As I get older (and obviously more grumpy) I find myself not watching much television, very selective of what movies I go to see and what I read. I’m more likely to listen to a Radio 4 programme (the content of which will be nicked by TV documentaries for broadcast six months later) or be very selective in what comics I read.
For me the stories by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips are fast becoming my equivalent of a highly anticipated blockbuster movie in comic book form. The beauty is I also have a whole back catalogue of their material to read, being late to the party.
Pulp is magnificent. From the cover to the last bloody panel this is a great book. The artwork is pure class with exceptional pop culture imagery making each frame scream out to be hung on your wall. The dialogue and pace of the story flows perfectly, pulling you in with great episodic finesse. Even in your hands the book feels epic and shouts out what we always wanted comics to be when we were young and less grumpy. Sure comics ‘grew up’ but some are maturing like a fine wine. This is one of the best and I advise you to not keep it gathering dust on a shelf but unscrew the cork and savour every last drop.
Sharpshooting cowboys, 1930’s New York and Nazi bashing – what more can you want? Pulp as a work of fiction has made me less grumpy this evening. That’s the truth.