​There aren’t many graphic novels out there about the 1980s, but having grown up during that era, I get excited when one pops up. Although I was in no way a part of that decade's now famous skate culture, Grommets got my attention anyway. The title comes from skater slang — as a “grommet” is a young, up-and-coming skater or surfer.

Authors Rick Reminder and Brian Posehn (whom you probably know better as Burt from The Big Bang Theory and Stuart Fails to Save the Universe) are both Gen X, and they certainly nail the clothing, cars, music, trends, homophobia, and slang in this semi-autobiographical masterwork.

The story centers around Rick, an aspiring skateboarder who feels like a perpetual outsider as his Yuppie parents constantly move from place to place, forever on the prowl for the next big thing while trying to stave off middle age. Rick’s father is a recovering drug addict, and his mother is a classic enabler. When the family lands in Sacramento in 1984, it’s a new house, a new school, and a new attempt by Rick to overcome the stigma of being the “outsider” when trying to make friends. When the other skaters at his new high school promptly reject him, fellow outsider Brian invites him to go skating instead.

As problematic as Rick’s family life may be, Brian’s is much worse. Abandoned by his self-righteous mother who considers him nothing more than a criminal, Brian is being raised (after a fashion) by his heavy drinking, heavy cursing, over-sexed grandfather who’s suffering serious memory lapses.  In this vacuum of parental care, the boys create their own family with other teens. 

Brian introduces Rick to a trio of skater girls known as “The Jens” because they are all named Jennifer. Brian is in love with Jen 2, who it’s rumored murdered her father and burned down the family home. The rumor isn’t true, of course, but Jen 2 relishes her reputation and definitely suffers from a bad temper and a lack of self-control. 

Other members of their group of “weirdos” include Liberty Spike Mike, a punk rocker whose fierce, defiant mannerisms mask a cowardly heart, and a beautiful Latina Valley Girl named Samra, who’s crushing hard on Rick. 

As the school year progresses, they skate, party, skinny-dip, skate some more, and run from police, mall security guards, and the high school football team alike. The streets, skateparks, malls, arcades, aqueducts, and parking garages of Sacramento become their playground as they try to find the next best place to skate and forget their miserable home lives.

But just as Rick begins to feel at home in Sacramento, his parents announce that the family is relocating again —this time to Phoenix, Arizona. Like most teenage boys, Rick and Brian struggle to express how the forced separation is affecting them. Having found each other through skating — which Liberty Spike Mike calls “the official sport of weirdos” — they’re now looking to start all over again… and do it alone. 

As I said at the top of this review, I was never into the skate scene of the 1980s, but I definitely recognized its impact on youth culture, even then. The legendary Z-Boys, a group of innovative skaters in the mid- to late-1970s, became celebrities in their own right and transformed the sport into a phenomenon when many thought it was akin to juvenile delinquency. While Grommets — to its credit — doesn’t rehash the now well-known story of Dogtown and the Z-Boys, it is certainly influenced by personal accounts from Z-Boys like Jay Adams, Tony Alva, and Stacy Peralta. But more to the point, it's the story of teens who feel like freaks finding each other and realizing that they're actually special. And what teen can't relate to that?

The book's writing, dialogue, and caricaturization are first-rate and make for an excellent coming-of-age story… even if you know nothing or care nothing about skating. Likewise, the artwork has a real 1980s feel. The gritty realism, experimental layouts, exaggerated action, graphic violence, and caricaturesque personalities reminded me of what you might see in CARtoons, Road Rash, Shred, and even Mad Magazine of that era. 

Conclusion: Grommets is an excellent read, and I hope we get more from this creative team!

In Brian D. Kennedy's A Little Bit Country, readers are introduced to Wanda World — a fictional amusement park inspired by the real-life Dolly World. In fact, I picked up this book because of my love of amusement parks and a boyhood dream of working in one. The park, however, ultimately just serves as a backdrop for two young men, Emmett Maguire and Luke Barnes, as they navigate the complexities of identity, love, and ambition.

