Avengers: No Road Home #3: The Ridiculous and the Sublime

This issue of No Road Home contained two of the things that I love best about comics: moments of profound psychological truth coupled with brain-melting ridiculousness — often on the same page. One moment, we’re treated to some incredibly deep introspection (Rocket acknowledging that 90% of his personality is a response to trauma) followed by a panel of absolute insanity (that same Rocket, using medical lasers to frag some floating robots).

The best of the Cape-Books blend relatable psychology with wild things like cosmic cubes, literal Nightmares (who live in castles made of metaphors) and women who have an on-again-off-again-imaginary-baby-producing relationship with an Android. This series has been absolutely choc full of both things.

And it is wonderful.

It reminded me of the occasional, unintentional brilliance you find in Golden-Age issues of Superman — only the delights of this book are consistent because it was intentionally planned to contain them.

I loved the little glimpses we see into the mind’s (and desires) of Rocket and Hulk. I loved the realistic motivations of Nightmare (asking for help in the only way he ever could) and the cautious tenderness between Vision and Wanda. I also loved the siege-engine powered by sleepwalking soldiers who are meant to be Greek but are inexplicably wearing Roman helmets. I loved the fact that an all-knowing Librarian thought that the best place to hide a weapon of potentially world-ending power was in his beard.

This book is incredibly fun, is what I’m saying.

The writers blend their voices in a manner that is effective, but absolutely not bland. And as for the art? When you consider the pace, the sheer amount of story, and the constant, breakneck switch between humour and drama, it’s a wonder of clean lines and tone. Paco Medina’s art is a bit too cartoony for my tastes, usually, but it fits perfectly here, enhancing the world. This art benefited from Juan Vlasco’s rich inks, Jesus Aburtov’s masterful coloring and Cory Petit’s practiced eye for the aesthetics of letters.

This series is a cure for the rainy-day blues, if ever I’ve seen one. Pick it up.