This is easily the weakest issue of Dan Abnett and Andy Lanning’s Authority, but paradoxically give renewed hope for the series as whole. While the main story is an inconsequential run-around, the cliff-hanger revelation underlines both the creative team’s understanding of the book they inherited and how to tell a story in this unusual setting.

With Swift cornered by the remains of the British military, much of the issue is devoted to showing the Engineer’s ongoing scavenging in the derelict Carrier. There’s little character progression here aside from a brief moment of resolve by Jack Hawksmoor, and the re-cycling of the Warhol Virus from the first issue adds to the feeling that the action outside of Rendlesham is merely padding. Simon Coleby deserves credit for keeping to a monthly schedule with no sign of a dip in quality, but not even he can make Angie’s temporary opponent a source of interest. The end of the issue, however, takes a sharp turn leftfield, adding some much-needed intrigue to the post-apocalyptic world. The inclusion of an extra-dimensional “Door” in the final splash page is a sensible inclusion, given that some readers may not immediately recognise the figure revealed.

Given that successive writers have strip-mined Warren Ellis’s twelve issues on the title, it’s odd that the most perfect concept for further exploration has been ignored until now. First Mark Miller seized on the Jenny Quantum thread, before Winter was prised out of the sun by Robbie Morrison and Ed Brubaker built an entire maxi-series out of Henry Bendix’s temporary resurrection. Since Grant Morrison brought back Kaizen Gamorra in the pages of Wildcats, he’s become one of the Wildstorm universe’s foremost villains. Until now, however, Sliding Albion has been left untouched. The psuedo-British imperial aliens featured in Ellis’s second arc, before being dealt a heavy blow at the hands of Jenny Sparks and the Doctor. Their inclusion here makes perfect sense, with the Wildstorm Earth being exactly the sort of weakened target that would attack their attention, but more importantly, the concept itself still crackles with potential. It seems likely that Albion will be the permanent opposition in the book, providing structure to the threats to the team’s protectorate. Although the amount of plot filler in this instalment rankles, it’s hard not to look forward to the next issue.

Every Wednesday we take turns to delve into our trusty longboxes, pluck out a dusty back issue, and give you our thoughts. We’ll also try and place it in the context of the time it was originally published.

When it comes to metatextuality in comics, there’s one undisputed master – and you all know his name, we’re always going on about him on this site, it’s Grant Morrison. Earlier this very year he pulled one of the great comics moments of the last decade or more out of the bag courtesy of the closing pages of All-Star Superman #10, but it’s far from the first time he’s sought to break down or at least blur the lines between reality and the comics page. While some might argue that Flex Mentallo represents the purest, most concise distillation of this pet theme of his, it was his run on Animal Man that really saw him exploring such ideas in detail for the first time – and the manner in which he ties them, in the later issues of his run, so brilliantly into the DC universe and its all-too-recent Crisis make it a series that, for me, still stands as arguably his defining work (if I were more interested in the philosophies behind The Invisibles that view might be different, but still).

Animal Man didn’t start out like that, though. The opening four issues were very good – indeed, it’s perhaps only their influence on so much that has come since that makes them feel a bit more “by the numbers” nowadays – but were more straightforward in terms of playing on a simple, superficial level. Once the series was extended past its original mini, however, Morrison began to put together an overall shape for his run and the themes upon which it would hang – and wasted no time in planting them in the comic, in the shape of issue #5’s “The Coyote Gospel”. While later issues would produce more jaw-dropping moments (“I can see you!” still sends a shiver, as does much of the staggering final issue), this issue is remarkable as a sharp and terse manifesto for what was to come.

As a standalone tale, it’s good enough – it makes for a darkly reflective and metaphysical look at something we’ve always taken for granted: the “suffering” of cartoon animals for our own enjoyment. It tells the story of Crafty (Wile E. Coyote in all but name), who – tired of the constant pain of defeat he’s forced to endure in the never-ending world of cartoon chases – confronts his “creator” (a comic book artist) and is consequently sent to live in the “real world”, to be repeatedly killed and reborn in order to act as “saviour” of his own world. The allegories are, of course, pretty clear, and it’s filled with neat touches and detail – such as the substitution of “Ajax” for “Acme”, or more obviously, Carrie and the unnamed protagonist obliviously singing Jonathan Richman’s “Roadrunner” as their truck inflicts the first of Crafty’s painful deaths upon him. Said deaths – or, more specifically, the subsequent regenerations - are rendered in brutally vivid detail (with some overwrought prose typical of the early part of Mozza’s career), and it’s also interesting to note the lack of relevance that Buddy Baker himself seems to have to proceedings – a bold move considering it was the fifth issue of a series featuring an obscure and unfashionable character.

