My Favorite Graphic Novels of May 2025

Folks are always asking me “how’d you get so strong?” and “with a game like that, why didn’t you go pro?” and mostly, “how/why do you read so many comics?” While part of the answer to all of these is “baby, I woke up like this,” I’ll also admit that putting three wild young boys to bed every night affords me some reading time on the nights they need me to sit with them for longer. Lately, though, reading comics in the dark has been replaced by watching the NBA playoffs in the dark (I’m a Bulls fan, but at this point in the playoffs, I think I’m just here for Ant-Man – a sentence no one has ever said before!). This reduction of comics time has given me a strong appreciation of all the great trades and graphic novels on this list, and probably a quicker trigger finger when I need to bail on a new work that just isn’t clicking for me.

I always worry that keeping up with the best of comics month by month can feel a bit like speed dating, and that my rule of giving everything a 50-page minimum may not be enough, especially for more patient works. At the same time, if a work can’t grab my attention via plot, style, or craft within 50 pages… that ain’t all on me! This is all a long-winded way of saying I’m endlessly amazed by how many quite good comics I can’t fit onto my picks, and that if you ask nicely, I’ve got a pretty robust honorable mentions list for comics in 2025!

You can find the full 2025 list of all my favorite comics this year. I’m up to 40 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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Hunger’s Bite / Strange Bedfellows

It’s a bit of a reach on my part to lump these two together, but there are no rules in this world, and I’ll do as I please. The tether here is “absolutely gorgeous graphic novels for YA audiences,” and really this is just an excuse to say I was happily blown away with the skill of Taylor Robin (Hunger’s Bite) and Ariel Slamet Ries (Strange Bedfellows). Hunger’s Bite is a classic vampires-at-sea horror adventure, and Strange Bedfellows is a futuristic play on late-developing superpowers for a teen who would *much* rather they didn’t!

Neither of those overly tidy summaries appropriately capture the rich depth of every page, though. Robin’s Hunger’s Bite uses monsters to explore labor exploitation, and Ries’ Strange Bedfellows uses psychic manifestation of dreams to explore queer longing and family dynamics. Although their styles are quite different – Robin’s chasing gothic Colleen Coover for the Webtoon era, and Ries’ patient character work explodes into psychedelic dreamscapes – both works are great examples of the unique visual fingerprint needed to stand out in an extremely crowded market.

Doctor Rigby: Tales From the Deep

I became so convinced reading John Kissee’s Doctor Rigby that the character was pulled from the free-use copyright haven of the Golden Age of comics that I conducted several very confused searches that mostly led to results for actual real life Doctors (One moment I’m writing a comics review, and the next I’ve scheduled my proctology exam!). Rigby (no known relation to Elenaor) is all Kissee’s, but is rooted thoroughly in supernatural monster-hunting pulp, Doc Savage by way of Doctor Who by way of Hellboy. It’s a testament to Kissee’s confident storytelling that in quickfire short stories through various monstrous maladies, Rigby feels like a long established adventurer in all the best ways.

Tales From the Deep spans Frankensteins, Vampires and Zombies, but all with a careful, almost casual inversion of all the most well worn expectations. Kissee’s bi-tone cartooning weaves easily in and out of shades of horror, with a design sense akin to early DIY Jonathan Hickman (perhaps I’m reading too much into it, but it doesn’t feel like an accident that both began as graphic designers). This is one of my favorite off-the-beaten-path reads of 2025.

Minor Arcana

Truthtelling time: The only hesitancy I feel placing Minor Arcana among my 2025 favorites is due to the fact that I already gave a nod to Jeff Lemire’s Fishflies graphic novel. Honestly, if I had known I’d be this into Lemire’s “return” to a DIY indie ongoing (there’s a lot of “not seen since Sweet Tooth!” hype here), I wouldn’t have included Fishflies. Am I that fickle about overhyping the same creator twice in the span of 5 months? Yes. Yes I am.

But a winning comic is a winning comic, and I’ve been very impressed with Lemire’s 2025 (throwing Absolute Flash into the mix as well). Lemire’s not reinventing himself, and admittedly it would be easy to poke fun at his evolution (instead of fathers/sons Minor Arcana dares to explore mothers/daughters!), but that’s the danger of such incredible longevity and familiarity. Lemire brings his cartooning expertise here to familiar themes – escaping small towns, addiction, broken relationships – and adds the supernatural strange of transporting tarot cards. I’m excited to see what a second volume will bring and whether this truly has “your next favorite long running comic” potential.