Emmett Maguire is a Chicago native who dreams of becoming the world's first openly gay country music star. With the help of his Aunt Karen, Emmett lands a summer job in a musical stage show at Wanda World, owned by his idol, the legendary and bigger-than-life Wanda Jean Stubbs. For Emmett, this opportunity is a stepping stone toward his ultimate goal, even though the park sits in a small, rural town that feels worlds away from his urban upbringing.

Luke Barnes, on the other hand, is a local boy grappling with his own set of challenges. Closeted in a very conservative community, Luke longs to escape his family's financial struggles and pursue a career as a chef. His family's history is intertwined with Wanda Jean's, as Luke's grandmother, Verna Rose, was once Wanda Jean's best friend and musical partner until a scandalous love triangle tore them apart. This connection to Wanda Jean is a sensitive subject within Luke's family, casting a shadow over their lives.

When Emmett and Luke's paths cross at Wanda World, there is an undeniable attraction. Their burgeoning relationship, however, is problematic from the first. Emmett is open about his sexuality and adores Wanda Jean's music, while Luke is deeply closeted and resents the music and the icon herself. As they navigate these challenges, they still try to support each other’s dreams — Emmett's musical aspirations and Luke's culinary ambitions.

Their relationship grows more complicated when Emmett discovers Luke's familial connection to Verna Rose and the possibility that Wanda Jean's hits were plagiarized from her work. As Emmett faces the pressures of pursuing a music career, including a disheartening encounter with an indie music agent, he must make tough choices about how he wants the world to see him. This collides directly with Luke's internal struggles and family pressures and culminates in a dramatic confrontation with Wanda Jean that reveals unexpected truths about her relationship with Verna Rose. 

A Little Bit Country is a competently written, mostly engaging story, though the interlocking tensions can feel overwhelming at times. Kennedy weaves a narrative rich in drama and dialogue, though it occasionally veers into soap opera territory with its multitude of subplots. While the story could have benefited from a more streamlined approach —particularly by leaving out some supporting characters and subplots, like Emmett's discovery that Aunt Karen is being cheated on—it still captures the challenges young LGBTQ individuals face.

The novel deserves credit for its realistic portrayal of the struggles young gay men endure, particularly the impact of homophobia. Emmett's refusal to hide his sexuality for the sake of a record deal is a commendable stance that, honestly, may have ended his career before it ever began. His decision to reject the continued use of Verna Rose's songs for personal gain highlights his integrity. In contrast, Luke emerges as a tragic figure. His homespun work ethic and salt-of-the-earth personality clash with his inherent dishonesty toward himself and those around him, and sometimes it’s very hard to like him, even when you feel sympathy for him. 

The plot twist involving Wanda Jean and Verna Rose was both surprising and a little heavy-handed. While I personally didn’t see it coming, it might have been more impactful if the story had fewer dramatic elements competing for attention. Honestly, by the time we resolved this plot point, A Little Bit Country was feeling like an old episode of the Dallas TV show. 

As for the central relationship between Emmett and Luke, it's hard not to question how long it could last. Their connection, rooted primarily in physical attraction, seems mismatched given the vast differences in their backgrounds and personal struggles. Whether their relationship could withstand the test of time remains uncertain.

Overall, A Little Bit Country is a decent read that captures the struggles of youthful ambition and identity amid family and cultural expectations. While it may not stand out as a great LGBTQ YA novel, it offers an honest look into the complexities of young love and self-discovery in a world where dreams and reality often collide.

I read Maurice by E.M. Forster in college. First written in 1913-14 and revised over the following decades, it is the story of two men — Maurice and Clive — who fall in love as students at Cambridge University. It was a brave endeavor, written at a time when gay relationships were essentially illegal in Great Britain. 

