Babis recounts growing up during Poland’s lurching transition into capitalism in this scattershot graphic memoir. Born in 1992, Babis benefits from her family’s economic rise (depicted like a game of Life) but her schooling is taken over by the country’s resurgent Catholicism (her domineering headmistress quotes scripture as she scrubs makeup off girls and censors student writing). Babis becomes close with two girls who are her fellow staffers on the school newspaper, and the trio get in trouble when one of their strict Catholic mother’s finds the blog they created to post pictures of drunken high school parties. Babis goes on to recount her growing political awareness amid crucial moments in the late ’90s and early 2000s, including the death of Pope John Paul II and the 2010 Smolensk air disaster. Against this backdrop, she and her friends enter young adulthood and navigate parental disapproval and other challenges. Babis’s simple character designs are fluidly drawn but can be hard to distinguish as the leads age and the narrative jumps rapidly between scenes and groups. While the individual character arcs are effective, the connective tissue is a bit too loose. The result is an intriguing glimpse into the period that suffers from an uneven balance of political commentary and personal narrative. (June)

Reviewed on 06/06/2025 | Details & Permalink

Influential Japanese tattoo artist Taro’s retro-lurid English-language debut collects the offbeat horror manga he drew for erotic magazines in the 1960s. The stories range from a sequel to Frankenstein to pulpy pieces featuring mysterious fruit, cursed love, and the dangers of “tranqs” (“Wassup man!” and “Got any drugs on you?” comprises the main dialogue). Over-the-top emotions and outlandish scenarios situate the proceedings comfortably in B-horror territory. Taro doesn’t skimp on the titillating shots required by the era’s men’s magazines, though some spicy moments end up hilariously out of place—to quote the protagonist in “Chime Tree Pass—The Black Rock That Isn’t”: “Why are you naked?!” The slightly philosophical closing story, “The Messenger of Death,” follows two brawling salarymen’s brief sojourn in hell before waking up from the nightmare with the sunrise. The dated font choice for the English lettering throughout and interstitial reproductions of vintage ads that originally ran alongside the stories add to the feel of digging up a classic pulp magazine. Though it’s light on substance, readers who don’t mind a bit of trash with their treasure will have a blast. (May)

Reviewed on 06/06/2025 | Details & Permalink

Positivity conquers all in mamakari’s feather-light comedy manga debut about a heavyset heroine who’s given the gift of indefatigable confidence. Yumeko Koda, a plump young woman suffering from depression, wakes up from an apparent suicide attempt with amnesia and a new optimistic attitude. “I’m super cute!!” she gasps upon seeing herself in the mirror. She’s baffled by evidence that the old Koda had low self-esteem; even when people insult her to her face, she interprets it as jealousy and assures them, “My stunning body and face are simply gifts from God.” The plot focuses less on love than on workplace dramedy, as Koda resumes her job at a snack food company and takes it by storm. But there’s romance, too, as she gets close to a handsome, troubled man her old self admired (and semi-stalked) from a distance. Meanwhile, the police find evidence that her suicide attempt might really have been attempted murder, leaving Koda to wonder who could possibly have such a grudge against her. Mamakari’s simple shojo-style artwork is cute and funny, though Koda is inconsistently drawn throughout the volume. The potentially fatphobic premise develops into a cheeky paean to self-acceptance, with Koda encouraging and uplifting those around her as much as she talks herself up. Readers looking for a plus-size serotonin boost will find it here. (June)

