Last month’s picks for my favorite comics unsurprisingly generated some pushback from readers who felt I’d gotten too political (leading with the inclusion of a work called Gaza in My Phone will do that – I am not so naive as to pretend it wouldn’t). These comments ranged from inarticulate gaseous shouts of wokeness (easy to ignore) to more thoughtful concerns that these types of thoughts were not why people read comics, or at least my thoughts on comics (less so). While I know that well less than 10% of the thousands of words I write every month are really espousing any kind of socio-political beliefs, I did at least want to respond to why I approach these writings the way I do.
I understand the desire for art as an escape. Like many people, I use it that way a lot of times too. Some days, when the kids are asleep, I just want to watch the Cubs or play Elden Ring or read Superman (on occasion, I even try two of the three at the same time, in a game I call ‘Elden Swing’). I don’t want to be challenged, I don’t want to look the world’s depravity in the eyes, I just want to *be somewhere else* for a little while. That’s ok. We should all be so lucky.
But I do also think it’s a vital part of humanity to recognize that privilege, to be thankful for it, and to remain consistently curious enough to explore the ways that privilege is not granted the world over. Some art is meant only to entertain, and some art is more focused on education, or awareness, or sharing a personal experience. Comics, in all their glory, cover this wide array of focuses and that’s reflected in what I choose to read and celebrate here on Comic Book Herald.
Now, I do have to make an effort to get myself in the headspace to learn, or to be emotionally wrecked. It’s weird to apply to the leisure activity of reading, but it takes real effort sometimes. A few books on the below list are an example – “Reclaiming Memories from the Guatemalan Genocide” is clearly some serious, emotional history – as was my experience this past month reading Rosalie Lightning, Tom Hart’s devastating graphic novel about the loss of their two year old daughter. Most days, most moments, I look at those books and think that’s too hard right now. That’s not what I need right now. It takes resolve – for me at least – to make myself vulnerable enough to openly weep at Hart’s impossible grief.
This is not a mandate, or a sermon telling you when and how to experience challenging art. It’s only my appraisal that those hard reads make me a more caring, more well-rounded comics fan. I see the world with more empathy, I care for my family more deeply, I want to right wrongs more passionately. Art did that. Comics did that. Because I made time and made space to let them.
Comic Book Herald will always be full of the fullest awareness of what I find in comics, from the silliest fiction to the most striking hard truths. And I will write in such a way that meets these comics where they’re at – it would be irresponsible and even more cowardly than I already am to pretend the artform is perpetually a mere distraction, particularly when the subject matters are glaringly serious. I don’t expect every reader to perfectly mirror where I’m coming from in a chorus of agreement; I simply hope you remain open to reading some of these excellent works and finding what it is they inspire in you.
In addition to this month’s favorite reads, you can also check out Comic Book Herald’s official best comics of 2025 so far.
You can find the (near) full 2025 list of all my favorite comics this year on Bookshop. I’m up over 85 for the year! Don’t hesitate to let me know any of your favorites I may have missed via dave@comicbookherald.com!
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Physics For Cats
The odds are not in favor of a short collection of untethered science cartoons grabbing my attention, but Tom Gauld is just that good. Gauld’s latest collection of intelligent, humorous, one-and-done gags were originally created for New Scientist Magazine, but you really don’t have to be in the scientific community to appreciate jokes about infinite spirals or vampire scientists. While Gault finds the comedy in stodgy subjects, I’m most impressed by his regular inventiveness, utilizing no more than six panels to take ambitious swings on how comic strips can be delivered and read. For example, one strip is four panels, with two parties on an infinitely recurring loop as they talk about the value of running an experiment indefinitely. Another strip utilizes the Penrose stairs effect to make a joke about scientists having a hard time knowing which floor their department is on. It’s a series of high-brow cartoons without any of the snobbery audiences tend to associate with the likes of the New Yorker.
Assorted Crisis Events Vol. 1
Deniz Camp has been on such a heater in the 2020s (20th Century Men, The Ultimates, Absolute Martian Manhunter) that the expectations for a creator-owned Image comic from him, Eric Zawadzki, Jordie Bellaire, and Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou are through the stratosphere. Whereas other comics creators have the benefit of taking readers by surprise, Camp is now in a position where anything short of one of the best comics of the year is almost surprising. It also puts me in a position of explaining why the first volume of Assorted Crisis Events isn’t among my year-end favorites, even though it’s DEFINITELY REALLY GOOD!
