I’m a tolerant reader, I really am
—or at least I like to think that I am. I tend to judge each book based on its genre, origin, specific characteristics and basically, value it for its strengths instead of its flaws. But from time to time, against that sincere general positive predisposition of mine, I can’t help but hate a title I’m reading or have read
—so much it almost makes me angry. Happened a few months ago with a graphic novel by a Spanish author: a nonsense, “I’m so cosmopolitan and metaphorical and modern and have identity issues but still can’t come close to drawing anything” load of crap.

Again, just yesterday, with Snyder’s Metal #1. Utterly lacking any sense of tempo or plot continuum, I stood before the abscence of one single original idea. Boy, was I pissed off. I expected way more from the guy who delivered The Court of Owls saga than stealing a basic Stranger Things Season 1 concept, for instance. Can’t say enough how disappointed I was. Even having Capullo draw the story didn’t minimize the damage. Terrible book. Won’t be able to shake off my “DC sucks” bias this way.

Oh.

AND I also re-read Bone #53 for no particular reason than pure chance picking and suddenly the sun shone again through my window. Can’t fathom why some people would care to read that book in
—sigh- colour, though: You cannot, by definition, improve perfection.