When it comes to stirring up the profane and the profound, there may be no better writer in comics than Garth Ennis. His Preacher is a legendary creation for exactly that reason.

The Boys is more often profane than profound, which can be its greatest flaw or its greatest asset, depending on your point of view. There are those (and hell, I'll put myself among their proud number) who enjoy the occasional graphic bit of humor, whether it involve sex, violence, both, neither, or just a good ol' steaming pile of dog crap.

If you are not one of those types, The Boys will put you off almost immediately, for that is a large part of the book's appeal. Unfortunately, it doesn't quite have the level of characterization and depth yet that made Preacher so remarkable. There are hints of it, and it seems likely that it will gain that aspect as the series continues, but for the moment, it's bring on the farts and the pissing dogs.

Darick Robertson is one of my favorite artists of all time, especially for his work on Transmetropolitan, and he's in fine form here; his gift for detail and expression is well-exploited by Ennis' scripts, and there's a grimyness to the whole affair that fits well with the book's tone.

So be warned: You must enjoy the occasionally profane to enjoy The Boys, and when it becomes profound, it will be a book unlike anything else on the stands, and pretty great to boot. As it stands, for fans of superhero lampoons mixed with outrageous comedy and relatively nuanced characterization, it's definitely pretty good.

There's a handful of graphic novels and trade paperback collections that are rightfully deemed "essential" by pretty much

anyone who reads funnybooks for any serious length of time.

You've got your Watchmen, your Maus, your Dark Knight Returns.

And then there's Batman: Year One. Maybe it's not one of the great paradigm-shifting works of western sequential art, but it's a damn good story nonetheless, and anyone interested in the evolution of the superhero comic book (and of course, fans of Batman) needs to pick this up post-haste, if it's not already on your bookshelf.

Frank Miller tackles Batman for the first time post-Dark Knight as a writer on this book, which takes apart the seminal early days of Batman's career and reassembles them into a shape resembling the original, but also wholly unique. One big change Miller makes is that characters like Selina "Catwoman" Kyle and "Lieutenant" James Gordon now have their own major roles to play in the Bat-mythos. In doing so, he subtly expands Batman's foundations to include these vital supporting characters; just as Batman wouldn't be Batman without the fancy car and the insomniac crimefighting schedule, Miller seems to be suggesting that Batman also wouldn't be who he is without the female foil and the long-suffering cop on his side. It's an interesting shift in the Batman mythos, and it starts here.

Miller also gets good mileage out of planting Batman's feet more firmly in a "realistic" setting, as his chief adversaries in this story aren't whacked-out supervillains but instead are very violent and legitimate mobsters. It doesn't help him much that the cops also aren't really on his side, yet another subtle tweak to the early days of Batman that casts this era in some interesting shades of gray.

David Mazzucchelli's artwork is rightfully regarded as stunning and groundbreaking; you can see hints of it in artists today as diverse as Darwyn Cooke and Cully Hamner. Working in shades and the barest of lines, he suggests as much as he shows, which should be the golden rule of drawing Batman, since that's the whole point of the character.

It's hard to believe, honestly, that any self-respecting comics fan would never have read this, but if you're new to this stuff, or if this book has somehow slipped outside your radar, buy it now, and read it immediately.

It's a little-known fact, but Henry Kissinger is a key player in Essential Super-Villain Team-Up.

That's not exactly the type of stuff they're gonna advertise on the cover, but they SHOULD, dammit. Because that in a nutshell is the charm of Super-Villain Team-Up: This stuff isn't gonna earn a spot on your shelf next to Watchmen anytime soon, but it may deserve a place in the corner of your bottom shelf, where you keep the dusty old paperbacks that make you feel silly.

This, right here, is primo seventies Marvel madness: A slew of weird bits strung together by the barest suggestion of a plot, executed with artwork that verges wildly between the superheroic sublime and the simply stupid.

It's a reminder, too, that comics history isn't just stacks and stacks of great classics that we all love and read over and over and let's sing Kumbaya too, while we're at it. Those historic runs and titles stand upon the bending backs of countless other comics, books whose tales will fade quickly or slowly with the passing of time, regular dumb monthly superhero comics, churned out for decades by two major publishing houses in quantities of millions apiece.