The Flip Side

Jason Walz tackles grief head-on in this supernatural horror graphic novel about a preteen boy losing his best friend to cancer. The work stems from Walz’s own loss of a dear friend, and you can feel the hard-earned emotional understanding throughout. There’s no question that a work about grief, this focused on the worst kind of loss can be an incredibly tough sell – life’s hard enough, who wants to put themselves through that kind of emotional ringer for 300 great looking pages? Walz balances the challenge with the mystery of the flipside world, flashbacks that help establish the deceased as a funny, bright child (and not just “the one who passed”), and a difficult but deserved sense of moving forward.

Walz’s “flipside” universe is a great chance to explore his style, with a featured beast like some unholy gorgeous mash-up of Bill Sienkiewicz’s Warlock, Charlie Adlard’s post-apocalypse, and Raina Telgemeir’s middle grade clarity. In a crowded younger readers market, standing out either comes down to truly remarkable story execution or standout style, and Walz has the latter for miles.

Canto: A Place Like Home

I’m starting to think art might imitate life. Someone should write that down. Canto is David Booher and Drew Zucker’s story of the little knights that could, underdogs overcoming incredible odds against the tyrannical oppressions of The Shrouded Man, and it’s a similar comics-miracle to see this book find its way to a conclusion. Canto debuted in 2019 via IDW publishing, achieved some critical acclaim (including a place on CBH’s 50 favorite comics of 2021), and ran for three 6 issue runs and some one-shot specials until the end of 2022. As so often happens in comics, the “freshness” of the book wore off a bit, and Dark Horse grabbed the rights from IDW to print a fourth and now fifth (and for now) final volume concluding the Shrouded Man saga.

Booher, Zucker and colorist Vittorio Astone’s Canto remains as gorgeous as ever, and as earnestly inspiring as it was from day one. I cannot possibly overstate HOW MANY new fantasy comics there are every minute of every day which makes me really appreciate when creators tap into a seemingly empty well for a taste of something refreshing. So the recommendation for Canto Volume 5: A Place Like Home is partly because it’s an effective end to this long-running saga (had they taken the single issue ongoing route, it would be a 30 issue plus one-shots run), but primarily as a plug to go back and start from issue #1 for those who missed the ride.

The Night Eaters Vol. 3: Their Kingdom Come

Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda’s The Night Eaters helps me briefly imagine a world where the YA bookworms flock to the shelves for this magical family fending the demon-apocalypse the way my generation did for that spunky lil’ wizard crafted by that hateful author. This should be a “Big Deal” kind of book, two of comics finest creators churning out big meaty new books in a proper trilogy in the span of 3 and a half years. It’s not that the Monstress creative team lacks recognition (the first volume won an Eisner!), but the work does seem to get drowned out like so much in a completely fractured attention deficit economy. Which is a shame because to my mind Liu and Takeda are as much a comics institution as Brubaker/Philips, and I’d like to see those kinds of duos break through to the Telgemeir and Pilkey level of “I’ve memorized the release date 6 months in advance.”

Admittedly, I drift to big picture thoughts here because the conclusion to The Night Eaters didn’t grab me nearly as much as volume two, although all the snappy, charming family dynamics are as strong as they ever were, and Takeda has the visual portrayal of mystical demons down pat (to the point that I would not be surprised in the slightest if Takeda revealed she has in fact been in talks with a mister stick satan that only she can see for years). Liu and Takeda’s worst day is still a pie-in-the-sky ambition for most of the comics-making world. Personally, I think the team gets lost in the weight of Book 3, the only volume well over 300 pages, with some iffy pacing and confused stakes. Nonetheless, if you were here for the first two books, you’ll want to be here for the third, and when Liu and Takeda click on the dynamics between Milly and Billy, or the reveal of a certain design within the family, it’s among the finest moments in graphic novels. It should be a big deal!

Goodbye, Dolly!

I’ve been buying a LOT of mail-order comics this year, often sight unseen from creators I haven’t read. If it weren’t for the packages full of all ages review comics that I can claim are ALSO for the kids, I think my wife might have some questions. You could make a compelling case that I’m rapidly buying comics to try and stem the gnawing sense of dread I feel about force-fed A.I. consuming all professional opportunities and *gesturing wildly* America in 2025, but I prefer to argue that I’m just really into supporting creators this year!