In premise, Assorted Crisis Events is firing for the greats. This is Astro City meets Ice Cream Man (Icetro City? Ass Cream Man?), where Camp and team sink deep into the human toll on regular people living through the likes of Marvel’s Secret Wars or Crisis on Infinite Earths. The Astro City is there in the first issue as a woman checks her phone for updates on the latest literal apocalypse, and the Ice Cream Man is there in the world-weary fatalism of a man losing a life’s worth of time in a single issue (#4 for those keeping score). It’s a skillful merger of the two all-time greats, but to date, I’d argue the book hasn’t found its own unique wavelength.
At its best (for me, the first and fifth issues), nothing in comics captures the feeling of being alive in 2025 better than Assorted Crisis Events. As the narrator walks past literal marching Nazis (later revealed to be filming with a Jewish actor breaking down in tears over taking his role), she thinks “Next day or next week (it’s impossible to say which), I wake up to a fascist nightmare. But I still gotta go to work.” Likewise, Zawadzki and Bellaire are entirely up for the challenge of a visual aesthetic both unique and capable of issues tracking a young woman trapped in a literal time-maze of depression!
Make no mistake, Assorted Crisis Events is and promises to be one of the most interesting comics on the stands for as long as these creators choose to make it. This kind of ambition and skill is why I go to the comic shop. And I would not be surprised in the slightest if at some point the skills of everyone involved coalesced into an all-timer in its own right. It’s not there yet – but remember, time flies!
Death of Copra (Copra Round 8)
I took the opportunity of Copra’s conclusion to binge Michel Fiffe’s whole 50 issue run in full for the first time, and it’s one of the better decisions I’ve made this year. Michel Fiffe’s Copra is one of the most inspiring comics of the entire 2000s, steadily transforming a love letter to Ostrander/McConnel/Yale Suicide Squad into the most fiercely uncompromised superhero comic book on the independent scene. Fiffe’s DIY cartooning is bursting with love for the comics that inspired him, while simultaneously striving for artistic growth. It’s not just that Copra is the lil’ supes comic that could – Fiffe’s “Creating Copra” is a fabulous read on what goes into producing a comic like this entirely solo – it’s that Fiffe’s been bringing “Walt Simonson picks up a pack of colored pencils” energy to action-espionage since before Daniel Warren Johnson made it award-winning. Every issue of Copra has the potential to take an astonishingly ambitious swing, with Death of Copra taking plenty of silent issue splash energy to the work’s conclusion.
Admittedly, there’s a risk of getting too caught up in loving everything Copra embodies – if this isn’t the strongest anti AI argument in comics, I don’t know what is – without actually considering its narrative core. Realistically, if Fiffe put these scripts to a DC House Style depiction, I can’t imagine I would have made it 10 issues – forget 50. In many ways Copra steps out of the Squad’s shadow only by sheer force of creative dedication – not because the book itself is especially interested in stories that don’t closely mirror their foundations (Death of Copra once more returns to Fiffe’s Ochizon/Fourth World saga, perpetually cooler in premise and teases than in execution).
We had a similar My Marvelous Year conversation recently about Matt Fraction and David Aja’s Hawkeye – that without Aja’s innovations, Fraction’s scripts drive a mediocre reading experience – and as The Hawkeye Defender(TM), I pointed out that’s simply not an alternate reality we live in. I should probably apply the same logic to Copra. Yes, if, and, but, blah, blah, blah… the actual comics Fiffe’s put out in the world are glorious, pure entertainment. This final volume won’t sway you one way or the other, but it cements what I’ve felt the past few weeks of binging: Thank you Michel Fiffe for putting this act of expression into comics.
Talking To My Father’s Ghost
The last couple years have left me exposed to my strongest adult grief, and also the realization that there’s even more in store. It’s an obvious yet scary thought, although ideally one that helps me seize the deer for the trees, as they say. Comics about loss and grief resonate just a bit more deeply – peak the aforementioned Rosalie Lightning – but they can also fall into the trap only tapping a single emotion. Some books only ever attend the funeral, not the after-open-bar at a local pasta joint.