Although Forster showed the book to many close friends and colleagues, he never tried to get it published, possibly fearing prosecution. A note found in the manuscript after his death read, “Publishable, but worth it?”

Once Maurice was printed, critics’ major point of contention was its happy ending. It was one thing to write about homosexuality, but quite another to portray gay relationships in a positive light. The trope of the tragically doomed gay man — a depressed, self-loathing, and often suicidal outsider condemned to a miserable existence — was expected of any author who dared to broach the subject. Anything less looked like an endorsement of homosexuality. 

​(I should note that Forster specifically wanted his book to have a happy ending — perhaps to shatter this ugly expectation.)

In the novel, Maurice finds his soulmate in Clive’s groundskeeper, Alec. William di Canzio’s book, Alec, written over 50 years after Maurice was published and almost a century after it was written, focuses on this character almost entirely.

Although Maurice was a fascinating, even uplifting book, I always wondered how an upper-crust investment banker and a lower-class working man could make their relationship work in British society. It always seemed like the two men would have to separate themselves from Great Britain altogether — maybe by emigrating to another country, maybe by hiding away in some vast wilderness. So, as this novel takes us through Alec’s early years, his sexual awakening, his romance with Maurice (as relayed by E.M. Forster), the World War that separates them, and ultimately their reunion, it also shows their intention to do just that. 

Di Canzio, having the benefit of writing in a more enlightened time, doesn’t pull any punches in showing how difficult it would’ve been for men of this era to build lives with each other. World War I notwithstanding, Alec and Maurice have all kinds of existential forces conspiring to keep them apart, and they find few allies along the way. One of the biggest challenges for both is their individual feelings about their own homosexuality. As detailed in Forster’s book, Maurice is highly mindful of his position and his privilege, often going to great lengths to repress or even “cure” his gayness. Alec, by contrast, is more accepting of himself — and much less concerned about others’ opinions. Maybe it’s because Alec has less to lose, or maybe just that he’s more defiant of a social hierarchy that is already cruel and unfair to people like him. Whatever the reason, Alec’s journey to self-acceptance means multiple and early affairs with both men and women, and none of the attempts to scrub away his sexuality we saw in Maurice. 

In the end, Alec leaves the reader exactly where Forster did: with the two men still struggling to find their place in the world, still hoping to find some wilderness where they can hide from the prejudices of others. This may not be the romantic ending some modern readers of LGBTQ fiction will want. Still, considering the era in which the book is set, it’s an honest ending, an important reminder of how things used to be, and a cautionary note about returning to that ugliness. 

RELATED FEATURES: LGBTQ Collection | Pride on the Big Screen 

If you’re searching for the perfect addition to your cozy fantasy reading list, this warm and uplifting novel is a great fit! The Very Secret Society of Irregular Witches Deluxe Edition is about an isolated witch whose opportunity to embrace a quirky new family—and a new love—changes the course of her life!

See Coffee, Tea & a Cozy Fantasy for more cozy fantasy recommendations >>

This new deluxe edition includes:

• Beautiful new cover art with foil and embossing
• Stenciled edges
• A bonus epilogue

SYNOPSIS: As one of the few witches in Britain, Mika Moon knows she has to hide her magic, keep her head down, and stay away from other witches so their powers don’t mingle and draw attention. And as an orphan who lost her parents at a young age and was raised by strangers, she’s used to being alone and she follows the rules...with one exception: an online account, where she posts videos "pretending" to be a witch. She thinks no one will take it seriously.

But someone does. An unexpected message arrives, begging her to travel to the remote and mysterious Nowhere House to teach three young witches how to control their magic. It breaks all of the rules, but Mika goes anyway, and is immediately tangled up in the lives and secrets of not only her three charges, but also an absent archaeologist, a retired actor, two long-suffering caretakers, and…Jamie. The handsome and prickly librarian of Nowhere House would do anything to protect the children, and as far as he’s concerned, a stranger like Mika is a threat. An irritatingly appealing threat.

