ironymaiden | Blankets

i'm on a graphic novel kick this weekend. we picked up League of Extraordinary Gentlemen Vol. 2 yesterday on the way back from Chinese New Year /the Quest for Pastel Asian Wall Decor That Isn't Sanrio for My Niece. i read it in the tub, nursing a headache that caused me to skip the Seattle Shakes cabaret (which is saying something about just how lousy i felt). i continue to be frustrated by the combination of excellent storytelling and brevity. i hit on it over breakfast with C this morning - i'm perfectly happy to read stories as comics that i wouldn't read otherwise (if Love and Rockets or Strangers In Paradise were regular books i would never read them, or do so once and walk away disappointed) but i really dig Allan Moore and i feel cheated every time i finish one. i guess i'm still having a hard time reconciling the size of the volume with the amount of content - it's a short story the size of a novel, and i could be imagining a lot more pictures for a lot less money. i don't know if that makes me more or less bourgeois, but i continue to think of the pictures as mostly filler in the fantastic realm.
we were in Borders today, on another errand for me, and C was in the comics section (they have a film tie-in Constantine graphic novel. ew.) until i got the reference books i wanted. i sat down for a moment and pulled Blankets off the shelf; a book i had heard spoken of reverently, but for some reason was never placed in my path. i opened it to a random page, and felt like i had just been punched in the throat. i put it back on the shelf. i have an unfinished project, and i don't know what to do.