Reviews of three new books. 300 by Frank Miller and Lynn Varley (Dark Horse Comics, 86 pages, $30) AS GOOD AS IT GETS For about five minutes in the '80s, comic books were a hot cultural item. The zenith of this period was Art Spiegelman's Maus, the first graphic novel to win the Pulitzer. Some 15 years later, most comics fans are sick to death of Maus being the only comic to receive such high esteem. Despite many extremely innovative endeavors, none has shown up on the mainstream radar; if Frank Miller and Lynn Varley's 300 doesn't change that, it'll be a truly offensive crime. The story of the 300-man Spartan army and its war against the invading Persians in 480 B.C., 300 is a tremendous effort, with each fully painted page spanning twice the length of a regular comic. Though some may quibble over certain factual details being glossed over (the Spartans' owning slaves, for instance), it isn't Miller's intention to create a full historical tableau. Rather, he wants the reader to get involved, to experience the adventure from the inside and taste the soldiers' fervor. Like the best comic-book experience, the story is enhanced by the art. Varley's colors are sumptuous, bringing the harsh landscapes and blood-soaked battles to glorious life. It makes for a decadent, involving read. You'll want to gorge on every page. 300 is a masterpiece, testifying to the possibilities of graphic storytelling. For years, fans have known how good comics can be, and this book could do well to catch everyone else up. Jamie S. Rich An Honest Answer by Ginger Andrews (Story Line Press, 108 pages, $12.95) 7:30 pm Friday, Oct. 15. Powell's on Hawthorne, 3723 SE Hawthorne Blvd., 228-4651 Free BEAUTY IN THE DETAILS In the last four lines of her poem "My Sister Calls," Ginger Andrews writes, "she wants to know / if I've written any good poems lately / and I tell her I'm writing / just as fast as I can." Andrews, born in North Bend, defines herself as a scribe both for her family's tribulations and, more generally, for the material and emotional conditions of the working poor. An Honest Answer delves into the brute realities of her family members' difficulties with poverty, the early death of their mother, bad marriages, drug and alcohol problems, sicknesses and crime with an unnerving honesty and economy of words. For Andrews, a poet must write about the things she knows first-hand, and indeed her collection conveys a striking sense of presence. Like a diary in free verse, the poems trace the outlines of her personal and family history through fragmentary installments--constructed not by clear narrative progression but by perceptions, glances and reminders. Such devices are not meant to be disjunctive or obtuse; they are effective in emulating Andrews' personal reality. An account of her and her sisters' visit to see their sick and dying father is broken off by the seemingly trivial detail of eating carrots in the car. Conversely, minute tasks such as punching out paper dolls for a Sunday school class or disguising a burnt pie crust with Cool Whip provide entry into deeper thoughts. This interplay between the general and the specific, the abstract and the concrete, is Andrews' strength. An Honest Answer upholds the complexity, repetitiveness, predictability and unpredictability of family life. Her poems start and end arbitrarily, and each is, in a sense, interchangeable with another--all stand equally for the "whole" of Andrews' poetic voice. Jay Sanders Soft Maniacs by Maggie Estep (Simon & Schuster, 220 pages, $21) MANIC IMPRESSIVE She honed her word skills on the unforgiving spoken-word stage, eventually hitting the big time to wow the Lollapalooza crowd. Maggie Estep's apprenticeship in verbal venues obviously paid off. Her written prose is descriptive and loud. It's down and dirty. It grabs you by the throat. In Soft Maniacs, her new collection of interconnected short fiction, Estep finds flashes of poetry in the dregs of society. She looks at two women--Jody, a nymphomaniac psychiatrist, and Katie, a lion tamer's daughter--through the eyes of the men who love them, or at least have sex with them. Society would look at these hapless men and find them pathetic or disgusting. But trailer trash, a homeless guy, a few alcoholics, a circus clown and a bicycle messenger obtain dignity in Estep's stories. Beneath the layers of grime and puke, she and her female characters find their core of goodness. In "Circus," Katie takes up with an unstable homeless man who eventually runs off to join the circus, the same institution from which Katie is running. "Teeth" tells the tale of a hyper scam artist who is shocked when his shrink (Jody, of course) uses raunchy sex as a healing technique. Estep confronts some complicated themes in Soft Maniacs. Her male characters are more comfortable with animals than women, and their response to female sexuality is often violent. Though her characters are fringe-dwellers and her images are disturbing, Estep manages to convey a sense of humanity in her inhumane world. Susan Wickstrom - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Willamette Week | originally published September 29, 1999