In the closing pages, however, the true meaning of the tale – and its relevance to the series as a whole – becomes clearer. As Crafty dies one final death before a helpless Buddy, the camera pulls away from the crossroads upon which he lies, and we see that the blood that surrounds him is entirely white – or, more accurately, blank. A panel later, and it’s being filled in red by a mysterious hand and brush from above. Yes, Morrison is making us acutely aware that the “real world” to which Crafty has escaped is, of course, simply another fiction – as if we believed any differently. Furthermore, it’s one that’s susceptible to the whims of another, equally petty and malevolent “creator” – a fact that will become familiar to anyone who goes on to read the rest of the series.

Twenty years on, “The Coyote Gospel” is remarkable comics storytelling in just about every way. It’s fair to say that it does feel a bit less “fresh” than it did at the time, but as an entry point into metafictive exploration of the medium, it’s almost without peer. For a writer and a series so young, there’s something enviably confident about the whole thing – topped off by Chas Truog’s idiosyncratic pencilling style (he maintains the veneer and basic structure of a regular superhero book, while lending a faintly surreal tone with his slightly elongated faces and expressions. It’s not a style I was hugely fond of growing up, but each time I revisit it I come to like it a bit more) and what is – not to put too fine a point on it – one of the greatest comics covers in history. Any way you look at it this is essential comics reading – as is the entirety of Morrison’s run, if you’ve yet to discover it. It’s only twenty-six issues, so starting at the beginning is no great chore – but by the time you reach this issue, you’re sure to be hooked.

The difficulties encountered by Marvel’s high-profile Halo 3 prelude could easily have discouraged major publishers from trying to tap into the video games market. Wildstorm, however, has obviously not been dissuaded, with DICE’s pakour courier now joining the Gears of War squad on comic store shelves. That’s not to say that the lessons of Brian Bendis’s misfire have not been taken to heart, with a number of astute decisions leading to an entertaining read.

Rather than trying to directly tie the plot to a game that is not yet released, Rhianna Pratchett sensibly sets the comic several years prior to the on-screen story, taking the opportunity to flesh out Faith’s background. Kicking off a six-issue limited series, this opening firstly provides an introduction both to the protagonist and the basics of her world, before introducing the A-story that will presumably stretch across the remainder of the issues. Despite this work serving as Pratchett’s comics debut, the game’s writer does an extremely slick job of structuring the story, with good use made of her small cast of characters and a nicely unexpected action sequence during the second half of the issue. Matthew Smith’s art initially seems an odd choice for the title, with his manga-influenced style noticeably at odds with the photo-realistic cover. Once the book moves outdoors, however, his selection makes much more sense, with his clean and bright work will-suited to reproducing the game’s deliberately sterile urban aesthetic.

The issue’s only stumble comes in the first few pages, which overlays a three-way dialogue on top of a flashback sequence showing how Faith originally met her employer. Given that this is the first time the reader has encountered these figures, however, it’s slightly confusing to read, with the effort of working out who’s speaking slightly distracting from the tale. This misstep aside, there’s an intelligent approach to the storytelling, with the doctrine of “show don’t tell” adhered to throughout. Instead of using dialogue to spell out the city’s nature as a totalitarian utopia, the writer instead shows a run-in with military police and the horror of citizens when a rogue element arrives in their back garden. This approach is also taken in respect of the main character, whose absence of extraneous backstory allows the cliffhanger revelation to carry weight. Mirror’s Edge is a pleasant surprise, and should have no difficulty in sustaining interest throughout the remainder of its run.

As I think I’ve mentioned before, I’m not hugely impressed with this recent habit of taking chapters of an ongoing story out and putting them into one-off “Specials”. I find it throws off the momentum and sequencing of a title, even if it falls as a bridge between two arcs proper – as New Krypton Special does. You’re left wondering whether it’s an essential part of the story that’s been pulled out to emphasise its importance, or whether (as in the case of last week’s Jimmy Olsen one-shot) it’s there more to add colour and background for the more dedicated reader.

