That felt good. It was a little frightening at first, but it felt good.

I decided to kick the remaining DC and Marvel monthlies off of my reserve list. Even with the progressive herd-culling over the last year, that’s still a fairly substantial number of titles. But it just seemed like time.

Blame Previews, actually. I was looking through the current catalog this morning, and I realized at a certain point that I was deciding not to pre-order things based on my usual expenses on Big Two floppies, which I rarely (if ever) re-read. In fact, if I ever touch them again, it’s to file them into long boxes as I curse the space they consume and time they demand just as clutter.

So, what, I’m not going to buy the Comics Journal Library edition on writers so I can squint at a bunch of DC titles to find the bits I like amidst all the Infinite Crisis references? I’m going to keep staring wistfully at all those volumes of Buddha on the shelves as I lug home a stack of Aftermath tie-ins from Marvel? (Okay, that might be a bad example, because the Vertical editions of Buddha, while exquisite, still strike me as too expensive, but you know what I mean.)

So, re-readability is the new watchword. Less inertia to my buying patterns, more product that comes in satisfying chunks (such as manga digests), and, hopefully, less aggravation on a variety of fronts.

There are a number of things I’d like to buy this week, but they have very little to do with this week’s releases.

There are a few new arrivals that catch my eye – the second volume of Death Note (so soon?), the third volume of Ultra Maniac – but I’ll have to hit the bookstore to make my consumer dreams come true.

In this Engine thread on how manga artists work, Dirk Deppey mentioned a newish book, Manga: Masters of the Art by Timothy Lehmann. It sounds fascinating, and it profiles an interesting mix of creators. (I guess it isn’t so hard to find great women cartoonists in Japan.)

I think I’ve made a bad call in hitching my hopes of buying a copy of Go! Comi’s Cantarella on the local Barnes and Noble. It was kind of a challenge to convince them that the title existed, and I should have just abandoned the effort and ordered it on line, but the staff became really determined about halfway through the search process. By the time the order was placed, three employees had joined the project, and I couldn’t very well pull the rug out from under such a determined group. (I’ve found that while B&N’s manga section is large, it isn’t really as interesting or diverse as I’d like. I’ve had much better luck finding weird, marginal titles or stuff from smaller publishers at Borders. Of course, the closest Borders is an hour away.)

But my unhealthy fascination with the Borgia family might limit my patience. If there’s even a small chance of a sequence featuring someone poisoning an associate via a secret compartment in their jewelry, I must have this manga, and soon.

It’s yaoi–za–palooza over at Love Manga, and I find myself hopelessly distracted by the cover to Man’s Best Friend. Its bodice-ripper composition makes me laugh and laugh. (I probably won’t buy it, as I’m closed-minded about the narrative possibilities of a dog falling romantically in love with its owner. It’s why I’ve been avoiding Guru Guru Pon-Chan.)

The scariest Halloween-related programming I saw this month? Without question, it had to be A Semi-Homemade Halloween with Sandra Lee on the Food Network. I’m always torn between amusement and terror when I see Lee in the kitchen, but her variety of costumes pushed this outing into deeply scary territory. Her sugarplum fairy outfit was deeply scarring.

The least frightening? Anything broadcast by Sci-Fi, especially the billion-hour, crushingly dull Rose Red. And maybe it’s just me, but “A Sci-Fi Original Picture” is all the warning I need to hit the remote as quickly as possible.

I know how you all thrill to my Tales of Yard Work. I’ll give you a second to click “Back” on your browsers.

Okay, so we finally got around to cleaning up the tree limbs from the blizzard earlier in the week, because we’re do-it-yourselfers, which is a synonym for either “masochists” or “cheapskates” or “morons,” your choice. It took hours and it was a total ordeal, but it’s done, so that’s a relief.

But somewhere around hour five, I finally snapped, and I realized I was having thoughts like, “Y’know, I bet this is what those people who live near the X-Men have to deal with all the time. Storm freaks out, and all of a sudden it’s five hours in the yard hauling brush. Yeah, saving the world, blah blah blah. Thanks a lot, and if you think the world feared and hated you before, talk to me after I’m done scrubbing sap out of my hair. Cull the herd, Bendis.”