Annah Feinberg’s Goodbye, Dolly! was among the most on-a-whim recent selections, and what a ride! Feinberg’s cartoons have appeared in The New Yorker, and she brings that acerbic whit and whimsy here to the story of the children of the world’s most famous cloned sheep. The story begins following Dolly’s death (although her spoiled nepo lambs don’t yet realize as much), as the sheeplebrity boasts of her maternal virtues from beyond the grave. Meanwhile, three of the second-gen clone sheep are tossed from their spoiled existence into the wild where a journey of found family and self discovery (well, a bit) ensues. It’s predictably funny in places (You can try to outpun “Phantom Lamb” in a book about Dolly, but you won’t succeed), but surprisingly heartfelt in others. The most interesting element is Feinberg’s use of photography as baaaaaaackground, layering her oddly assembled family over the rustic landscapes of Edinburgh. The approach screams of my favorite thing in comics right now; creatively finding out-of-the-box ways to do it all your damn self!

Precious Metal

In many ways, Darcy Van Poelgeest and Ian Bertram’s Little Bird universe is everything I want out of dystopian comic book sci-fi. Uncompromising vision, futuristic spectacle, thematic prescience, and a many-headed monster oozing with blood and spikes. As John Galati wrote of 2019’s Little Bird on CBH’s year-end best-of list, “The book itself feels like a classic story out of Heavy Metal or Metal Hurlant. It is beautiful even when it’s incredibly bloody. Its characters, outfits, and buildings feel like a cross between Moebius and Katsuhiro Otomo, while its story feels wild and unpredictable.”

Reunited with Matt Hollingsworth, Hassan Otsmane-Elhaou and Ben Didier, Precious Metal returns to this Eisner-award winning world with a 35-years earlier prequel. It’s a calculated, enormous gamble that speaks to both the confidence of the creative team, and the refusal to take part in anything resembling marketing. It has been 5 years since I read Little Bird, which in contemporary attention cycle terms roughly translates to 5 trillion years. The sensible play would be Little Bird Volume 2, continuing both the naming and story of the celebrated first work.

Precious Metal doesn’t give a damn about sensible.

So yes, it’s ironic that a book this centered on the power of memory is operating in a world where the memories of most of its 2025 readers won’t hold up (mine sure doesn’t!). And truth be told, I don’t know that Precious Metal holds up without its Little Bird tethers; it certainly doesn’t resonate as deeply as the first volume. Perhaps this a personal problem (and one that won’t mean a thing in the long game where readers pick up these trades consecutively). I needed a little expository hand holding, and instead Poelgeest and Bertram chopped off my arm and replaced it with infinite pink eels.

Ultimately, though, if I didn’t have any Little Bird expectations, I’d be sitting here raving about the best looking, most fascinatingly constructed sci-fi world I’ve read in comics in 2025. Ian Bertram is mind-bogglingly good, uniquely gifted at hyper-detailed alien designs and ludicrously visceral action sequencing. Most comic artists would sketch out a monster-hunter wearing a suit entirely composed of pouches and Laffy Taffy and call it a very tiring day; Bertram spreads the spectacle across every one of the 60+ page 6 issues. There’s such a rich depth to everything Bertram builds here with Poelgeest, it’s impossible to imagine getting to November 2025 without thinking, “Damn, I should probably reread Little Bird and Precious Metal.”

Holler

One of the finer examples of comics as journalism, and an effective call-to-arms for acts of resistance in seemingly hopeless situations. Denali Sai Nalamalapu’s Holler (not to be understandably confused with Jeremy Massie’s work of the same name released via Dark Horse late last year) digs into the ongoing activism opposing the Mountain Valley Pipeline project (300 miles of controversial gas pipe laid across West Virginia and Virginia). Through six interviews with individuals resisting the ‘MVP,’ Nalamalapu covers a full array of approaches to climate justice, but even more than that, showcases the power of people refusing to cede to intimidating forces moving against them.

Holler is drawn simply and cleanly, generally settling on no more than 3 colors per page, emphasizing the conversations and acts of protest. Regardless of your investment in this particular project, Nalamalapu proves skilled at highlighting the humanity of each of these characters, and the destructive impact these profit-obsessed corporations and government agents have on their lives. Educational, inspiring, and all-around impressive.

Death To The Wizard Kings

Circa 2018 I had my mind blown by Al Ewing’s work on You Are Deadpool, the first time I ever “played” (and lost!) a comic. Since then, I’ve thoroughly enjoyed the choose-your-own-path work of Jason Shiga (Meanwhile, Adventure Comics), and have enjoyed the likes of Rogue Sun and Kieron Gillen and Jamie McKelvie’s Batman: Black and White story playing with a similar approach. Marie Enger’s Death to the Wizard Kings takes the idea a step farther with a part comic, part TTRPG, in which you roll a dice to create and develop your Vat Spawn character’s abilities and traits as you navigate the D&D landscape of Enger’s exuberant black-and-white designs.

