“Watchmen”, by Alan Moore (Author) & Dave Gibbons (Illustrator)

416 pages, DC Comics, ISBN-13: 978-0930289232

Comic book superheroes are basically fascist vigilantes, with Superman and his dedication to truth, justice and the American way being the exception that proves the rule. Both Watchmen and The Dark Knight Returns, the two greatest examples of graphic storytelling, deal explicitly with the underlying fear the ordinary citizenry have of the demigods they worship. The one inherent advantage that Watchmen has over Frank Miller's classic tale is that it requires no knowledge of the existing mythos of its characters, because Dr. Manhattan, Ozymandias, Rorschach, Nite Owl, Silk Spectre, the Comedian and the rest of the former members of the Crimebusters were created out of whole cloth (welllll...let’s not get Charlton Comics involved).

The brainchild of writer Alan Moore (Swamp Thing, V for Vendetta, From Hell) and artist Dave Gibbons (Rogue Trooper, Doctor Who, Green Lantern), Watchmen was originally published by DC Comics in twelve issues in 1986-87 (Moore and Gibbons would go on to win the Best Writer/Artist combination award at the 1987 Jack Kirby Comics Industry Awards ceremony). The central story in Watchmen is deceptively simple: apparently, someone is killing off or discrediting the former Crimebusters superhero team, and so the remaining members end up coming together to discover who and the why behind it all, with the payoff to the mystery is most satisfactory. But what makes Watchmen so special is the breadth and depth of both the characters and their respective subplots: Dr. Manhattan dealing with his responsibility to humanity given his god-like powers; Nite Owl having trouble leaving his secret identity behind; Rorschach being examined by a psychiatrist. Each chapter offers a specific focus on one of the characters, yet advances the overall narrative.

Beyond the intricate narrative, Moore and Gibbons offer two additional levels to the story. First, each chapter is followed by a “non-comic” section that develops more of the backstories, such as numerous excerpts from Hollis Mason's autobiography Under the Hood or Professor Milton Glass’ Dr. Manhattan: Super-Powers and the Superpowers, an interview with Adrian Veidt, or reports from the police files of Walter Joseph Kovacs. Second, almost every issue has scenes from Tales of the Black Freighter, a comic-book within a comic-book being read by a kid near a newsstand, which offers an allegorical perspective on the main plot line.

This book is so incredibly brilliant, my words alone can't do it even a fraction of the justice it deserves. A graphic novel that changed the way we think about comics, written by transcendent literary genius Alan Moore, Watchmen offers a look at superheroes as they would appear in real life. Driven only by enthusiasm and determination, without the benefit of superpowers (except for Dr. Manhattan, the science-born hero), these heroes live in the US of an alternate Earth, where they have fought through the 20^th Century, meeting with public support, distrust and sometimes hatred.

These heroes are more realistic versions of traditional superhero archetypes, bearing the faults and shortcomings of rational behavior and honest human nature. For instance, the crusading vigilante (Rorschach) is a mentally-disturbed murderer, the all-powerful science-born hero (the aforementioned Dr. Manhattan) is so all-powerful he lacks concern for the world around him, and the technological genius inventor (Nite Owl) is out of shape and overly dependent on his gadgets. This alternate world is equally different and unusual, history having been changed by the superheroes: Richard Nixon is still President in 1985, the US won the Vietnam War easily and World War III looms on the horizon.

These are the driving themes behind Watchmen, a graphic novel so stunningly well-written and well-drawn that I do not hesitate to recommend it to even the most ardent skeptics who look upon comics with disdain, never thinking to read anything remotely associated with them. Watchmen represents the perfect synergy between the use of pictures, the potency of the written word and the sublime power of symbolism that drives artists wielding either brush or pen to record their art permanently on canvas or paper. A worthy investment that stands tall amongst the great literary works of the latter part of the 20^th Century.

“The Samurai: A Military History”, by Stephen R. Turnbull

304 pages, Macmillan Publishers, ISBN-13: 978-0026205405

Stephen Turnbull, in my opinion, is one of the foremost historians of Japanese military history, and certainly one of the most prolific. His writings are well researched and represent the various strata of the eras he writes. In The Samurai: A Military History, he starts with the early history of Japan and extends his writings through the Edo Period; but he not only records the deeds of the samurai, but also of the political, religious and cultural influences that helped form this unique class of warriors, as well - influences, such as the Emperor, the establishment of Buddhism and, later, Christianity, as well as the numerous foreigners who entered Japan are all shown to have shaped them. Another aspect of this book which is very appealing is that, where other historians will focus only upon the much broader aspects of Japanese history, Turnbull provides insight into the samurai culture by giving excerpts from chronicles of individual families within this warrior society, thereby stirring the imagination of his readers to a greater extent. This book is truly a great resource for understanding this fascinating military order.