I forced my mind to go blank after that. Wouldn’t you?

Instead of my usual Wednesday night routine (sitting on the couch and reading comics, possibly with a box of Wheat Thins nearby), we went to a pops symphony concert at the university. It was a nice change of pace, and I can always listen to the overture from Gypsy, especially when it’s played this well. (The Pittsburgh Symphony is quite a group of musicians.)

One thing, though: I think a pretty, well-trained singing voice is actually a detriment to properly selling Stephen Sondheim’s “Send in the Clowns.” If you’re worried about hitting the notes and sustaining your breathing and rounding tones and such, you’re missing the point. The song is served better by a voice with some miles on it and a performer who’s more actor than singer, like Glynis Johns. (Also, just because you’re technically proficient at the piano doesn’t mean that this particular number needs any embellishment. I think Sondheim wrote precisely as many notes as the song needs.)

Okay, two things: As mortifying as I find songs from Phantom of the Opera, they’re even worse in a concert setting.

All in all, it was a pleasant evening. Unfortunately, 90 minutes of Broadway standards still weren’t able to completely dislodge the song that’s currently running through my head. It’s the closing-credits song from the Fruits Basket anime, and it’s got a death grip on my mental soundtrack.

Sometime during the night, my town was secretly relocated to somewhere in North Dakota. There are about six inches of snow on the ground, along with plenty of unsuspecting tree limbs. Transformers started popping at around 2 a.m., and my dogs started freaking out shortly after that. My sense of time is now completely discombobulated.

I’m not helped by the fact that this week’s comics seem like the previous issues just came out last week. I don’t know where October went, but it went quickly.

I love the look of Paris (Amaze Ink-Slave Labor Graphics), by Andi Watson and Simon Gane. If that isn’t enough Andi Watson for you, Oni has the fifth issue of Little Star.

Nothing makes me quite as skeptical as a blood-spattered cover image, especially from DC, but I’ll still pick up Legion of Super-Heroes 11. (I’m on the fence on this title, but I want to see how this story arc finishes.) While I’ve enjoyed a lot of The Losers (Vertigo), I like that it’s moving towards closure. This seems like a story that should have a set end point.

Marvel has some fairly promising titles on offer. I liked the first issue of the second Richard K. Morgan Black Widow mini-series, The Things They Say About Her. (And I’m a sucker for art by Sean Phillips.) A new issue of the Giffen-DeMatteis-Maguire Defenders mini-series is always welcome. I’m missing Jim Cheung’s pencils on the current Young Avengers arc, but I’m still enjoying Allan Heinberg’s scripts. (And hey, if you were waiting for the trade, this is your week.)

At Love Manga, David Taylor has a handy listing of the week’s manga releases, as well as a nifty overview of last month’s top sellers in the Direct Market.

And just when it was safe to go back in the comic shop, a new issue of Previews lands with a shuddering thud. What month is it again?

This weekend’s manga reading was all about catching up with titles that have been back-burnered by the shiny and new.

Some day, I’m going to have to try and figure out how Rumiko Takahashi has managed to successfully stretch such a slim premise out over more than a dozen digests. I’m up to the eleventh volume of Maison Ikkoku, and the characters should have me wailing “Just talk to each other!” and pulling my hair out in frustration. Instead, I’m still charmed by the cast, amused by their complicated lives, and eager to find out how it all ends. In this installment, hapless Godai and cautious Kyoko almost connect… but don’t. Again. Damn it.

I’d reviewed the first volume of Eyeshield 21 a while ago and was charmed by its weirdness. I finally got around to reading the second volume of the football manga, and I’m happy to report that it’s still weird and still funny. There’s a bit more conventional sports manga material in this outing, but weirdness ultimately prevails. Even the explanations of the rules of American football seem strangely skewed. (I have no way of knowing if they’re accurate or not.)

If you’ve been meaning to try Kindaichi Case Files, the latest volume would be a good opportunity. While it isn’t the best mystery in the series, it’s certainly the thickest, coming in at 336 pages of beautifully illustrated sleuthing for $9.99. And even so-so KCF is still pretty darned good. It’s not my fault that Kanari Yozaburo and Satoh Fumiya have set a really high standard.

