The residents of Fenton, Massachusetts in 1927 are the sort that enjoy tea with their conversation and champagne with their croquet. A proud history devoid of any crime or scandal has provided the town’s high society citizens with the luxury of fixating on such concerns as wine pairings and the proper knot for a necktie. But when the terrible inconvenience of a nearly double murder shakes the town to its foundation, its inhabitants are forced to reexamine their values and confront their fears. It is with such a set up that Patrick Glendon McCullough begins his debut novel, Son of the Ripper!

The story develops quickly, and as assorted aristocratic gentlemen cast suspicion on each other, a ghastly rumor arises that the murderer could be none other than the son of the infamous Jack the Ripper. The cast of characters falls into place nicely, each citizen dealing with the nuisance of having their life interrupted by a serial killer in their own way. The oft-inebriated sheriff Stewart Trundle and the snotty town genealogist Alistair Praft eventually team up to uncover the mystery, struggling to endure each other’s personalities along the way.

McCullough has a flair for playing up the humor throughout the plot-driven narrative. Alistair’s resistance to the romantic advances of Martha Radcliffe is featured in a few memorable scenes, the awkwardness of their interactions providing the substance of a seemingly accidental and understated comedy. The lighter moments are skillfully balanced with thrilling suspense, as the murders continue and the mounting clues seem to implicate any one of the townspeople. Sudden revelations and requisite plot twists propel the novel to its dramatic conclusion.

The culminating scene is one in which the drama and humor, which had been building separately throughout, ultimately combine as fingers point and accusations fly. Son of the Ripper! resists being overly formulaic, but maintains an easy accessibility in its 300-or-so pages. Its wit is dry but not smug; its action entertaining and light but not predictable or devoid of substance. Indeed one would be hard-pressed to find anything alienating in the entire book, the debut work from a promising young author who we will hopefully be hearing more from in the near future.

Incidentally, Barnes & Noble seems to be selling it for quite a bit less than Amazon, so I would suggest that you purchase it there.

That’s right, Marge is once again large and in charge.  Aryn had a prophetic dream that somehow led her to recover my computer from the abyss.  Expect a new comic on Tuesday, and if you’re lucky, I might even put up two and adjust the timestamp on one of them so it will be as if this whole mess never happened.

In other news, Aryn let me order more Heroscape stuff.  I should really buy her some ice cream or something.

Hey Everybody,

Sorry for the lack of comic this week. My beloved computer Marge, who had been on her last leg for a couple weeks at least, finally entered the void. That’s a nice way of saying I killed her, you see. As a last ditch effort to revive the Marge I knew and loved, I tried to reformat the hard drive and reinstall Windows, but Marge wasn’t having that.

So I write to you now on my wife’s Mac, which probably doesn’t even have a name, and if it did, it would probably be a boy’s name, like Mortimer, or Joaquin. It’s a sad state to be sure, but fear not, because when I review my finances after my next paycheck, I just might be able to replace the old girl (Marge, not Aryn) sooner rather than later. Keep your fingers crossed that all the Super Nintendos in the world suddenly break and mine somehow becomes exponentially more valuable or something.

I considered reprinting an old comic this week, and slapping a new title on it to pass it off as new. But then I decided that if my loyal readers noticed the ploy, they would be annoyed, and if they didn’t, I would be crestfallen. So instead I invite you to delve through the archives and maybe even rediscover a classic.  This one is Keith’s favorite, though I’m not sure why.

Hopefully my hiatus won’t be too long. Maybe I’ll even make it up to you by bringing back the gray poem-reciting box, since everyone enjoyed that story arc so much. Or perhaps not.

Love,
Joe

I know we’re all a little upset with the recent news of drunk astronauts and cats that predict death - let’s face it, we live in troubling times. But fear not, because Futurama is returning, in DVD form, no less!

Reports from Comic-Con indicate that the rumored “new season” will be released straight to DVD as four separate widescreen movies. The films will also be re-edited as 16 episodes to air on Comedy Central next year. It looks like the first DVD comes out in November, which means Futurama Party - my place - be there.

TV Squad Report
TV Blogger Report

If you’re not excited, you’re no friend of mine. That is all.

1. I was at the pizza place less than a block from our apartment, waiting for them to finish our calzones, when I overheard an interesting conversation between two other locals.