In this case, I’d have assumed before reading it that it was going to be the former – when in fact, it’s more about the latter. Nothing happens that you’d miss if you just went on to the next issues of Superman and Action Comics, it’s more about establishing the tone (and certain character beats) of the story to come. As it happens, it’s not a bad read. It’s fairly padded out, which only strengthens the argument that it should have been kept to the main titles – a number of scenes have no real reason to drag on the way they do, and thus feel suspiciously like page-filler (the dialogue-free opening of Jonathan Kent’s funeral also feels like it’s copping out of working on bringing out genuine emotion, instead falling back on the time-honoured device of silence).

The sequence that works best, however, is the middle section of the issue – Clark’s conversation with Zor-El and Alura in Kandor itself. It’s the mixture of Clark’s joy at having fellow Kryptonians around, and the increasingly ominous tone as we realise that their presence really isn’t going to turn out to be a good thing for Earth – aptly demonstrated by one Kandorian’s killing of a blue whale.

(Incidentally, while I previously complained about the apparent lack of relevance in killing off Jonathan, I’m starting to see the point of it as this story kicks into gear – killing him has put his very existence, and more notably his influence on Clark, into the spotlight, and we’re presumably going to see the difference between an all-powerful Kryptonian that was raised by the Kents, and ones that weren’t. Let’s hope that we get a more convincing range of Kryptonian characters than a simple one-note “non-understanding alien” take across the board, though.)

The other moment that leaps out comes right at the issue’s close, when the identity of the previously-unnamed “General” is revealed. I have to say that it says a lot about this character’s prior lack of relevance that he can have appeared on-panel unrecognised by simple virtue of not naming him (the reader could be forgiven, in fact, for wondering if Thunderbolt Ross hadn’t crossed universes) – and even the earlier conversation between the Lane sisters didn’t have me twig, although it was probably supposed to. What really strikes me about the closing scene, though, is the way Luthor is used. It would seem that, after a hazy few years where his status has never quite been clear, the final shackles of the Byrne-era “corporate criminal” have been cast off, and he really is back to being an habitually-jailed scientific genius. Not before time, to be honest – Morrison’s All-Star version (clearly an influence here, down to the orange prison suit) showed that it’s an interpretation that can still work, and indeed arguably works better than any other.

It’s a good-looking comic, too, by virtue of the fact that the Superman stable currently has by far its strongest set of artists since the days when Jurgens, Grummett, Bogdanove and Guice were the four main pencillers. It’s a shame, though, that while Pete Woods and Renato Guedes offer no small measure of consistency in their styles, it’s not matched by Gary Frank – whose work is excellent, but stands out as markedly different from the other two, and so gives the funeral sequence an even stronger impression of being something that should have been in the pages of Action, but simply didn’t fit.

Against my expectations, this really isn’t an essential chapter in the ongoing story, and so – especially at the price – I’d hesitate to recommend it unreservedly to anyone looking to get onboard with the new story. But for the current Superman reader there’s a good amount of colour established, and it does the job in a tidy and professional way.

I was a bit worried going into this. Following the hiatus, filled by DC with a bunch of tie-in one-shots (some even written by Mozza himself), it was beginning to look like, once Final Crisis picked up again, it would be dependent on knowledge of some of the stuff that had been published in the interim. This very week a title was released called Final Crisis : Submit, which people across the net have been exhorting to “read before you read issue #4!!!!111”

Such things would have made a mockery both of the book’s original promise to be a self-contained miniseries – and also of its status as a “first book on the pile”, something it should be aiming for as a massive event coming out in the same week as Marvel’s massive event. Thankfully, I’m happy to report that the people who’ve said you need to read Submit – or indeed any other tie-in – first are talking bollocks. Hell, you don’t even need to have read the first three issues, really – all of a sudden, those slow and occasionally baffling chapters look more like a prequel than part of the series itself. Issue #4 begins where you suspect the series as a whole should have kicked off – Earth is in the shit, Darkseid is on his way, and the heroes had better do something about it quickly. Despite the apparent jump in time from the closing pages of #3, these facts are conveyed quickly and effectively – to the extent that I gleaned a better understanding of what had happened earlier in the series than I had from actually reading the issues as they came out. And no information from other books is really necessary – the tie-ins embellish, rather than define, the main series.

