Graphic Novel Review: Godzilla: Skate or Die!

reviewed by Cord A. Scott, UMGC-Okinawa 

Louie Joyce (w, a). Godzilla: Skate or Die! Sherman Oaks, CA: IDW Publishing, 2025. 128 pp. US $17.99. ISBN: 979-8-8872-4186-9. https://godzilla.com/products/godzilla-skate-or-die

 

      Godzilla is now a worldwide cultural phenomenon. This is no surprise to IJOCA's readers, but the idea that a movie from 1954 on the dangers of atomic weapons could inspire a variety of media decades later speaks to the longevity of the character. Godzilla:  Skate or Die is one such book in this wider pantheon.

Louie Joyce, who wrote and illustrated the graphic novel, has his additional influences. The culture of skating and urban life shows in the style of illustration that is presented. Set in Australia, it is an additional homage to the Japanese Kaiju.

The premise of the story is simple at its core:  four friends, who share the common bond of skating, have set up a secret skate park named “coin toss” in an abandoned office above a coal mine. While doing this, they witness a meteorite in the sky, and wish. After spending considerable time setting the park up, it is a prized goal that will not be easily surrendered, if it is threatened. The characters Egg, Sushi, Jules, and Rolly are spirited in their desire to try new ideas, even if it means “bending” the law concerning trespassing. As the four are gearing up for a day of skating, they are literally shaken by various tremors. Soon, it dawns on them that the area of Broken Hill, where the skating area is located, will become the epicenter of the tremors:  the Kaiju Varan, and the King of the Monsters, Godzilla.

When it becomes obvious that the two titans are heading to a conflict with each other at their hidden park, the four evade the police and a mandatory evacuation by authorities. From this point, they play a cat and mouse game with the police, all while trying to prevent the destruction.

As the carnage of the area continues, the four fall into a fissure in the earth, only to find that it leads to a series of tunnels below the admin buildings. As another quake hits, the floor collapses to reveal yet another subterranean level, this time much newer in appearance.

Amid this chaos and searching, the general in charge of the facility is trying to determine what the threats are, and how the facility may be saved from destruction. It is then revealed that many of the incidents are connected because of a meteorite that arrived on Earth on the day the skate park was built. This is also a power source for mechas on which this lab is working.

The meteorite seems to be both a power source, as well as a beacon, which will wake others. As things seem bleak, Rolly hits the meteorite, disrupting its pulse.

Towards the end of the battle, when it seems all is lost, the skaters are given assistance from a security guard at the base, who has admired their skating (to the point of having compiled security camera footage/montage).

When they get to the surface, it looks as though Godzilla will be defeated by Varan. Rolly, the most daring of the four, determines that it is important to save Godzilla, as he has a connection with him. Following a diversionary attack on Varan, Godzilla gains the upper hand and sends Varan into outer space.

The story is fast-paced, and stylistically interesting, but tends to be somewhat confusing at times. For example, there seems to be a connection between the general in charge of Sushi, but this is never really determined. There is sentimentality, with a skateboard deck that was given to Sushi by a dying mother. This board becomes a talisman of sorts, as it represents a connection to her mother. Finally, there is the requisite large-scale fighting that we have come to love and expect with anything related to Godzilla.

There is also the bigger connection between Godzilla, the skaters, and the location of their park. Was there something further that drew them all to the same location? There are some circumstances, but nothing determinate. Overall, it is an interesting crossover, but it may not appeal to many. 

Book Review: Comics, Culture, and Religion: Faith Imagined

 reviewed by Dominick Grace

Kees de Groot, ed. Comics, Culture, and Religion:  Faith Imagined. New York:  Bloomsbury Academic, 2024. 264 pp. US $39.95 (Paperback). ISBN:  978-1-3503-2162-5. https://www.bloomsbury.com/us/comics-culture-and-religion-9781350321588/ (open access - free download)

 Comics, Culture, and Religion:  Faith Imagined, edited by Kees de Groot, adds to the growing list of books addressing religion in comics (2024 also, see Grafius and Morehead’s Horror Comics and Religion). The book also participates in the growing trend towards globalism in comics scholarship. While American texts, such as Maus, Watchmen, and Craig Thompson’s Habibi, are addressed, the book also covers European, Japanese, and Indian texts, and others on religions other than Christianity. These features are all to the good. While not every chapter, perhaps, will be of use to every reader, anyone interested in the range of comics with religious elements, and/or the relationship between comics and religion per se, will find material of interest here, and scholars interested in the specific topics of individual chapters will wish to check those ones out, at least. The scholars, whose work appears here, are mostly European, so though the lens through which most look is Western, it is not, with a couple of exceptions, North American. This is also all to the good. Diversity of topics and of scholarly voices remain important to the growth and robustness of scholarship generally, and comics scholarship specifically, given that comics are a worldwide phenomenon, but comics scholarship has not, as yet, fully encompassed that global reality.