Okay, there was some shiny and new. I rambled on about Death Note for this week’s Flipped, just in time to miss the fascinating compare-and-contrast of translations found by Cognitive Dissonance. I’m actually kind of glad I didn’t see that piece until after reading the published manga. I don’t generally read scanlations, mostly because I’m one of those dinosaurs who like to hold comics while reading them. (Also, the print versions won’t electrocute me if I drop them while reading in the tub.)

(The following contains fairly detailed spoilers for Dramacon.)

In Dramacon (Tokyopop), Svetlana Chmakova displays considerable skill and real potential as a graphic novelist.

Her illustrations burst with energy and emotion. She has a strong handle on composition and panel flow, modulating both to suit her material, whether it’s comic, dramatic, romantic, or some fusion of those.

She also makes marvelous use of chibi sequences. Because I’m cynical and lazy myself, I often wonder if some cartoonists don’t rely on chibi style to crank the pages out faster. In Chmakova’s case, she’s chosen the chibi moments carefully and illustrated them with the same care she’s used in the realistic sequences. It’s impressive, purposeful stuff.

Chmakova also displays a strong sense of story construction. The volume ticks along from beat to beat, building in intensity in a carefully structured crescendo. Dialogue has a nicely conversational quality.

Overall, it’s a very accomplished debut.

But…

I wish she had more faith in her audience. She has a tendency to underline character traits and overstress mile markers in emotional arcs.

It’s clear from the beginning that protagonist Christie’s boyfriend Derek is a very bad bet. He’s thoughtless and smarmy. When Christie complains about his incessant flirting with other girls, he accuses her of overreacting. (This is the universal signal to get out of the relationship at your earliest convenience. If you’ve left any belongings at this person’s home, you can always replace them.)

But Chmakova wants to remove any uncertainty that Derek is a very bad bet. Over the course of the volume, she gives Derek a series of increasingly undesirable qualities, leaving him in such a ridiculous state of villainy that the reader is left to wonder why Christie is with him in the first place.

Fortunately, a new romantic prospect, cosplayer Matt, is on hand to offer plausible theories. In spite of his clearly articulated antisocial tendencies, Matt is still willing and able to offer pointed and accurate theories as to why Christie would stick with such a crumb, and why she shouldn’t. He isn’t particularly politic about it, but he’s right, because he’s That Shôjo Guy –moody and infuriating, yet gorgeous and sensitive, with just enough scars (one literal) to justify his mild case of misanthropy.

Between Derek’s glaring inadequacies and Matt’s jagged nobility, it’s hard to imagine how anyone could sustain a contest between the two. Chmakova does it by making Derek worse than one could ever imagine, even in light of the fact that Christie behaves in a lot of similar ways.

But it’s all a matter of justification. Derek flirts because he’s egotistical and insensitive. Christie flirts because she feels a mysterious connection to Matt. Derek abandons the booth because he’s selfish. Christie takes off because she’s earned the break. Derek takes a critique from a professional badly and dismisses the pro (Lida, a groundbreaking American manga artist for “Mangapop”) as “a bitch.” Christie takes notes to improve her work as a writer. Derek ditches Christie (who’s lied about having a headache) to watch porn with his friends. Christie misleads Derek and shares cocoa with Matt, but it’s all Derek’s fault because he flirts with girls and makes speeches about space and independence, allowing Christie to turn his rationalizations back on him in a snide, punishing sequence.

So Derek is a bastard, and if Christie behaves badly, it’s all Derek’s fault. And while it’s impossible to sympathize with Derek in the context of the story, it’s easy to shake your head at what a narrative whipping boy he is. Matt is faultless, because he’s That Shôjo Guy.

But for all of Derek’s well-documented loathsomeness, he faces very little in the way of consequences. I’ve seen some people note that his ultimate crime – a literal one, attempted sexual assault – isn’t entirely consistent with the tone of the rest of the book. I disagree, and find it a logical conclusion to his progressive deterioration.