Big Tall Guy: “Good Gracious, it’s cold out there!”
Brown Hat Guy: “Uhhhh huh!”
Big Tall Guy: “Too cold!”
Brown Hat Guy: “Too cold!”
Big Tall Guy: “Black people ain’t built for this weather!”
Brown Hat Guy: “I’m keeping my long johns on til it’s 95 degrees!”

I assume the conversation continued after I left with my food, but that was the excerpt I caught. I just thought it was a good example of the kind of characters one meets in my neighborhood.

2. At about 10:30 last night, someone knocks on our door, and it’s our new upstairs neighbor. It seems he’s accidentally locked himself out of his apartment and wants to see if he can shimmy the lock open with one of our keys. Always up for an adventure, we see if there’s anything we can do to help the poor guy, but to no avail. He also unscrewed the front plate of his doorknob and bent it slightly, but was no closer to getting back in.

Then Aryn has the brilliant idea of climbing up the fire escape through our window. Evidently, there’s no ladder or stairs on our building’s fire escape, so he climbs out of our window, goes over to the buliding next door’s fire escape, climbs up their ladder, and carefully makes his way back to the landing outside his apartment. He was eventually able to force his way in, and said later that if we ever need anything, he’s our man. It’s nice to know we’ve got someone watching our backs.

Aryn took me to see Wicked last night for my Christmas present, and it was amazing.  I experienced the peculiar sensation of having all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up and stay there for minutes at a time.  Then I would sloooowly start to calm down, only to suddenly come to some big show-stopping moment where they all stood up again.  I really can’t say enough good things about the show.

We got to see an understudy playing Elpheba, which I was actually excited about.  I have very vivid memories of seeing the touring company of Rent in Boston years ago, and the understudy who played Mimi absolutely stole the show.  This was a somewhat different experience, because I was already familiar with the songs going into Wicked, and I had Idina Menzel and Kristen Chenoweth to compare it to.  But even with such huge shoes to fill, I thought the cast did an amazing job.

There were a couple little things I could pick at, like the actors’ microphones occasionally picking up each other when they got too close, but I wouldn’t notice them if I wasn’t such a dork, and if I wasn’t already so completely in love with the show.  I’m also glad I read the book first, because they’re so completely different that the plot of the book probably would have confused me thoroughly, had I gone into it expecting it to be like the musical.

Anyway, it was a great show.  If anyone is planning a trip to the city, I highly recommend you book your tickets now, since it’s sold out for awhile.  Maybe it’s a stretch to relate to the Wicked Witch of the West, but it’s just so inspiring to see it in person, you can’t help it.  I guess it must have a pretty universal appeal if it can make me wish I could put a spell on a broom and fly out of this place.  It also inspired me anew to write a musical (as if I really need more projects right now), so we’ll see how that plays out.  In conclusion, go see Wicked.  That is all.

Bed-Stuy is a funny place to live.  I feel like we belong in a lot of ways, but we obviously stick out in others.  One thing I’m having trouble with is how it’s next to impossible to buy anything without a bunch of unnecessary crap in it.  It’s a struggle to find unsalted butter, unbleached flour, or even refried beans without added lard.  But on the other hand, we have easy access to sweet potato cheesecake and other essential carbohydrates.  I think we just need to convince all our whitey friends to move here too, so that there will be a bigger demand for our hippy food.

While riding the subway back from our apartment hunt in Brooklyn this weekend, we had the unexpected pleasure of front-row seats to what was one of the most amusing spectacles I have ever seen.  There were three guys dancing for dollars, and to their credit, their routine was tighter than most of those I’ve seen.  But what was far more entertaining than the dancing was the reaction from a German-speaking couple who apparently thought their life was in danger when these guys started doing flips.

I don’t know why seeing people so uncomfortable makes me laugh so much, it just does.  There was the initial recoil when the music started, followed by a gradual slinking backward, but when two of them grabbed each other’s ankles to form a wheel and rolled halfway down the car, I’m pretty sure one of the tourists had a heart attack and the other one went for her meds.  Somehow it was even funnier than seeing the families who have just come from Times Square, get on the train at 42nd St and all collapse in unison when it starts moving.

Maybe I’m a terrible person for finding so much joy in other people’s discomfort, I don’t know.  But these are the things that make me happy.