Nevertheless, this collection is a mixed bag. The chapters are all in English, but many of the authors are not native speakers, so the prose can be stilted and occasionally, grammatically flawed. This might seem like a niggle, but careful editorial oversight should have been able to smooth out such infelicities without compromising the authors’ voices. Furthermore, the scholars included are not, generally, comics scholars per se, but rather religious studies scholars, who do bring an important perspective to a book on comics and religion, but who also do not always have the depth of comics knowledge or focus on comics-specific aspects of what they discuss that comics scholars may be looking for. The books’ approach is also oriented more towards social science than humanities, which is hardly a limitation or flaw, but it does mean that comics scholars more on the humanities side of the discipline may find this book less useful than will their social sciences colleagues. (Full disclosure:  I come from the humanities, so the methodologies and interests of some of these papers fall outside my own areas of practice, interest, and knowledge.)

The book is divided into four parts. As de Groot writes in his introduction:

 

The first part, Comics in Religion, starts with religions. How do religious communities and institutions use comics to communicate with their audience and why and when do they protest against them? The second part, Religion in Comics, starts with comics. How are religious beliefs, rituals, symbols, leaders, stories, and practices represented, criticized, and discussed in comics? The third part, Comics as Religion?, discusses the cultural role of comics in cultivating a sense of the sacred and making meaning (7-8). Part four, Learning from Comics, asks, “What and how do comics teach about culture, about religion, and about the intertwinement of the religious and the social?” (8).

 

The quality of the essays varies considerably. Some are well written and researched, and clearly argued; others fail on one or more of these fronts. Many of the essays also don’t seem to me to end up having much of use to say. For instance, Paula Niechcial’s “The Reception of Comics on Zoroastrianism” sounded like it would offer a useful exploration of quite an esoteric (to me) topic. However, her quantitative study of the reception of two comics had very low responses--in the case of one of the comics she was asking about, only one of her 91 respondents indicated being familiar with it. Consequently, it is difficult to reach reliable conclusions about responses to these comics, based on this research. Others drift from the book’s focus. For instance, the one on “The Magic of the Multiverse:  Easter Eggs, Superhuman Beings, and Metamodernism in Marvel’s Story Worlds,” by Sissel Undheim, has much more to say about film and TV than the comics--and there is much one might discuss about how Marvel Comics have treated (or mistreated) religion. Line Reichelt Føreland’s “Comics and Religious Studies:  Amar Chitra Katha as an Educational Comic Series” offers useful information on comics as educational tools and on the history of the comics she is discussing, but does not really answer her opening question:  “How can comics be used in religious studies?” (205; my emphasis). What would have seemed to me obvious examples to consider of comics that try to proselytize--Spire comics, Jack Chick tracts, for instance--are not even mentioned.

On the other hand, several pieces are strong, whether on comics familiar to North American readers. For instance, in “Implicit Religion and Trauma Narratives in Maus and Watchmen,” Ilaria Biano’s exercise in “framing Maus and Watchmen in the context of the implicit religiosity of their traumatic narratives” (141) offers useful insights into these canonical comics in their cultural context. Evelina Lundmark tackles the weaponizing of online outrage to attack comics that don’t conform to a particular religious orthodoxy in “Cancelling the Second Coming:  Manufactured Christian Outrage Online,” offering valuable insights. Irene Trysnes provides what is, for an outsider, an excellent analysis of the use of religion in Norwegian comics, in “From Subordinates to Superheroes? Comics in Christian Magazines for Children and Youth in Norway.” Christoffe Monotte takes a new look at Eisner’s A Contract With God in terms of “sociology of religion and migration sociology” (222), in “A Contract with God or a Social Contract?” Other papers were on Preacher, on Craig Thompson’s Habibi, junrei manga, the comics of Kaisa and Christoffer Leka, and other topics.

The final words of the conclusion are, “To be continued.” This is a fair conclusion. This volume is to be commended for its exploration of a diverse array of comics through a religious studies lens, but it also leaves room for additional work. The exploration of religion and/in comics does indeed need to be continued further than it goes here.