As Mika begins to find her place at Nowhere House, the thought of belonging somewhere begins to feel like a real possibility. But magic isn't the only danger in the world, and when peril comes knocking at their door, Mika will need to decide whether to risk everything to protect a found family she didn’t know she was looking for…

RELATED FEATURES: Fantasy Collection | Supernatural Collection | Paranormal Collection

Will Grayson, Will Grayson is a very good book, very good book.  

Let’s just get that out of the way early so any criticism I present will seem paltry in comparison.  The novel is smartly written and deals sensitively with a topic that’s probably more of an issue with image-conscious teens than adults – having an openly gay best friend.

As the curious title might imply, the story is told by two boys, both named Will Grayson, who live in the Chicago area. The first Will Grayson (let’s call him Will #1) is a likable but timid guy who always tries to do the right thing but can quickly lapse into self-recrimination whenever it brings unwanted attention to himself. His timidity probably isn’t helped by the fact that his best friend is a giant of a young man, ironically called “Tiny,” who’s not only a football star but is unabashedly gay with loud moments of great drama.  Will #1’s relationship with Tiny goes all the way back to elementary school. Even in those early days, Tiny possessed a level of courage and self-confidence that produces from Will #1 envy, admiration and embarrassment.  Will #1’s hypocrisy often makes life with Tiny a challenge.

Will #2 is an inner-city kid who has struggles of his own. He tries to manage both his depression and his homosexuality by keeping himself isolated from most other people. His difficulty with other people has prompted Will #2 to construct an elaborate online relationship with an unseen boy named Isaac. Can you see trouble a-brewing here?  It turns out that “Isaac” is the creation of a female classmate who is angered by Will #2’s disinterest in her and has made it her personal quest to out him. Will #2 discovers the deception when he agrees to finally meet “Isaac” and finds himself standing in the doorway of a porn shop in a seedy Chicago neighborhood. This is where he encounters – purely by chance – the other Will Grayson. Will #2 confides his humiliation to the stranger with the same name who, being an inherently empathetic person, responds kindly.  It is through Will #1 that Will #2 meets Tiny, whose undying sense of romance manages to pull the boy out of his dark funk and experience affection with a real person.

The rest of the novel deals with the intertwined relationships between these characters, set against the backdrop of an autobiographical play Tiny is producing for his high school.  The play contains caricatures of many of his friends, including both Wills, which is both revealing and uncomfortable for all parties.

The novel is refreshing in that it avoids the usual coming-of-age or tortured-soul themes that often mark novels on this topic. Although Tiny’s flamboyant behavior is often a source of embarrassment to his friends, they never persecute him for it. Likewise, when Will #2 begins to come out to others, he finds most of his friends and his mother to be very supportive. This may not be a reality enjoyed by many American gay youth, but it is a happy possibility that may give some hope.  

The book is written in first person with alternating chapters written by the respective Wills. Authors John Green and David Levithan do a good job of giving both boy a separate and distinctive voice, mainly because each wrote a Will independently of the other. If there was one off-putting thing about this technique, it was Will #2’s voice which is written almost entirely in “cyber speak.”  While it is true that a disturbing number of teenagers believe that “what” is spelled without an “h” and that capital letters don’t exist at all, reading ten chapters of this proved irksome.  I kept wanting to send Will #2 to remedial English class.

This being said, the authors were spot-on in their characterizations of modern teens.  Even the cruel deception that Will #2’s classmate perpetrates could be lifted right off the front page of a modern newspaper (...uh, make that the homepage of a news websites.) One thing that did surprise me (I won’t use the word troubled here), was the virtual lack of any relationship between the two Wills. Once they have their chance encounter in the porn shop, and a touching moment of spontaneous bonding on the street, the two characters never see each other again until the last pages of the book. The boys acknowledge the weirdness of having the same name and being drawn through circumstances to a place neither of them would normally go, but then the happenstance seems to be forgotten. I point this out because it seems almost as though the book is miss-titled. By the time the Wills meet, the book is really about Tiny.  

