Greg Carpenter received his Ph.D. in English from the University of Mississippi with a dissertation on masculinity in the plays of August Wilson and Tennessee Williams. In addition to publishing on both playwrights, he has also published on a variety of other subjects including writer/actor Eric Bogosian, Flash Gordon, Boris Karloff, and Stephen King. He has also taught a wide array of college courses in American Literature, Shakespeare, Comic Books, and Creative Writing (Playwriting and Screenwriting). He currently teaches at a university in Nashville, Tennessee.
The best-written book of Neil Gaiman’s career is focused, lyrical, and profoundly perceptive in its exploration of childhood and memory, and it’s also quite frightening—like one of Truman Capote’s holiday stories by way of Stephen King.
For readers with only a cursory understanding of Western philosophy, this book might seem intimidating, but there's no need for worry. When the primary philosophers on call are Plato, Descartes, Nietzsche, and Sartre, it’s pretty clear we’re only coloring out of the Crayola box of eight.
Since nothing kills street cred like unsolicited love from the establishment, news of a collection of scholarly essays on Bruce Springsteen might provoke skepticism, even fear. It needn’t. As awkward shows of affection go, this one is actually pretty good.
The Sandman takes readers through the kingdom of dreams, and Neil Gaiman, like a magnificently deranged Gnostic tour guide, spends as much time off-road, exploring the diversions, back roads, dives, and alleyways of his story, as he spends on the main highway.
Even though a contemporary eye can find both amusing and offensive stereotypes in many of these comics, compared to the nadir of TV's “Ghetto Man”, they seem like they could have been written by Ralph Ellison.
Grant Morrison’s ability to make connections between seemingly humdrum events and grandiose ideas becomes infectious. Reading Supergods and immersing in his ideas gives one as much kick as a radioactive spider bite.
In a conversation with Jerry Robinson, the man who created the Joker, we learn he is much like the superheroes with which he will forever be identified; his career reflects a lifetime of pushing boundaries, challenging conventions, and fighting for artistic integrity.
Neither megalomaniacal villain nor forgettable victim, Sinclair McKay manages to produce a book that works in many ways like a Bond film: it’s both smart and dumb, conventional and idiosyncratic, funny and dull, and in the end, it runs on too long.