Reviewed on 06/06/2025 | Details & Permalink

Spanish cartoonist Torices shows off his extravagant artistic chops in his ambitious English-language debut, a comedy featuring the misadventures of an anthropomorphic dog. Presented as the “first in 40 volumes” of an “iconic, three centuries [old]” comic strip (one segment is introduced as “Cornelius: The dog who makes boys and girls the world over scream and cry”), the plot revolves around the kidnapping of Cornelius’s friend Alspacka. Cornelius conceals from investigators that he was with Alspacka when the abduction occurred. Later, afraid that his cowardice will be revealed, he tosses the ransom note down a sewer grate. Other characters in Cornelius’s orbit include his frog roommate, Avalutsa, who viciously undermines Cornelius at every turn; Lentil, a coke-sniffing fish who hires Cornelius to write a monthly food column; and girlfriend Josefina, who, when Cornelius professes his love, responds, “Cool, thanks.” Torices matches the narrative’s digressions with an impressive range of comics styles, including homages to Hergé, Dan Clowes, and Winsor McCay. Some overextended riffs (like the “Notes” section, which details the strip’s mock history) wear thin. Still, Torices’s go-big-or-go-home approach will hit a sweet spot for fans of both classic and cutting-edge cartooning. (June)

Correction: An earlier version of this review used the wrong name for Cornelius’s girlfriend.

Reviewed on 06/06/2025 | Details & Permalink

Through luscious watercolors, Albon (The Delicacy) spins a slow-burning international love story. Sarah moves from England to France for an anxiety-inducing office job. Grappling with disrespectful male coworkers and a language she minimally understands, she is alone and lonely—until she meets Ping during a chance collision (literally) with a mime. An au pair from Hong Kong, Ping is kind, generous, and eager to befriend Sarah. Despite understanding only bits and pieces of the other’s English, French, and Cantonese, the two use the “strange patchwork of languages” to learn about each other and connect. With translation dictionaries as their aids, they soon fall in love. Then Ping is forced to return to Hong Kong, and Sarah is left with a choice: continue in France or travel the world for the woman she adores. Albon’s sensuously painted pages reveal the unspoken way people communicate, small acts of devotion that transcend language barriers and cultural traditions. He layers English on top of Cantonese and French speech balloons, drawing readers into the rapid translation that forms the foundation of Sarah and Ping’s relationship. It’s a captivating cross-cultural queer love story that’s perfect for Shing Yin Khor fans. (May)

Reviewed on 05/23/2025 | Details & Permalink

Historian Lemire (Jerusalem: History of a Global City) compresses millennia into a nimble graphic chronicle of the holy city, drawn by Gaultier (Dungeon). Narrated by Zeitoun, a 4,000-year-old olive tree, the story of Jerusalem’s founding is told first through archaeological relics, then across the fates of successive conquering empires. Key moments are highlighted by profiles of major figures, such as Arculf, a Frankish bishop in the 600s, and mid-1800s mayor Yousef Al-Khalidi. Lemire proves adept at balancing myth and scriptural accounts with secular history, uncovering how the city was reconceptualized by Jews, then by Christians who remapped it to create “a new Christian topography of Jerusalem,” and next by Muslims who conquered it and launched an uneasy pluralism, until the Crusades “devastated, stripped, [and] depopulated” the city. An accounting of more recent history shows the ways in which Protestants reshaped pilgrimage to the holy city and how Zionism reframed the contest over control. The focus remains tightly on the city itself (rather than the global political and religious forces outside its borders), and Lemire maintains a brisk pace. Gaultier’s stylized European comics art offers distinct character designs that immediately telegraph eras, balanced against clarity of detail in architecture and backgrounds, all rendered in natural colors. This sweeping yet digestible account showcases a city with many overlapping meanings. (May)

Reviewed on 05/23/2025 | Details & Permalink

Makee’s wide-eyed and insightful semi-autobiographical debut centers on a teenage immigrant whose adolescence is as hard to navigate as her new home in New York City. Yixuan emigrates from China with her family at age 14. At her high school, she adopts the Anglified name Emma and struggles to adapt to the enormous differences between U.S. and Chinese teen culture. “American classmates are useless!” she thinks as her lab partners slack off and flirt. Gradually, she finds her place, developing a passion for art, a crush on a schoolmate, and a grasp of the complex racial issues at her multicultural school. At the same time, her home life grows strained as her parents and sister have more trouble acclimating. “America is for young people like you,” her father tells her. “Not me.” Makee’s artwork has the simplicity of a teenager’s notebook sketches but bursts with telling details: school cafeteria lunches (“free but not so tasty”), vegetables grown in Chinese American yards, Yixuan’s first Thanksgiving dinner. The result is both a painfully candid coming-of-age tale and a warts-and-all portrait of America. (May)