These comics weren't great high art, agonized over by ambitious young auteurs seeking to place their creative imprint on the world. These were churned out at what was probably a frightening pace by journeymen craftsmen who knew their trade and plied it well.

That doesn't mean they're bad; it just doesn't mean they're great. Books like Super-Villain Team-Up are good, and fun, and worthy of your brainless time.

This is it.

No, seriously. This is IT.

When it comes to comics, great comics or weak comics or historically important comics or comics PERIOD, this is the one run that rises above them all. It isn't just great comics, it IS COMICS. It is their blood and bone, their heart and soul.

And that's sorta just applicable to mainstream superhero comics, but really, it's true of artsy indie comics and bloody horror comics and anything else you can call "comics" as well. Because the work Stan Lee and Jack Kirby began in this Essential volume--the creation of their 102 issues on Fantastic Four--is the foundation of all that comics are today, and all that comics ever will be.

Just for kicks, it's also the foundation of superheroes as a genre, which has seeped its way into countless other forms of pop culture and storytelling, from video games to movies to novels and TV shows.

The Marvel Age starts here, True Believers, and we still live within it--mainstream comics, for better or worse, are consumed by it. It's that imperfect mix of bold action, melodrama, and whacked-out ideas that has fueled comics for going on forty-odd years.

The Lee/Kirby (or Kirby/Lee?) Fantastic Four maybe doesn't get GREAT until Essential Volume 2, but the seeds are planted here, and it's worth the price of admission to see these two reinventing the medium on the fly. Hell, Kirby's reinvented the medium so many times it ought to be called Kirbys instead of comics.

If your house burns down, and if you have to save one comic book, save this one. Wait--save your kids first, and your pets. Then save this one. The very DEFINITION of Essential.

Now here's where things start getting nutty.

Longtime Marvelites know that one of the kookiest brains cooking up stories for the company in the seventies was Steve Gerber, he of Man-Thing and Howard the Duck fame. What's not discussed nearly as often is that he also lent his talents to a wide range of the decade's superhero books, and it's on Defenders where that gift for the odd and offbeat is served incredibly well by the gimmick of a team that is itself odd and offbeat.

Check out the lineup, alone; by this volume, the core group had evolved into Doctor Strange, Valkyrie, and Nighthawk of all people. "Who's Nighthawk?" you ask, quite reasonably. Nighthawk was a former villain turned hero and the Batman allegory in the Squadron Sinister, a thin ripoff of the Justice League played as inter-dimensional villains. So he's this low-level hero and slightly weird playboy who has his own thing for Valkyrie, just like Hawkeye did in Volume 1.

And let's not forget the Hulk, who ends up palling around with this motley crew simply because they're the only heroes who will hang out with him and not try to punch him in the face. It's hard to tell if it's endearing or merely annoying every time Hulk calls Nighthawk "Bird-nose," but hey, that's the joy of the Defenders--you're just a little bit uncomfortable the whole time you're reading, because all the typical Marvel tropes play out, but they don't fit this group quite as well as they do, say, the Fantastic Four. Because again, the FF fit together and genuinely enjoy their time together, while the Defenders switch off between barely tolerating one another and feigning interest in each other's lives.

This second Essential sees some trippy tales, including a Steve Gerber epic involving a magical harmonica and a dead bum, and the premiere of the Headmen, villains with weird heads. Seriously. A fun time is had by all.

It might just be one of the greatest and most quintessentially "Marvel" concepts in the history of the House of Ideas: A loose-knit group of heroes form their own "team," but basically can't stand to be around each other much, and resist participation in any given adventure unless it benefits them or is somehow required by honor and/or duty.

That's the Defenders, in essence, and this first Essential edition features classic stories that exploit the concept well, even if the truly weird stuff hasn't quite come around the corner yet.

Roy Thomas is a key player in this book, penning some of the initial stories on the Undying Ones that initially bring the Hulk, Doctor Strange, Namor and Silver Surfer together. The villains in these tales are a clear riff on H.P. Lovecraft and his Old Ones mythos, but they're effective especially when penciled by Gene Colan, whose moody work really kicks this book off with a creative bang.