​Still, all things considered, Will Grayson, Will Grayson is a mesmerizing novel that I had a hard time putting down.  It’s worthy of all the kudos its received from other critics and I personally look forward to other titles from these authors.  

All June, Bookshop.org is celebrating Pride Month by offering 15% off on select titles. I have curated my own selections for Laughing Boy Books, concentrating on LGBTQ titles that intersect with nerd genres such as science fiction, fantasy, horror, dystopian, myth and legend and select young adult. 

The 15% discount applies to any of the titles shown below and is valid through June 30, 2026. Use code Pride26 at checkout. Discount off list price. Excludes ebooks.

RELATED FEATURES: LGBTQ |Quinton's Curious Mind Book Series | Pride on the Big Screen | How Tim Drake Reclaimed the Gay Robin Story | 

The 1980s were home to plenty of animated TV shows used as gross marketing ploys to sell toys to kids. But for those of us who grew up during that era, we hardly cared. We still hurried home every afternoon to watch our favorites — and one of the most famous was He-Man and the Masters of the Universe. 

Indeed, He-Man ruled the airwaves and toy aisles. If you’ve ever found yourself shouting "I have the power!" while brandishing a plastic sword, then you’re no stranger to the legendary Masters of the Universe franchise.

At the heart of this epic saga is He-Man, a superhero who hid his rippling muscles and superhuman strength behind the alter ego of the mild-mannered Prince Adam. Together with his trusty allies, He-Man defended the mystical secrets of Castle Grayskull and the entire universe from his sinister uncle, Skeletor. 

The television series "He-Man and the Masters of the Universe" was a colossal hit in the 1980s, skyrocketing sales of Mattel's action figures to new heights. Kids across the country couldn’t get enough of of He-Man and he certainly inspired other toy companies to follow suit. See my blog Reliving 1980s Animated TV.

But the magic didn’t stop at the small screen. The show was accompanied by comic book tie-ins which continue up to this day. And while He-Man’s adventures were initially confined to the TV, toys, and comics, it wasn’t long before motion pictures followed. The first big screen adaptation, Masters of the Universe, hit theaters in 1987, with the aptly-cast Dolph Lundgren squeezing into He-Man's iconic furry cod-piece. While the film might now be considered a cult classic, at the time it was a disaster. No wonder if took nearly forty years to get a reboot, this time with Nicholas Galitzine wielding the Sword of Power. The film releases on June 5. 

He-Man has become more than just a character; he's a cultural icon. Over the years, countless books have been penned about the TV series, toys, comics, and He-Man's monumental impact on pop culture. He-Man's true strength is in the joy and nostalgia he continues to bring to generations of fans — so I’ve put together a curated list that touches on the show, the comics, the toys and the cultural influence. 

RELATED: Reliving 1980s Animated TV | Down the Teen TV Rabbit Hole | 

​I grew up loving giant monster movies. I'd tune into them every Saturday afternoon by middle school I was making my own versions using an old 8mm camera. Later, I relived the fun as Elvira's Movie Macabre and Mystery Science Theater 3000 hilariously riffed on them.

I’ve wanted to create a list of the best comics and graphic novels featuring giant monsters (also referred to as kaiju) for a while now, but I thought I’d start with some background on this cultural phenomenon, at least as it relates to pop culture. 

King Kong (1933) is generally considered the foundational giant monster in popular culture. (There are some earlier examples, of course, but Kong started giant monsters down a path to popularity, which continues to this day.) Even as I'm writing this, it occurs to me that just last night I was watching the big monkey punch out Titan X on Monarch: The Legacy of Monsters. Time creeps along, but big monsters persist, I guess.