 

Table of Contents

Introduction: Comics and Religion in Liquid Modernity, Kees de Groot (Tilburg University, Netherlands)
Part I: Comics in Religion
1. From Subordinates to Superheroes? Comics in Christian Magazines for Children and Youth in Norway, Irene Trysnes (University of Agder, Norway)
2. Cancelling the Second Coming: Manufactured Christian Outrage Online, Evelina Lundmark (Uppsala University, Sweden)
3. The Reception of Comics on Zoroastrianism, Paulina Niechcial (Jagiellonian University, Poland)
Part II: Religion in comics
4. Drawn into Krishna: Autobiography and Lived Religion in the Comics of Kaisa and Christoffer Leka, Andreas Häger and Ralf Kauranen (Åbo Akademi University, Finland)
5. What Would Preacher Do? Tactics of Blasphemy in the Strategies of Satire and Parody, Michael J. Prince (University of Agder, Noway)
6. Islam and Anxieties of Liberalism in Craig Thompson's Habibi, Kambiz GhaneaBassiri (Reed College, USA)
Part III: Comics as Religion?
7. Implicit Religion and Trauma Narratives in Maus and Watchmen, Ilaria Biano (Istituto Italiano, Italy)
8. Manga Pilgrimages: Visualizing the Sacred / Sacralizing the Visual in Japanese Junrei, Mark MacWilliams (St. Lawrence University, USA)
9. Comics and Meaning Making: Adult Comic Book Readers on What, Why and How They Read, Sofia Sjö (Åbo Akademi University, Finland)
Part IV: Learning From Comics
9. The Magic of the Multiverse. Easter Eggs, Superhuman Beings and Metamodernism in Marvel's Story Worlds, Sissel Undheim (University of Bergen, Norway)
10. Comics and Religious Studies: Amar Chitra Katha as an Educational Comic Series, Line Reichelt Føreland (University of Agder, Norway)
11. A Contract with God or a Social Contract? Christophe Monnot (University of Strasbourg, France)
Conclusion: Comics as a Way of Doing, Encountering, and Making Religion, Kees de Groot (Tilburg University, Netherlands)
Bibliography
Index

 

 

Graphic Novel Review: Surrounded: America’s First School for Black Girls, 1832

 reviewed by John Craig

Wilfrid Lupano and Stéphane Fert. Surrounded:  America’s First School for Black Girls, 1832. New York:  NBM Publishing, 2025. 144 pp. US $24.99 (Hardcover). ISBN:  978-1-6811-2348-6. https://nbmpub.com/products/surrounded

Wilfrid Lupano’s Surrounded, illustrated by Stéphane Fert, is a graphic novel that explores themes of resistance, education, and racial injustice in the antebellum United States. The story is centered on the Canterbury Female Boarding School, the first school for Black girls in America, founded in 1832 by abolitionist, Prudence Crandall. The visual storytelling plays a crucial role in shaping the narrative, and the artwork enhances the story’s emotional weight. Fert’s distinctive and unconventional color palette adds depth to the storytelling, though the distinction between Black and White characters could have been more pronounced. The Black characters are depicted in light brown tones, whereas the White characters are rendered in a blend of purple and dark pink hues. While visually intriguing, a stronger contrast might have provided additional clarity in representation. One of the most notable elements of the graphic novel is its opening, which features an excerpt from The Confessions of Nat Turner by Thomas R. Gray. This choice immediately situates the graphic novel within the historical narrative of Black resistance. One of the key questions that arises while reading Surrounded is its intended audience. The themes and subject matter suggest it is unsuitable for young children, implying that it is aimed at middle school readers or older.

However, despite this assumed readership, the language remains relatively restrained. Given the graphic novel’s historical setting--the 1830s--it is surprising that it does not engage more directly with the racial terminology of the time. During this period, African-Americans would have most commonly been referred to as “Negro” or “Colored” rather than “Black.” Moreover, on Southern plantations, the n-word would have been prevalent. A bolder engagement with period-accurate language could have enhanced the graphic novel’s historical realism. Lupano also deliberately decides to forgo the use of “slave dialect” in the dialogue. While historically accurate dialect can add authenticity, it often risks reinforcing outdated stereotypes or becoming a distraction for readers. However, the graphic novel inconsistently incorporates elements of “slave vernacular” in certain moments, while predominantly using modern language. This inconsistency raises questions about the graphic novel’s linguistic choices--Lupano might have benefited from either fully committing to historical dialect or exclusively using modern language for accessibility.