The sequence of events of the assault is weird. Drunk and furious, Derek attempts to sexually assault Christie, but she fends him off. She runs to Matt’s room, where Matt and his sister offer her sanctuary. Matt is outraged, and his sister urges him to calm down, so he doesn’t wind up being arrested for assaulting Derek. (Nobody ever mentions the possibility of Derek being arrested for assaulting Christie, which is a fairly serious omission.) Matt, his sister, and Christie return to Derek’s room to fetch Christie’s things. Christie prevents Matt from assaulting Derek, who ridicules Matt’s disfigurement (because Derek needed a coda of repulsiveness). Christie strikes Derek, Derek pulls Christie’s hair (coda number two), and Matt strikes and threatens Derek.

Then the trio goes back to Matt’s room for pizza and a compressed post-traumatic catharsis. After a happy last day at the con with her new friends, Christie climbs into a car with Derek for the long drive back home.

So Christie is comfortable spending hours in a car with someone who tried to rape her why, precisely? Because she’s found a new boy who’ll treat her properly? We don’t actually see Derek apologize, though it’s implied. But the consequences of the assault are less important than the fact that Christie’s trauma turns out to be something of a breakthrough for Christie and Matt. And that creeps me out. I’m sorry, but it does.

Dramacon goes in a straight, sturdy line from “Christie has a bad boyfriend” to “Christie doesn’t anymore and is much better for it.” But along the way, Chmakova overstates obvious elements and underplays others that could have used more scrutiny or care.

Banana Sunday 3 (Oni Press): Mischievous talking primates, an inquisitive new friend, and a budding romance seem like plenty for teen heroine Kirby to juggle in this mostly adorable mini-series. So why did writer Root Nibot and illustrator Colleen Coover feel the need to give so much panel time to Skye, a stereotypical queen bee? Skye’s jealous antics aren’t nearly as interesting or engaging as the rest of the book, and they feel extraneous. Fortunately, there’s plenty of Go-Go to help me overlook the unsuccessful bits. And Coover’s illustrations are an unqualified pleasure.

Manhunter 15 (DC): In this issue, writer Marc Andreyko and a quartet of artists take readers through the lost-and-found box where Kate Spencer found the various bits of her costume. I’m familiar with most of the characters and some of the storylines that are referenced here, but wow, there’s some backwater continuity on display here (a C-list riff on the Green Lantern Corps, an Image-ready Batman fill-in, and an even-more-cannon-fodder-than-usual version of the Suicide Squad). It’s a weird way to follow a story arc thick with similar DC minutiae where Manhunter was essentially a supporting character in her own title.

Seven Soldiers: Klarion 4 (DC): Whenever I read what Jog has to say about these books, I always feel like anything I could contribute would amount to “Hee! Look at funny cat-boy!” I’m fine with that, actually. And it gives me an excuse to link to his latest Komikwerks column:

“‘I think people are afraid. They’re saying “Jog, I’m really really afraid.” They’re just big fraidy-cats.’

“That’s what I told the New York Times when they came knocking, just as I knew they would, in reference to the brilliant sophistication myself and my crack team had loaned to the Princess line. Oh sure, I guess the ‘physical assault’ aspect of some of my fresh plot twists was a little ‘playing to the bleachers,’ but people loved it.”

She-Hulk 2.1 (Marvel): As happy as I am to see this title return, I’m a bit worried that writer Dan Slott is suffering from a surplus of conscientiousness. After reintroducing his cast and their workplace (the super-human law division of Goodman, Lieber, Kurtzberg, & Holliway), Slott then seems headed towards an attempted reconciliation of his She-Hulk (funny, independent, smart) with everyone else’s (a gamma-irradiated plot device who can reliably generate wholesale destruction when things get too talky). I like this book because it’s an oasis from the maudlin doings of the rest of Marvel’s line, and I’m not particularly interested in a dissection of the counterpoint. There are plenty of good bits, like She-Hulk’s don’t-call-me-I’ll-call-you encounter with the New Avengers, but all of the tethers to Marvel’s grim plotlines aren’t very encouraging.