If you have ever had even a passing interest in the history of Japan from the perspective of the warrior class who played a major role in defining it, then this is probably the best choice of book on the subject. It approaches the topic from the earliest accounts of the samurai right through to the end of the samurai era, taking a fairly high level, big picture type view. The book looks more at the why something happened, than the how of events, which provides some fascinating insights into the history of Japan and allows the reader to grasp the overall history of feudal Japan with just the right balance of details and objectivity. That said, there is still quite a bit of detail of some of the more notable battles, but high level, campaign type information is not the purpose of this book. It is more interested in letting the reader understand what happened in Japanese history and why it unfolded as it did, without bogging down in micro detail. The book is superbly researched and is very well written, and despite the fact that it is a “history” book, it is a very enjoyable, extremely informative read. It is thoroughly recommended.

“Longitude: The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time”, by Dava Sobel

208 pages, Walker & Company, ISBN-13: 978-0802715296

In the early 18^th Century, one of greatest scientific problems face by learned men was calculating longitude (that would be the geographic coordinate that specifies the east–west position on the surface of the Earth) on the high seas. At the time, navigators had two choices, both treacherous: they either traveled well-known routes, thus opening them to the threat of pirate attacks; or they used imprecise navigational methods to avoid that danger. But the latter method presented its own problems, as it was more deadly because ships often got lost at sea or ran aground. Many sailors lost their lives and vast fortunes were dashed as ships crashed into rocks. The problem was so serious that the English Parliament passed the Longitude Act in 1714, establishing a panel of judges to study the problem and announced a prize of £20,000 (worth millions of dollars today) to anyone who could determine longitude accurately.

Enter John Harrison, a self-educated amateur clockmaker from Yorkshire, who believed that the solution lay in time, not in the heavens, as the scientific establishment had long postulated. Harrison devoted his entire life to the pursuit of the longitude prize, all the while battling university scholars who thought him an incompetent crank. In Longitude: The True Story of a Lone Genius Who Solved the Greatest Scientific Problem of His Time, author Dava Sobel tells Harrison's story with vigor and insight. It is clear that she greatly admires Harrison's genius and determination, and she describes how he “went from…humble beginnings to riches by virtue of his own inventiveness and diligence, in the manner of Thomas Edison or Benjamin Franklin”.

Throughout Harrison's illustrious career, he invented a number of innovative techniques for keeping accurate time-and solved many problems that had plagued clockmakers for centuries. Sobel writes: “Most pendulums of Harrison's day expanded with heat, so they grew longer and ticked out time more slowly in hot weather. When cold made them contract, they speeded up the seconds, and threw the clock's rate off in the opposite direction”. Harrison solved this by “combining long and short strips of two different metals – brass and steel – in one pendulum…” Another invention of Harrison's was caged ball bearings, which are still used today.

Harrison did eventually win the longitude prize, but not until he was in his late 70s. The debate over the way longitude would be found raged on throughout his many trials over the decades between the 1720s and the 1770s. He submitted two clocks to the Longitude Board between 1737 and 1741 (named H1 and H2), but spent nearly twenty years perfecting H3, which he finally submitted in 1769. During this time, a rival 40 years younger than Harrison, the Reverend Neville Maskelyne, insisted that the lunar distance method was the way that longitude was to be found. Sobel makes clear that Maskelyne, while a foe to Harrison, was not exactly a villain; he was rather more like an anti-hero. While Harrison's method eventually won out, Maskelyne did make many important contributions to the science of astronomy. Sobel is objective enough to give credit where credit is due.

Longitude is written in a breezy, easy-to-read style. Sobel tells her tale chronologically, providing the essentials of the struggle while maintaining the historical context. She describes the painstaking observations and integrations that Harrison had to make in order to create his famous clocks. The solitary years he spent in his workshop focusing on his central goal is an inspiration to behold, particularly in an age like ours, where the individual is often looked upon with derision and contempt. Because Longitude is a popular account, there are few technical details, but for the most part this lack of detail does not detract from the book, but occasionally the lack of technical description confuses the reader (for example, Sobel never explains how one determines local time on a moving ship). Nevertheless, this flaw does not detract from the overall value of the book. Sobel tells her tale well and brims with enthusiasm for John Harrison and his wonderful invention that solved a centuries-long obstacle to safe navigation on the high seas. At the end of the book, Sobel touchingly describes her reaction to seeing Harrison's clocks for the first time: “Coming face-to-face with these machines at last-after having read countless accounts of their construction and trial, after having seen every detail of their insides and outsides in still and moving pictures-reduced me to tears”. Spoken like a true history geek.