At the time of its release, Kong was probably viewed as a kind of Beauty and the Beast tale... the savage animal is tamed by his inexplicable love for a tiny blond woman (Fay Wray). More modern sensibilities probably see it differently, with Kong and his imitators — like Mighty Joe Young — symbolizing human exploitation of nature. But after World War II and with the onset of the nuclear age, giant monsters took on new and more sinister significance.

The best known of this new breed of monster was Godzilla, introduced in 1954 by Toho Studios and a direct metaphor for the nuclear age. Japanese giant monsters (also known as kaiju) were no longer oddities of nature captured from remote and exotic lands to be displayed in a sideshow. Now they were heartless killing machines created by human meddling in the natural world. The message was clear — humanity is fucked, and we did it to ourselves. Godzilla may be stamping Tokyo into oblivion, but he wouldn’t be doing any of that if we hadn’t set off nuclear warheads in Bikini Atoll. 

During the same era and across the Pacific Ocean, giant animals terrorized American communities. In most cases, American monsters weren't as fanciful as their Japanese counterparts, but rather existing species mutated to immense size by radioactivity or other human technology gone awry. Massive spiders, Gila monsters, ants, and grasshoppers ran rampant through small towns and big cities alike. They too warned of the horrors of radioactivity and nuclear testing, but bringing it home to small towns and middle class neighborhoods.

Ultimately, maybe even paradoxically, these behemoths were brought down by the might of the modern military, while some humbled scientists waxed philosophical about humanity's persistent habit of “meddling in God’s domain.”

From the 1960s through the 1980s, giant monsters stepped out of the horror realm and became superheroes marketed as family entertainment. Big monsters might still be threatening humanity and destroying cities, but now we could count on friendlier kaiju to chase them off. In 1965, Daiei Film introduced a flying, fire-breathing turtle called Gamera, who was intended to compete directly with Toho’s Godzilla. Billed as “the protector of humanity,” the Gamera films prominently featured child characters who both empathized and could communicate with Gamera. 

By the early 90s, misguided science again burdened us with giant monsters of dark purpose. Jurassic Park led the way by reanimating extinct dinosaurs, which its sequels exaggerated to absurd lengths. Giant monsters became something we both feared and mocked. Parodies and near-parodies like Leviathan, Arachnophobia, Deepstar Six, Tremors, and the ongoing Godzilla and Gamera series mixed horror with humor, and often downplayed moralizing in favor of a more dystopian tone. This trend continues today, giving us some very watchable films like Pacific Rim, Cloverfield, Pitch Black, The Host, Cabin in the Woods, Kong: Skull Island, and Trollhunter.

Though giant monsters found fame in film, they’ve also starred in many books. Below, I’ve selected titles reflecting these trends, and though the vast majority of books are about Godzilla, and I've tried to throw in a few surprises as well. Most, but not all, are comics or graphic novels. 

RELATED: Absurdity in Space: Mystery Science Theater 3000 | Black Lagoon Legacy | Review: Godzilla vs. Portland 

I grew up with Superman and Spider-man. They were literally my first great comic book loves.

As a child, I obsessively watched the black-and-white repeats of The Adventures of Superman (1952-1958) starring George Reeves or got up early every Saturday morning to thrill to Super Friends (1973-1985), where the Man of Steel was indisputably the lead character.

Afternoons were Spider-Man time. The 1967 animated series ran in syndication after school — and yes, like so many nerds of my generation, I can still sing the iconic theme song in its entirety. 

But the afternoons also meant I could look forward to Stan Lee's Spider-Man comic strips, which ran daily in the Tucson Citizen newspaper starting in 1977.

In my youth, I don't know if I ever imagined Superman and Spider-Man teaming up. But thanks to Marvel and DC Comics continuing their tradition of superhero cross-overs, we have a new Superman / Spider-Man comic book. Like previous versions, it contains various stories, this time spearheaded by powerhouse creators like Mark Waid, Jorge Jimenez and Jim Lee.

