That's what the author is expecting me to say, so I said it.

The book features a short history of Joe Shuster's life, from his childhood to losing control of the Superman property, which incorporates a short history of the censorship of comic books in the 1950s and includes the connection between this previously thought lost art by Joe Shuster and the teenage Brooklyn Thrill Killers.

There's not a lot of depth to the history, and what is here has been covered in other books on the period, most notably "The Ten Cent Plague." There's a fairly judgemental introduction by Stan Lee (who manages to both praise Shuster as a hero, and distance himself from this part of Shuster's career).

The few surviving pieces of Shuster's "Nights of Horror" artwork (there were 16 volumes, but apparently not all of the art survived) showcase his talent for composition and detail while also showing us a man who was either a) angry enough with DC Comics to make the characters look just like Superman, Jimmy, Lois, Lucy, and Lex to spite them or b) was so close to blind by this point that he couldn't have created different looking characters if he tried.

Either way, it's an interesting look at a part of comics history that had been forgotten (or never actually identified before now).

I get the same nurse drawing my blood every time I go to Sparta Medical for my quarterly cholesterol check.  I think her name is Karen, but that could be just because she reminds me of my friend Karen Aidala both in looks and personality.  She's quick and professional but still friendly and talkative.

Today she complimented me on my veins, how they're nice and visible and easy to find.  I told her that I figured out a long time ago, back during chemo, that "fasting" does not mean "not drinking."  I try to drink plenty of water before I go to sleep to help plump the veins up.  She was amazed that I did not have a port during chemo -- that they stuck me each time I went, and that my veins are still strong despite the frequency with which I've had blood taken.

After the needle was in the vein today, she raised an eyebrow and said, "Why aren't you bleeding for me?"

Now there's a question that can be taken out of context ....

We laughed, and then she withdrew the needle ... and I started to bleed.  Of course.  We got all the blood she needed after a minute or so.

So now we'll see what the results have to say.  Am I still at the right balance of good and bad cholesterol, or did that month off of the meds (financial constraints) mess me all up again?  We shall see ...

*********

I have to do another practice presentation in an hour, and I just am not in the mood.  Thankfully, it's a short one.  I also have to stay late tonight to make up the time from this morning that I spent at the doctor's office.  Ugh.
 

The upside is Alan Grant is a very good writer of action sequences and comedy, and even the more serious sections of the book ring somewhat true. His dialogue is occasionally a little tinny to the ear, but overall the story is paced well and even the asides that do not feature the three "main" characters are folded in pretty seamlessly.

The downside is ... it's a Lobo story. I am not a fan of "The Main Man." I've always found him to be violent beyond the point of gratuitousness, one-note in his characterization, and pretty much a money-making idea run rampant. Sort of like what Marvel's Punisher became, where the shock value and violence is more important than any actual story or characterization.

Superman and Martian Manhunter are pretty much plot points and that's about it, although Grant does at least try to delve into the Manhunter's past a bit.  The downside there is, he makes no acknowledgement at all of the White Martians ... any interstellar artificial intelligence worth its motherboard would probably be aware of that fact and mention it.  Kudos, though, for working in another green-skinned DCU alien race that shall remain nameless for this review (it being a bit of a spoiler to reveal).

"Only William Kotzwinkle who wrote ET could write a novel as thrilling as Superman III."

At least, that's what the back cover copy says. But there's nothing thrilling about this book. Of course, there wasn't anything particularly thrilling about the movie on which it's based, either.

We all know how bad Superman III and Superman IV were, let's be honest. But at least Superman III, with Richard Pryor in a lead role, could be viewed as an intentional comedic spoof of the Superman mythos -- everyone in the movie is larger-than-life and cartoony, and almost every major scene has a slapstick quality to it.  The movie may still not be very funny, but at least we can acknowledge the attempt at humor was there.

Unfortunately, that slapstick humor does not translate well to the page. There's nothing really funny about the book despite how hard the author is obviously trying. The height of the humor seems to be Superman always thinking of himself in capital letters ("If she only knew I was SUPERMAN!"), frequent references to Clark as a dim-bulb and Jimmy as "cooked outside the bird" (apparently slang for "a few cards short of a full deck"), and a very poor attempt to translate Pryor's inner-city patter to the page that fails to an insulting level.

There is nothing wrong with Stern's writing. There were no clunky paragraphs or out-of-the-blue changes in characterization (the kind of thing that actually occurs on the tv show with alarming regularity). I think Stern really immersed himself in the show's season one episodes that had been filmed before he finished the book, because his dialogue accurately reflects the way most of the characters on the show talk, and there are plenty of references to actual season one episodes. (There may be some "ooops" moments, too, that reflect changes in the series bible after Stern was done writing and the book had been edited.   There is a mention of Chloe spending time with both of her parents at home, but I thought her mother was in an institution before season one; there's also a mention of older siblings for Pete Ross.)

It's just that ... well, it's a Smallville novel. Try as hard as he might, there is a formula Stern has to follow, including: Jonathan's distrust of Lex, Lex's distrust of Lionel, Chloe's pining for Clark, Clark's pining for Lana, Lana's lousy relationship with Whitney, and all of it hung on the framework of a main plot that involves someone unscrupulous finding a meteor rock and using it for his own personal gain.  Kudos to Stern for at least tweaking that last piece just a little bit in a twist I won't give away.

Then I heard a rufous-sided towhee.  The bird whose call sounds like "drink your tea-a-a-a-a-a!"  It took me a second to recognize it.  I don't think I've actually heard one since I left my former place of employment.  It brought back memories of Ron Thoenig, someone I consider a mentor.  Ron taught me lots of bird-calls (and how to imitate other animals as well) but the rufous-sided towhee was the first.  It definitely made me miss him, so as I was walking the trail I called his house number, expecting to get his voice mail but actually getting him.  We had a short but nice conversation.  We definitely to have dinner together some time soon.

As I was on the phone with Ron, I saw a scarlet tanager, the second in the past week.  In a roundabout way, scarlet tanagers make me think of my friend Renata and her son Cory.  I haven't seen them in years, and by now Cory should be out of high school.  When I met them, they were on a school field trip to my place of former employment with Cory's teacher Cinny McGonnagal.  Cinny's favorite bird is the scarlet tanager.  Because of a foot injury she could never go on the ridge hike with us, so she'd tell the kids to watch for scarlet tanagers for her.

And then I saw, towards the end of my walk, some staghorn sumac, one of the things we used to teach the kids to make natural dyes out of.  That reminded me of Marie Collinson and Karen Matthews Karen Puccio and Syd Lemieux and days spent cutting branches from sumac and digging up roots of other plants so they could soak and release the dyes.  That was never my favorite class to teach, but I learned a lot from those three women about dying, papermaking, gardening.  Good times.

Not feeling wistful at all, but those are good memories, and it was nice that they were jogged for good reasons.

The entire walk ended up just short of five miles.  I feel tired, but good.