The book’s depiction of anti-abolitionist sentiment in Connecticut is historically accurate and highlights an often-overlooked reality. While Boston was a major center of abolitionist activity, New England was not uniformly abolitionist. Many White Northerners, including those in Connecticut, were indifferent to, or actively resisted, Black liberation despite the presence of vocal abolitionist movements. However, strong opposition to abolition existed even in Northern states, making the graphic novel’s choice to highlight Connecticut’s resistance an important and accurate representation of the complexities of the time. Although the graphic novel successfully portrays the dangers faced by Black Americans in the antebellum North, it overlooks several key aspects of African-American resistance and survival during this period. Plantation owners in the South were deeply fearful of slave rebellions and conspiracies, and Nat Turner’s rebellion was only one of many uprisings that occurred. The graphic novel does not address the broader landscape of resistance, such as:

 

• The New York Slave Revolt of 1712
• The Denmark Vesey Plot of 1822
• David Walker’s Appeal in 1829
• The Amistad slave ship rebellion in 1839
• The Creole slave mutiny of 1841
• The role of Maroon communities--escaped Africans who established independent settlements throughout the South and the Caribbean.

 

Additionally, the graphic novel does not acknowledge the impact of the “Fugitive Slave Act of 1793,” which allowed enslavers to capture fugitives across state lines, making life in the North perilous for free and escaped Black individuals. Furthermore, Surrounded does not engage with the widespread influence of the Haitian Revolution (1791-1804), which profoundly shaped the fears of Southern enslavers and led to harsher restrictions on enslaved people in the U.S. Acknowledging these broader historical events could have provided a more nuanced and layered representation of the period.

As the graphic novel progresses, it exhibits patterns commonly seen in works by White creators depicting civil rights struggles or resistance during slavery. While Lupano’s intentions seem well-meaning, Surrounded risks centering whiteness in a narrative that should prioritize Black voices. The story increasingly shifts its focus to a White female teacher at the school, framing much of the narrative around the risks she takes rather than the agency of the Black girls she teaches. This structure echoes White savior narratives seen in films, such as “The Help” and “Dangerous Minds,” where Black struggles are filtered through the lens of White benevolence. From an Afrocentric perspective, the graphic novel misses an opportunity to present Black people as the primary agents of their own liberation. The theory of Afrocentricity, developed by Molefi Kete Asante, emphasizes the importance of centering Black perspectives and highlighting Black agency in historical narratives. Black individuals in the antebellum period actively sought education and devised ways to protect themselves from the dangers of White supremacy. Instead of fully exploring these dynamics, Surrounded leans too heavily on the perspective of its White protagonist, sidelining the Black women who should be at the center of this story.

Another significant omission in Surrounded is the presence of Black men. While the graphic novel depicts White men in heroic roles, protecting Black women and the school, there is a noticeable absence of Black men in these positions. Given the historical realities of the time, this absence raises questions about whether the graphic novel unintentionally reproduces stereotypes about Black male disengagement from the struggles of Black women. Historically, Black men actively participated in educational initiatives, abolitionist movements, and the broader fight for Black freedom. Their exclusion from the narrative suggests a missed opportunity to provide a more holistic representation of Black community resistance.

Certain character choices in the graphic novel also reflect familiar tropes found in narratives about the Black struggle. One such example is a Black male character who appears to embody internalized anti-Blackness. While it is true that some Black individuals internalized racist ideologies, his presence in the story feels more like a recurring archetype in White-authored narratives than a fully developed character. His eventual death reinforces an all-too-common trope in which such characters are included only to meet a tragic end. What this character contributes to the larger narrative is unclear beyond fulfilling a predictable storytelling pattern.

Additionally, the depiction of a divine Black female figure is both compelling and problematic. The moment in which a student envisions God as a woman of color is powerful in its subversion of Eurocentric religious imagery. However, the decision to depict her as nude is an odd and unnecessary creative choice. While artistic depictions of divine figures often engage with themes of vulnerability and purity, in this context, it raises concerns about the exoticization of Black women’s bodies.

Surrounded is an engaging graphic novel with a unique artistic style and compelling subject matter. The visual elements enhance the storytelling, adding emotional depth to key moments. The graphic novel succeeds in highlighting the hostility Black-Americans faced--even in the North--and brings attention to an important, often overlooked part of history. However, it also falls into several common pitfalls that often appear in White-authored stories about Black resistance. The overemphasis on White characters, the sidelining of Black women’s agency, and the exclusion of Black men all weaken its impact as a story about Black liberation. That said, Surrounded is a valuable contribution to historical fiction, as it brings attention to an important chapter in Black history. Stories like this play a crucial role in sparking conversations about history, representation, and the ongoing need to center Black voices in narratives of Black liberation.