“Rembrandt's Eyes”, by Simon Schama

768 pages, Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., ISBN-13: 978-0679402565

It is 1629, the 60^th year of the war for the Netherlands. Prince Huygens, Rembrandt's benefactor, deciphers intercepted dispatches in the Prince of Orange's headquarters at Hertogenbosch. In Calvinist controlled Leiden, 25-year-old Rembrandt Harmenszoon van Rijn takes to portraying himself in armor. By 1631, when Rembrandt relocates to Amsterdam, the city's competing churches have come to a grudging accommodation. Despite the fractious political climate the city is a hotbed of manufacture and trade with the Orient. The savor of spices and silks, the rhythms of urban industries – cloth fabrication, paper making, gem cutting, weapons forging, chimes through its neighborhoods. The artist thrives for a time in the vibrant economic climate. His pictures of prosperous burghers (and of course, himself) and religious scenes ingrain an exotic, cross cultural vocabulary and intrigue.

Simon Schama's Rembrandt's Eyes is an analysis of the paintings of this master and is as scholarly as his depictions of the historical forces which were shaping them, in a Europe ripped apart by religious war. He looks also into the unsettled ambition embedded in Rembrandt's artistry; no major artist of his time or since has painted so many self-portraits, in so many guises, and no other artist absorbed more of the texture of his time and place. His influences were political, theological, social as well as aesthetic and developed into an idiosyncratic genius. Rembrandt's eyes, as the author notes, provide a lens into these turbulent times and the passions of the artist. Twenty years from conception to print, Schama's opus spans its subject with a detail as fine as the lace on one of the artist's collar pieces.

The author contrasts Jean Paul Rubens's ethereal idealism to Rembrandt's earthy colloquialism as metaphor for the political divisions of the times, with Rembrandt treading new ground in art. The compassionate consideration of human dilemmas and blemishes was a rebellion against the politicization of art in a time when painting was dogmatic and polemical. Rembrandt's tactile accouterments and lustrous colors gave a vivid quality to metal, fabric or paper. The works had plural focal points producing a visual dynamic: the creamy pallor of irradiated faces are juxtaposed against some intricately detailed artifact – lace, gemstone, coral, armor – and those against props providing subtle sub-texts. They are bathed in an illogical light which seems to emanate rather than reflect from its characters. A narrative and cosmopolitan bustle energizes his artwork.

The Repentant Judas is one the best studies of the artist's ability to synthesize surreal contexts and intensely expressive figures into a cohesive spirituality. Schama spends 12 written pages on that magical evocation of purposeful community The Night Watch, while Two Old Men Disputing shows Rembrandt's preoccupation with representing age and decay in dignified elegance. He had, though, had no talent for business or orderly finances and was a compulsive accumulator and a mark for bad investments (that would eventually impoverish him even as his fame became well established0. This was not lost in his later portraits, more abstract and rendered with a pensive, somber defiance. The stern expressions of The Sampling Officials could well be those of his creditors. Some transcendence reasserted itself in his final works, most remarkably in vital mysteries of The Jewish Bride and Simeon and the Christ Child.

Schama writes objective prose, with an impressive command of his subject. This is no esoteric meditation. It is an exhaustive study of the development of a craft and of the society that spawned it. The book is a beautifully composited coffee table book with a distinctive literary and historical flavor. Schama has produced one of the great artist biographies of all time, and a depiction of an age, as any age is most clearly represented by its art.

“The House That George Built: With a Little Help from Irving, Cole, and a Crew of About Fifty” by Wilfrid Sheed

368 pages, Random House, Inc., ISBN-13: 978-1400061051

In The House That George Built: With a Little Help from Irving, Cole, and a Crew of About Fifty (whew!), Wilfrid Sheed tries to recapture the era that spawned those marvelous songs we now call "The Standards" - and he succeeds beautifully by taking us into his confidence as he tells his stories. Reading this book is like sitting down with Sheed as he spins his yarns about this composer and that lyricist, many of whom he had personally known. OK, so it's not a work for the expert or the specialist in this genre; it is a work for people like me who may not know a diminished 7th from a triplet and don't really care as long as the song speaks to you. And to know how these beauties were given birth was for me one revelation after another (suffice it to say I now have a greater appreciation for the genius of Gershwin and his heirs). If you love the classics of popular music of that era, buy this book. You will not be disappointed