Thanks to decades of variants and multiverses, the book features different team ups — sometimes of Superman and Spider-Man, but also of their friends, family members and tangential characters. My two favorites were titled "Truth, Justice and Great Responsibility" and "Tapping In."

The first features the iconic versions of the main characters going up again Doctor Octopus who's under control of Brainiac. The artwork by Jorge Jimenez is fantastic!

Other stories include:

"The World's Finest" finds Lois Lane and Mary Jane Watson in a friendly and humorous conversation about careers and navigating relationships with super-powered men with secret identities. Plus, they crush hard on Gambit. 

"The Bridge" offers some "dad to dad" bonding as Jonathan Kent and Ben Parker encounter each other during a torrential storm — and prove that their son/nephew aren't the only heroes in their families. 

"Beyond the Cobwebs of Tomorrow" features Superboy and Spider-Man 2099, with Batman. In this story, the superheroes realize that they're on parallel paths as they slip through time to stop the brutal reigns of Dr. Doom and Lex Luthor. 

"Jimmy con Carnage" is an amusing short where Jimmy Olsen leaves Metropolis and goes to work with Peter Parker at the Daily Bugle, where he must endure the ultimate boss-from-hell — J. Jonah Jameson. In is quest to please J. Jonah with photos of Spider-Man ("who's Spider-Man??"), Jimmy mistakes Carnage for the web-slinger. 

"Bias" takes a page from our modern talk news with Lois Lane and J. Jonah Jameson having a fiery debate about media and how it covers the likes of Superman and Spider-Man. And also Wonder Woman, Captain America and the Fantastic Four. 

Continue to watch this website as I will be debuting a curated Spider-Man book list in the near future. You can find my Superman Collection here.

​RELATED FEATURES: When Jason Todd Helped Save Superman | Review: Superman: The Harvest of Youth | It's Jason Todd vs. The Joker in DC's KO Series | ​Batman / Deadpool Crossover is Out | 

Godzilla rampages across the United States in IDW’s "Godzilla vs. America" series, with each comic unleashing chaos on a different city. The latest installment, "Godzilla vs. Portland," released in March 2026, invites readers to experience this unique blend of local culture and monster mayhem. I couldn’t resist picking up a copy when I stumbled upon it during a visit to Portland this past weekend.

One of the standout features of this miniseries is its commitment to authenticity, which engages local writers and artists to capture the essence of each city. "Godzilla vs. Portland" is no exception, and it’s clear that the contributors have a genuine love for the City of Roses. The comic contains four short stories, each offering a different slice of life from Portland, albeit with a giant lizard stomping through town.

The stories within "Godzilla vs. Portland" vary in quality, with two particular tales standing out above the rest.

Dog Day Afternoon by Cat Farris was my favorite. This story captures Portland’s quirky culture by focusing on two locals engrossed in a heated debate over the city’s official hot dog recipe. Amidst debate, they remain blissfully unaware of Godzilla’s destruction all around them. Farris nails the Portland vibe, from therapy llamas to the gag-inducing mention of kale sauerkraut, making it a delightful parody that resonates beyond the monster chaos.

High Score by Caitlin Yarsky, set in 1981, connects Portland’s Polybius urban legend to Godzilla’s arrival. A local news reporter makes a startling discovery — achieving a certain score on the mythical arcade game summons the monster from the Willamette River. It's pure classic monster movie melodrama with a modern day twist. 

While I enjoyed these stories, I wonder if the anthology’s highly local-centric approach might limit its appeal, especially for readers unfamiliar with Portland. Many in-jokes and cultural references may not resonate or could be misunderstood by outsiders. The risk with such a concept is that it can lean too heavily on stereotypes or niche humor, which is primarily appreciated by residents, making it less engaging for a broader audience.

​However, even with these potential hurdles, the anthology remains an entertaining concept. The juxtaposition of a global icon like Godzilla with the idiosyncrasies of various American cities makes for a fun read. 

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