Reviewed on 05/23/2025 | Details & Permalink

A found family of New York City bohemians finds strength through art in this affirming if somewhat simplistic outing from Zanfardino (You Never Heard of Me). Guerilla artist Rebecca, aka Hecate, despairs at her inability to reach an audience through her admittedly roundabout method of putting up cryptic murals around the city. Resolving to drop la vie boheme and become a “normal person,” she internally monologues about how vapid such normies are. Despite her aims to go mainstream, her friend Mateo drags her into the local queer arts community to volunteer on a production of Rent (the script from which Zanfardino draws this comic’s themes and plot beats). As the troupe’s costumer, Rebecca kicks up romantic sparks with motorbike enthusiast-chanteuse Naomi and helps a trans actor decide whether to conceal his chest scars. Zanfardino’s dynamic, flowing art, tinted in a limited palette of diluted earth tones, adds visual appeal to the slight story. Her views of New York landmarks, streets, and crowds are as eye-catching as her cast of stylish artistes. Despite Rebecca’s lofty pronouncements, the plot doesn’t run deeper than the philosophy offered by the pot-dealing owner of a vintage clothing shop: “Isn’t art just proudly showing your scars to the world?” Those in need of such reassurance will find this worth a look. (May)

Reviewed on 05/16/2025 | Details & Permalink

New Zealand–based animator and cartoonist Wenlock’s edgy debut captures adolescence’s melancholy and rage. Awkward teen Peter quietly navigates his relationships with his bickering parents and a group of bullies led by his cocky classmate, Gus. Despite Peter’s gentle demeanor, his impulse to seek justice makes his situation worse. When new girl Charlie arrives at school, her bravado and snark put Gus and his gang in their place. She draws Peter in, and out of his shell, but also awakens something reckless in him, telling him, “You’re a badass, Peter.” With Charlie’s coaching, Peter begins provoking his tormentors, daring Gus into a cycle of retaliation that ends in tragedy. Wenlock renders his characters in a minimalist, cartoony black-and-white, which belies the complex storytelling. Bullies become more sympathetic characters, families fall apart, no one learns their lessons, and the guy doesn’t get the girl. In a rare moment of introspection, Peter confesses to Charlie, “I’m scared.” He is right to be. Fans of Charles Forsman’s The End of the Fucking World will want to pick up this coming-of-age tale filtered through the lens of a Robert Bresson film. (May)

Reviewed on 05/16/2025 | Details & Permalink

This adept memoir, the solo debut in English from Czech artist Jislová (Bald), chronicles her history of dysfunctional dating with humor and heart but little resolution. From her first school crushes, Stephanie (as the English translation renders her name) falls into a pattern: obsessing over crushes, then losing interest as soon as she starts dating them. In art school, her friends pair off, and she feels pressure to settle into a serious relationship. But the closest she gets to a long-term partner is Mike, an aloof repeat hookup who doesn’t want his friends to know they’re sleeping together. (“It’s like he liked me only when no one was looking.”) Stephanie studies psychology, confronts the childhood traumas that shaped her attachment issues, and learns to set boundaries but remains unsure of what she really wants. It can be frustrating to observe repeat missteps, but Jislová’s crisp art, enlivened with pops of rosy color, gives a smart gloss to her foolish choices. The narrative’s wry moments include a tour through Stephanie’s gallery of unattainable love interests, her disastrous Tinder dates (“rude to the waitress,” “doesn’t recycle,” “Axe body spray”), and her wary first look at Mike’s bedroom: “Most true crime podcasts begin like this.” Readers may sigh over Stephanie’s mistakes, but they’re likely also to sympathize. (May)

Reviewed on 05/16/2025 | Details & Permalink