There are two crucial details you should know about Death to the Wizard Kings: 1) It is EXTREMELY fun and 2) Enger’s cartooning is excellent, like somebody commissioned a young Mike Mignola to make a zine for Hello From the Magic Tavern. Technically the work was released in 2024, but I bought and read it in 2025, so what is time when you think about it, you know?

I Hated You In High School

In the supreme parallel universe where queer relationships are accepted and celebrated for all that they are, I Hated You In High School would make perfect romcom material, like an A24-elevated Hallmark movie. Kathleen Gros is exceptionally gifted at selling the expressions and body language of the 20-somethings in this narrative, filling every conversation with heart, humor and authenticity. The graphic novel about a struggling cartoonist visiting home and confronting her high school nemesis is so lived-in that I just assumed we were dealing with autobiography until it occurred to me to actually check (unlike Queen’s Gambit, this did not turn my world upside down when I realized it was (mostly) fiction!).

Even some of my comics pet peeves – the dreaded extended flashback sequence! – are buoyed with smart interjections that keep the work light on its feet (Tessa’s bestie hitting her up with a “BUDDY” after a particularly revealing high school diary story). It only takes one look at the cover of Tessa and Olive standing next to each other blushing (comic’s universal signifier for CRUSHING) to know where this is going, which honestly leaves me more in awe of Gros’ execution. The journey of Olive and Tessa coming to terms with their feelings, and with teenage bullying is engrossing all the way through, setting the stage for an incredibly sweet romance. Somehow Gros even finds time to bake in a subplot about Toronto’s creeping gentrification. Excellent work all around.

Toxic Summer

What a delight. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from Derek Charm’s three-issue teen-comedy, but Charm puts those Jughead and Unbeatable Squirrel Girl lessons together to form one of the funniest, sweetest YA graphic novels of the year. Toxic Summer is the story of two queer teen friends who plot for a summer lifeguarding horny beach hunks (a kid can dream!), but wind up embroiled in a small coastal town overwhelmed with mysterious, supernatural toxic sludge. It’s a classic teen-summer misadventure with a good ol’ Comics^TM twist.

Charm’s characters are shockingly well developed given the space, clearly building genuine laugh-out-loud moments and budding romance in the span of a mere 100+ pages. Honestly, the slice-of-life portrayal of 6 teens stranded in this dead, beachless town is compelling enough that Charm doesn’t really need the Black Lagoon meets Clayface monsters that drive an overly familiar plot. Charm’s swirling dark neon greens are a thrill to look at, but the moments Toxic Summer lost me are some needless and trope-y moments of exposition (although even here, Charm sneaks in humor from his, well, charming cast). All of which is to say, I’d love to just hang with these characters for a summer. Bring on volume two, perverted hunks, and “some” sharks!

Beat It, Rufus

I’d never read the work of Noah Van Sciver before, admittedly due to the poisonous association of his brother Ethan (it’d be like finding out Van Jones was the brother of Alex Jones… ok, that’d be *slightly* more surprising and toxic). As far as I can tell, though, Noah is very much his own person, with an Ignatz award winning resume of R. Crumb inspired Comix, and the enthusiastic backing of the Fantagraphics cartoonist machine. And whatever he thinks of his monstrous bro, Beat It, Rufus is among the best graphic novels of 2025.

Aging dirtbag rockers are catnip for me (what’s up School of Rock), and Van Sciver’s Rufus ranks among the sleeziest of them. Better yet, Rufus is an also-ran, still clinging to an almost-made-it moment from decades ago that ended when his two bandmates (apparently) died on the tour jet (that they paid for themselves!). What follows is an immaculate journey into the descent of this oddly charming loser, barely a guitar to his name, and what happens when he finally starts to reconnect from the players who saw the worst of him in that past life. It’s an extremely funny imagining of a particular type of glory-days-dude, with Van Sciver happy to lean into the nastiness of both visual and attitude (Rufus discovering he just might be allergic to cats is a particularly humorous gross-out sequence). If you find yourself thinking “I haven’t watched Spinal Tap in a while” a few times a year, Beat It, Rufus is a must.

Catch up on all CBH’s favorite graphic novels of 2025 right here!