip, I tried to limit myself solely to the graphic novel section. These are always faster reads, which means that I can quickly get back to whatever non-pictorial literature I was reading before the latest graphic divergence. Also, I’ve really enjoyed the graphic novel discoveries that I have made this year. There’s something so uninhibited about this particular medium of storytelling. Plus, there’s the doubled delight when you discover a brilliant story depicted by an incomparable artist (see Blacksad, which remains one of my favorite BookBin2011 reads).

I ended up leaving with five books from this section (and two from the nearby short story section, but we’ll get to the them when the time is right). First to be cracked open? Vertigo Crime’s A Sickness in the Family.

Written by crime novelist Denise Mina, this is the tightly wound tale of a family that moves at Mach-5 speed from the realm of marginally dysfunctional to irrefutably broken. Of course, being a crime comic, the end result of this damaging downgrade is death of diabolical proportions.

The Usher family finds their numbers dwindling a notch at a time after the father opts to purchase the downstairs apartment so he can increase the size of the family home. Of course, the downstairs came to him for a song after its previous tenants killed each other in a gruesome holiday-fueled domestic disturbance.

Is the ill will that’s now befalling the Ushers the remnants of a curse that haunts the land on which their home is built? Or is something far less spectral…and far more sinister that is causing the Fall of the House of Usher?

Ah. I was waiting this whole time to squeeze that one in. Edgar Allan Poe, FTW.

Artwork by Antonio Fuso is clean and concise, but not really much to write home about. Fuso’s done a lot of illustration for G.I. Joe comics. Let that be whatever you wish it to be.

Final Verdict: Interesting side trip of a read, but not a book that I feel I need to add to my library any time soon.

So remember when I was in Toronto a few weeks ago and we met up with a bunch of my groovy ImagiFriends^TM to go to this used book store that specializes in geeky books?

Yeah, so while I was there, I stumbled upon their graphic novel section, which was kind of small but still decent. And what, dear denizens, should I find but a CSI graphic novel! After quickly perusing it, I realized that it wasn’t one of the collections that I’d seen before, which, to be brutally honest, had some of the most horrifying and amateurish artwork I think I’ve ever seen in a comic book. I need to figure out which collection that was, because I don’t want to have anything to do with it or the artist behind it.

CSI: Serial, however, was drawn by Gabriel Rodriguez, with flashback and “speculation” (think those moments on the show where the CSIs speculate about what they think might have happened based on evidence they’ve just collected or testimony they’ve just heard) artwork done by Ashley Wood. I have to say, this was one of my favorite aspects of the art in this collection: the delineation of styles, with the main story presented in more traditional comic line art and the flashbacks and speculation moments done in rough, abstract watercolors. I also liked how the lettering was done in the flashback sections, with the text captured in boxes that looked like little manila folders. The extra-nice touch? Each CSI had a different “tabbed manila folder” design for their dialogue during these abstract sections. For example, Grissom would have a folder with a green tab all the way to the left of the box, while Sara would have a folder with a red centered tab. Subtle, clever way to help us keep track of who was providing the exposition.

As for the main artwork, Rodriguez did a laudable job of bringing our favorite band of Vegas investigators into the two-dimensional comic book world. They were passable but not precise duplications; there was always something just a little off about each of the comic depictions. I think it might have been that all their heads were slightly too big for their bodies. Made them all look a bit like bobble heads. However, with the exception of his depiction of Greg (which looked nothing like Eric Szmanda), Rodriguez’s renderings were easily identifiable, including those of secondary and even tertiary CSI characters. Plus, I finally discovered the origin and meaning of this panel, which I found a while ago and has made me laugh every time I’ve looked at it:

Image courtesy of Jorja Fox: Online

Yes, I really am that juvenile. You have to admit, though, out of context? You know you laughed, too. Nice eyebrow arch, though, right? Right.

So what about the actual story behind CSI: Serial? Written by Max Allan Collins (who is probably best known for: A) his graphic novel The Road to Perdition; and B) looking like an Elton John clone), the primary case is all about a Jack the Ripper copycat killer, with a secondary case that’s not terribly difficult to figure out but was run by Sara and Nick, which is a pairing that we don’t see that often on the show anymore. It’s admittedly not the most original or creative storytelling for the very first CSI comic arc, but I will say this in this collection’s favor: A lot of times when production companies decide that they want to saturate the market with as much merchandise as they possibly can pertaining to their show, in an attempt to ride the coattails of popularity for as long as they can, what you often get is something rushed and inferior. With Serial, IDW Publishing gave CSI fans a solidly drawn comic with a story that, while not earth-shaking in originality, is thoughtfully crafted, well-written, and an enjoyable ride.

Final Verdict: Not only am I keeping this collection, I’ve done a little research and discovered that Collins, Rodriguez, and Wood teamed up for several other collections, which are supposedly superior in story and presentation to this one. I perhaps may have sought some of these out for further investigation. Analysis may soon be forthcoming.

So when you’re lucky enough to find not just one but two graphic novels written by Neil Gaiman at the local library, you take that as a sign. A sign that you’re meant to read both, even though one of them is for a comic book with which you are admittedly completely unfamiliar.

Best way to learn is to dive in, right?

Thus it was when I found Whatever Happened to the Caped Crusader? nestled on a shelf right next to another Gaiman story entitled Eternals. A quick perusal of the cover jacket let me know that this Marvel title belonged to a story originally begun by Jack Kirby back in 1976. However, additional reading has led me to believe that the origins of the Eternals crosses a bit more time…and another big name comic publisher.

Whatever convolutions of concept and creation existed for these Eternal guardians of humanity, I figured that if they’d been around as long as me, and Marvel felt they were important enough not only to revive but to task a writer as skilled as Neil Gaiman with breathing life back into their story…well, then they must be worth a bit of my time.

Plus, I was pleased to see John Romita, Jr., linked with this project, providing the artistic interpretations for Gaiman’s story. He’s perhaps best known for being the artist behind Kick-Ass. Here, he provides solid old-school comic artistry. Nothing exceptionally fancy, but a solid four-color world for our heroes to plunder and save in true comic form.

I wish I could rave about this novel the way I did about Gaiman’s Batman tales. However, there was something off about this series of comics that never captivated me the way Gaiman’s Dark Knight did. I don’t fault Gaiman for this. Sometimes, I simply don’t like a story or character concept. I think that was the case here. Nothing about the story of the Eternals captured me and made me either care about them or want to continue reading their story.

Really, I found myself simply finishing the book because Hurricane Irene was battering us left, right, and center, and I figured that was as good an excuse as any to read something. Unfortunately, I was about as apathetic about finishing Eternals as I am about writing about it now.

Final Verdict: Back to the library go the Eternals. Perhaps someone else will find their tale a bit more captivating than I did.