Alex Krokus’ Talking To My Father’s Ghost is a resonant, refreshing reaction to loss, as Krokus paints a loving portrait of his father’s passing, and imagines a world where it lead to a series of ongoing comic strips with his father’s ghost. Laughing so you don’t cry is hardly unprecedented, but Krokus finds a uniquely clear-eyed way to leverage humor in the spirit (heh) of his father, gone too soon. It’s charming, humorous, and above all, lovingly honest, both in the glorified memory of a lost parent, and the anger about what might have been if they had taken better care of themselves. Krokus doesn’t wallow, just keeps moving through it, keeps asking how those around him handle grief, understanding there’s no single answer here. Sometimes the answer is you make the best graphic novel of your career.
Silenced Voices: Reclaiming Memories from the Guatemalan Genocide
Pablo Leon’s YA graphic novel about the Guatemalan Civil War is both an effective history for oft-ignored slaughter (at least in American history) and an emotionally centered interpretation of an immigrant’s experience. Leon begins with a young teen in America first learning of the Guatemalan Civil War, and his immigrant mother who miraculously survived and has until now bottled away the painful, unbearable memories. The approach wisely allows Leon to root the understanding of repulsive genocide in an intergenerational family drama.
Leon tackles the dark history with a seamless blend of research and imagined relationships, somehow able to take the shattering past and transform it into a vision of hope. A strong addition to a growing field of historical graphic novels targeted at the YA audience.
Ice Cream Man Vol. 11
As I’ve yelled to anyone who will listen, Ice Cream Man by Martin Morrazzo, W. Maxwell Prince, Chris O’Halloran and Good Old Neon is the best ongoing comic book of the decade. Personally, I don’t think it’s an especially close competition (what’s up The Department of Truth, Monstress or Chainsaw Man!). I maintain this aggressive stance while simultaneously acknowledging the ICM trade releases of 2024 and 2025 (volumes 10 and 11, respectively) haven’t made their way up to the official CBH best 50 graphic novel of the year list. Does this mean a once great comic is losing steam on the approach to issue #50 (a remarkable feat in this market in and of itself!)?
Well, in a literal sense, yeah. Ice Cream Man released 5 issues in 2024 (more or less the average since 2021), and so far in 2025 there have been 2 (with plans for a third!). Turns out releasing the most ambitious, formally experimental mass-produced comic book bi-monthly is an undertaking! So long as the team keeps up with a trade a year, I’ve got nothing to complain about, and volume 11 offers one fascinating gimmick (issue #43’s 22 pages are composed of individual 1-page horror stories with guest writers such as Grant Morrison, Kelly Sue Deconnick, Matt Fraction, Geoff Johns, Deniz Camp, Zoe Thorogood and Jeff Lemire!) and one experimental gut-punch, published with literal ripped-from-the-headlines newspaper front pages to put the Ice Cream Man spin on an otherwise hamfisted “reality is the *real* horror” manifesto.
Two things are true here. On one hand, I want to see Ice Cream Man knock my hair back (or what’s left of it) for three straight issues. That hasn’t happened in a while! And two, no comic captures my attention with sheer possibility like Ice Cream Man, and I’ll be absolutely inconsolable if/when it finally ends.
Ultimate Spider-Man Vol. 3: Family Business
If we formally designate House of X/Powers of X an event (or at worst, a limited maxiseries), my calculations indicate Ultimate Spider-Man #13 to #18 are the best consecutive Marvel Universe issues in a Jonathan Hickman written run since 2015. This is mildly misleading as the only competition within this criteria is X-Men (higher highs, but never as consistent for 6 straight issues), G.O.D.S. and the preceding issues of Ultimate Spider-Man, but the point I’d like to make here is a simple one: Ultimate Spider-Man is peaking with volume three just in time for Marvel to announce the universe is shutting down in early 2026.
I’ve been in the camp of seeing the logic in actually letting the Ultimate Universe end in April 2026, but re-reading the third arc of Ultimate Spider-Man from Hickman, Marco Checchetto and David Messina really makes me second-guess that defense. I didn’t expect Hickman’s second act at Marvel to include any post X-Men runs beyond 12 issues, and here we have Hickman, Checchetto and team locked and loaded for at least 24. What’s more important here? An Ultimate Universe that fulfills the running clock of its premise and doesn’t overstay its welcome, or letting a creative team cook on the most interesting Spider-Man comic book run of this millennium. Like I said, I’m second-guessing the defense.
