I really need more Osamu Tezuka in my life, and so I'm reading Black Jack along with the rest of the Buddha books (which are just so damn impressive that I don't even want to try posting about them). Black Jack is a lot of fun - it feels like a TV show. Take a shot of Murder, She Wrote "oh gosh! I happened across the most intriguing caper! how do I always get into these scrapes!" premise; blend in a bit of that gorey medical drama that all the kids are talking about these days; then add a satisfying lone-wolf vigilante twist. Mix well. Black Jack himself is a famous, and very coy, rogue doctor that charges near-extortionist fees for his services - after all, he's the best, and most daring, in the business. He turns out to be a really complex character, though, which kept me reading, and smiling, with every cheeky turn. I brought this book with me on a trip and it was an excellent choice. It's a decent paperback volume, but the length of the episodes is just perfect. Nice, occasionally tough-love tales in easy-to-swallow capsules. See what I did there with the medical analogy? Yeah, I hate myself, too.
Oh my God. I finally read it. I can't remember who told me, but they said, "you will cry". They weren't far off. I know there's likely an oversaturation of memoir-style coming-of-age graphic novels out there, but this has to be the gold standard. I ignored my husband's parents for an entire evening because after 10 pages, I literally couldn't stop reading. I even stayed up late to finish it. My emotional stomach is quite frail, and any story that involves child abuse just wrenches my heart, so between the two churning organs - and the compulsive need to end this book, no matter how painful - I was actually triggered into an acute bipolar episode. My husband awakened to me tapping at the glass at 3 a.m. like a stray dog because I'd been in such mental disarray that I'd locked myself out of the house! Awesome, right? Thanks, Craig Thompson, for doing your part to keep the pharmaceutical corporations in business. Also, I am one of those people that peed their pants all over The Office's Jim and Pam romance, so of course introducing two adorable, troubled teens with their completely pure-hearted love affair - hair-stroking and letter-writing - just sent me squeeing all over the guest room, freaking out the cats. I can't even go on with this. In short, Craig Thompson, you owe me a box of Kleenex. And my poor husband a six-pack!