Sheed is a witty (but not self-indulgently or distractingly so) prose “stylist”, not a musician. In that capacity he's like a jazz musician riffing on a familiar theme (it's tough to come up with new material about the Great American Songbook and its composers) and of particular use to those readers who love the music and wish to express what it means to them as much as it expresses its meanings to them. Sheed is such a reader's voice, and probably a more welcome one than that of the historians, musicologists, composers and lyricists. I don't think he's disparaging the musicians by showing us their flaws and vices. A Charlie Parker or Miles Davis is certainly no less an artist to me because of a drug habit or even, as in the case of Bird, his selfish, childish and exploitive ways. If anything, the unpleasant behaviorisms of artists ranging from Buddy Rich to William Faulkner make it easier to relate to them as well as to sustain interest. If they were any better as human beings, their overwhelming talent and, even genius, would simply be too much to bear. Sheed also knows that while it's misguided to judge a book by its cover, in the case of the creative artist the book would no doubt be entirely different, most likely inferior, were the cover not what it is.

As for the melody vs. lyric flap, he's right. The most recorded popular song in American music history – Body and Soul – has an embarrassingly bad lyric (My love a wreck you're making/My heart is yours for the taking…Ugh!) many times over. What counts most in the language of music are the notes, not the words. A song has to be able to stand on its own, apart from the lyrics (and John Coltrane certainly felt that Rodgers' music for Hammerstein did just that). Since the ‘60s we've been inundated by little more than bad recitative (ask any bar pianist or Saturday night saxophone player). On the other hand, great lyrics can: 1) Make a great melody an even richer experience; 2) Help shape an infectious melody (for example, Porter's repetition of melodic motifs to fit the theme of "obsession" in countless numbers of his tunes); 3) Bring to the melody the attention that it deserves if not requires to become a standard. Body and Soul got lucky – a great melody and set of chord changes performed by an artist (Coleman Hawkins) whom every great player wanted to emulate.

All of the composers Sheed chooses to discuss are deserving, though it would be nice to have fuller consideration of Van Heusen, Styne, McHugh, Victor Young (When I Fall in Love, My Foolish Heart, Stella by Starlight), and greater focus on isolated sublime melodies that have become jazz standards (e.g. Bronislaw Kaper's On Green Dolphin Street). What the music could use at this stage is a Ken Burns or another director's 20-part PBS series about these leading composers of American music and their songs. Just as Burns' jazz series showed us as much about race, ethnicity and adversity as about the music, the history of American song, with all of the Jewish immigrants who either worked their way up to Tin Pan Alley or were forced by economic necessity to temper their aspirations as serious composers, is equally fascinating and of no less significance. The Great American Songbook us an essential complement to the African-American classical music (jazz) that is America's gift to the arts; it's the indigenous real deal, an art form, not a folk expression, and for far too long it's either been taken for granted or simply dismissed as inconsequential tripe.

In fact, reading books like Sheed's and going back to the songs themselves can't help but lead to an inescapable sense of the enormous influence of African-American cultural traditions on virtually all of the major American composers of the first half of the century. Arlen escaped from cantoring at the synagogue to writing shows at the Cotton Club; Gershwin thought he was writing jazz; and even the elitist and very European Kern is best remembered for, what else, Old Man River (though seeing Irene Dunne perform Kern's Can't Help Lovin' That Man is to discover the indebtedness of the composer not just to spirituals but to the coon song tradition). So deep was the attraction to and love of indigenous African-American music that it's not much of a stretch to think of the most seminal songs of the Great American Songbook as primarily black music. Ironically, the primary exception is Cole Porter who, according to Richard Rodgers, thought he had to learn how to write more Jewish music before he'd master the idiom (perhaps contributing to the relative lateness of his first hit, Let's Do It, in 1928). He'd have done better to put his ear to the ground and go directly to the source (though the effect of Robert Browning's poetry on his original syntax is undeniable).

Whatever, it's a fascinating, fruitful subject and adventure, and it's time to take more people along on it. Only a tiny percentage of us read books like Sheed's and are familiar with and care about the songs and their composers. Most college students I meet in the latter days of civilization as we once knew it have never heard of Crosby (unless it's his association with David Bowie) or Berlin or Gershwin or even Body and Soul. At best, they just might know a single standard Over the Rainbow. But those bluebirds certainly aren't singing on this side. They don't know any tunes.