The third volume picks up steam by putting Peter and Harry (and vicariously, their families) in real danger, with Kraven the Hunter capturing and tossing them in a Mole Man controlled Savage Land for his ultimate hunt (hell yeah, comics!). Meanwhile, Mysterio is true to their name, as their secret identity reveals one of the coolest twists in the entire Ultimate 2niverse. There’s really no wasted space in this book, with nearly every character getting a surprisingly interesting storyline (J. Jonah Jameson hasn’t had this many fans in his entire life!). I don’t know what exactly follows the end of this Ultimate Universe, but if I get a vote, it’s Hickman and Checchetto left the hell alone to cook on a follow up.
Hello Sunshine
I knew I’d appreciate Keezy Young’s Hello Sunshine, but I was not prepared for the graphic novel to completely blow me away and seriously enter the best of the year conversation. Hello Sunshine follows 5 high school teens, with one chapter dedicated to each, as one of the teens, Alex, mysteriously goes missing. The remaining four – connected by friendship, family, and developing queer love – doggedly search to unearth what happened to Alex and whether or not he’s even still alive.
Young brings a Mazzuchelli/Aja inspired style of cartooning – with a skill right alongside one of my modern favorites, Tyler Boss – to the YA horror genre, with an autumnal color palette by way of Matt Hollingsworth. Young’s Scooby Doo teen paranormal investigators simply look phenomenal, with the blend of style, character, and flourish that elevates a graphic novel from nice to transcendent. At my most reductive, I’d say it’s like what if Heartstopper met Hellblazer, but that only captures parts of Noah and Alex’s sweet romance, and the developing threat of various demons that may or may not be real. There’s a real lived-in complexity and attention given to each of the teens and their relationships to both Alex and each other, with fully satisfying arcs for the whole gang.
If you’ve read Young’s award-winning Sunflowers, you know the author has effectively laid bare her own experiences with bipolar mania and depression. Young brings that same hard-earned perspective to Hello Sunshine, with an almost impossibly seamless blending of mental health awareness and demonic possession, without losing the seriousness of the real to the cushion of the metaphor. What’s remarkable is how Young’s intention gains clarity as the lengthy – near 400 page – work progress, setting up trope-filled ‘outs’ only to knock them all down one by one before settling on a reality I’ve literally never seen in fiction.
Here’s the other thing about Hello Sunshine: It’s actually scary. Listen, I know I’m the famously brave young comics critic (brave enough to admit I find Metroid Prime terrifying!), but Hello Sunshine’s paranormal/demonic presences gave me pause when I considered reading with the sun down. Young’s demons are like what if the shadows in your attic ate Mike Mignola’s scariest drawings, and the use of colliding lettering to depict the voices in Alex’s head are claustrophobic, traumatic and overwhelming. All with great purpose too.
Hot damn this book! Among the year’s best. Young’s next comic can’t come fast enough.
Cannon
I missed out on Lee Lai’s Stone Fruit, one of the most critically acclaimed graphic novels of 2021, so I truly had no idea what to expect from Cannon apart from art that delighted critics last time out. Much like my experience with Olivier Schrauwen’s Sunday, turns out those critics knew what they were talking about. Lai writes some of the best dialogue and character development in comics, here with a chef’s assistant steadily building to a nervous breakdown. Lai’s steady four-panel black-and-white cartooning evokes a simplicity that belies the complexity of gripping character work that – with one exception – almost never explodes into the sensational.
“Slice-of-life” is overused as a descriptor, too often in comics meant to illustrate a realization that “uh, this one doesn’t have costumes and punching!” Cannon will unquestionably get the “slice-of-life” label too, but I think that undersells the actualization of the lives that Lai builds here, the kind of ear and eye for life that makes you wonder if this fiction could actually be autobiography. If you plot out what *actually happens* in Cannon, I suspect it would sound like the most innocuous bottle episode of The Bear. Yet, Lai’s pacing is captivating, leading with the dramatic irony of a wrecked restaurant, and then steadily moving through hesitant romance, fracturing friendships, sexually manipulative bosses and supportive co-workers until we fully understand why plates have to fly across the dining room. One of the best works of the year. I won’t be missing anything from Lai again.
Catch up on all CBH’s favorite graphic novels of 2025 right here!
Thank you for Ass Cream Man Dave, you are truly a genius