At the other end of the volume is one of the first big crossover events maybe in the history of comics, the Avengers/Defenders War. If these issues by Steve Englehart read a bit dated and quaint today, it's worth remembering when these were published, and cutting all involved a break. Fans who grew up reading them will no doubt find some nostalgic value, and modern fans may scratch their heads at times, especially once they realize that the "war" promised in the story's title is little more than a series of typical Marvel "misunderstandings" that lead to battles between heroes. Regardless, it's an undeniable part of the history of Marvel and of comics in general.

In between those two tales, we get the introduction of the Valkyrie, who will blossom into one of the more intriguing creations of the seventies over the course of the series. Hawkeye also joins up with the "team" for a time and hits on Valkyrie, naturally. Throughout, there's plenty of great character beats, driven by the book's central premise, which is that these heroes will work together if they must, but they don't like each other very much.

Complain about massive event crossovers all you want--and you will, because like me, you're a comics fan who uses the internet on a regular basis--but they occasionally do have some good, lasting effects. For example, every once in a while, a crossover gives birth to a legitimately great series, mixed in amid the forgettable miniseries and abysmal ongoings that inevitably spring up in each crossover's wake.

Starman was launched on the heels of Zero Hour. Hitman was launched after the god-awful Bloodlines. And now, we have The Order, sprung off the conclusion of Civil War and with the potential to stand alongside the aforementioned greats.

How can it be so good so soon? Because Matt Fraction, that's why. (Props due to Chris Sims of the Invincible Super-Blog, who coined the phrase "Because Bob Kanigher" that inspired "Because Matt Fraction." Holla.) Fraction is beyond a "rising star" anymore--he's entering the top echelons of writing talent in the industry with his work at Marvel. Punisher War Journal is big-screen spandex mayhem, Immortal Iron Fist is kooky kung-fu brilliance, and The Order is like The West Wing, but with superheroes.

I think Fraction himself may have made that comparison at one point, and that's because it's apt--to paraphrase some patriot or another, the two things you never want to see made are sausages and superhero teams. The Order's central hook--basically, the superhero team as administrative machine, with all the media and politics that implies--lends itself perfectly to a behind-the-scenes look at what it takes to fulfill the true committment of the Initiative and the fallout from Civil War.

These are legislated, controlled superheroes, carefully trained and deployed, run like a cross between a baseball team and a rock band. Though the superhero action is fun and plentiful--rendered to perfection by Barry Kitson--it's the sausage-making that creates the most compelling draw.

Talk about a crazy relaunch--as "jumping-on points" go, this one's a doozy. After an aborted attempt to place Bart Allen as the new Flash after Infinite Crisis, the powers-that-be at DC utilized writer Marc Guggenheim (who deserved far better) as a hatchet man to off Bart and (surprise!) cancel the 13-issue series.

Then along comes Mark Waid, a veritable knight in red spandex armor, who sweeps up the mess that was Bart Allen's stint as the Scarlet Speedster in a one-shot, and then returns to the title and character that arguably made him a fanboy phenomenon.

Waid jumps on board as fan expectations have just instantly gone from basement-level low to shockingly high within moments, thanks solely to his presence. Which is all by way of saying that his first issues have a lot to live up to...

...and they actually live up to most of it. It's tough and confusing to follow in spots, simply because the situation Waid presents us with is lousy with twisty continuity tricks from the past couple years. Wally West is back on our earth in our time, with his wife Linda and his two kids, both of whom grew up in an accelerated fashion on an alien planet and have superpowers of their own. There's an otherworldly machine involved, and a mystery surrounding a ferryboat crash, and none of it matters much in the end, because Waid shines again where he always shines--sharp dialogue and light pacing. This comic MOVES.

The whole enterprise is aided and abetted by artist Daniel Acuna, whose saturated, detailed style suits the book well at the moment--it's a bit too refined perhaps for a speedy superhero comic, but there's a depth to the visuals that really draws you in.

With Waid taking on editorial duties full-time for indie publisher BOOM Studios, it remains to be seen whether his latest run on The Flash will rival his original run or sputter out far too soon. For as long as he's on board, it's sure to be a good read.