Jimmy Corrigan... - 13 Down, 39 to Go

Every generation of Corrigan men at virtually every stage of their lives has the same face. Whether eight or 80, they look like weathered old men, timidly engaging with the life that's beating them down. Little James was deserted at the Columbian Exposition (expansively jotted by Mr. Ware). Modern-day Jimmy and Jim Sr. barely connect. The younger one toils in a cubicle in downtown Chicago, kept afloat by his daydreams of superheroes and pretty ladies. The elder lives out his days in bad diners and a retirement facility, trying in his own awkward way to bring his scattered family together.

Chris Ware's graphic world in Jimmy Corrigan, The Smartest Kid On Earth, is lonely, socially awkward, tiring and frequently bleak. Long winters, long nights and long shadows lead to anxious mornings and tedious afternoons. His panels are achingly beautiful, from jam-packed narrative sections to slow, pregnant pauses, gliding between wish fulfillment and reality's hard thunk. Consider the many times Jr. and Sr. talk around a subject, Jr. looking down at his meal or his fingernails, Sr. going off on a tangent. Or even how the muted browns of the Corrigans' boarding quarters (c. 1890) gives way to the pea green walls of a 1990s hospital. How the splendor of The Midway, site of a sudden trauma, contrasts with the exurban landscape of phone lines, DQs, and courtyard apartments, site of a slow motion tragedy.

Best of all, Ware rarely has to reach to make a point. Changing landscapes reflect changing lifestyles, technological impact, and evolving development patterns. The early century immigrant story gives way to the late century integration story. Childhood seems a little bit brighter, the pre-War years seem extra sepia-toned. But as palpable as the family conflicts seem, Ware lets us indulge in the Corrigans' sense of awe at what may be and could've been possible. Maybe that caped crusader really can fly...