What we’re left with, then, is an archetypal “turning point” issue, in which the heroes – those who are left – finally band together to make a stand. You’ve seen it all before, of course – but even so, the sequence in which the rebels (as they’ve become) gather over the SubWave Netw… er, sorry, the Unternet… is superbly inspiring, and not just because of the timely reminder of Alan Scott’s status as one of the DCU’s most venerable heroes. But this is a feature of Morrison’s work – it’s so frequently about moments, and for arguably the first time this series, the issue is full of them: Ollie and Dinah’s farewell, the former then immediately showing just why he’s so excellent; mirroring that, the deeply touching reunion of the Allens (and I’ll be hesitant about this, since it’s only consisted of a few pages, but so far Barry’s return is working – maybe because Grant’s giving him most of the best dialogue); the details of the anti-life equation itself, which is driven by the fantastic idea that in order to conquer people, Darkseid has simply shown them “mathematical proof that [he] is the rightful master of everything in existence”. As an invasion plan, you have to say it’s pretty original.

But it’s not all about heroic comebacks just yet. Rather than being a simple progression of good-to-bad-to-good-again, events are fluctuating in different ways, often meeting and crossing in the middle – and so while Alan Scott’s freedom fighters are raising mood and spirits, elsewhere Earth’s conquerors are only making things worse and worse. After all, Darkseid has been an unsettlingly malevolent presence throughout the series, and yet he hasn’t even appeared yet. This threatens to change, however, in a superb closing couple of pages, as the story of Dan Turpin’s attempt to resist becoming the tyrant’s reincarnated form draws to an (apparent) end – an arresting final full-page image by JG Jones portending even worse to come.

It’s just a shame that the visual side of the book in general has turned into such a fiasco. You just can’t put artists on event books like this if there’s a chance they won’t see it through. You wouldn’t put Quitely or Hitch on this - and Jones, as good as he is at crafting pretty and iconic images, isn’t a Quitely or Hitch when it comes to his storytelling. That said, he does provide some beautiful work here - that terrific closing page, the scenes with the two Flashes, not to mention a fourth absolutely stunning cover in a row, perhaps the best of the lot - but it doesn’t feel worth the upheaval of jumping between him and Carlos Pacheco in this issue and for the next couple, before being replaced entirely by Doug Mahnke for the seventh. Pacheco, for his part, is solid enough, but that’s all he is. The series is a whole is very well presented, with a classier look and feel compared to, say, Secret Invasion - but it feels like sacrifices have been made in order to get a flavour du jour artist’s name on the front, and I don’t think it’s paid off.

Still, we’re getting there. Suddenly, Final Crisis looks less like another lumbering DC crossover, and more like an actual event - and one that, pleasingly, remains a valid self-contained tale in and of itself despite all the tie-ins (not that I’d recommend it to a complete DC novice, but neither do you have to be an avid reader of everything up to and including Dan Didio’s self-congratulatory editorials to “get” it). As with Batman RIP, it’s been a bit slow to kick in, but now that the tension levels are rising - he really does foreboding menace well, doesn’t he? - you sense that even better is still to come.

This is a strange one. Written by current Superman scribe James Robinson, and advertised on the closing pages of that title’s most recent issue as the “next” part of the ongoing arc, it would apparently seem from all of that to be a crucial part of the big storyline that Robinson and Geoff Johns are apparently building. And yet in fact, upon reading it, it’s actually a standalone adventure story that – while it does answer one of the questions posed by the Atlas storyline, and contains continuity developments that are significant if you’re a long-time Superman reader – winds up feeling less essential than one might have thought.

This is a curious feature of DC’s publishing habits in recent years, though. When a big storyline comes along, it’s no longer customary to keep it within the pages of its own title – instead all manner of spinoffs, one-shots and tie-in issues abound, and it’s difficult for the reader to know exactly what they need to buy. The only one of the Final Crisis tie-ins I’ve touched, for example, was Superman Beyond – after all, if I have to see one more story about “the Rogues”, I’m going to scream – and so I genuinely don’t know if I’m going to be missing something big when issue #4 finally hits next week. And the latest Detective Comics story has “Batman RIP” banners splashed all over it, even though it can’t possibly be a concurrent part of Morrison’s story (it can only be taking place before it, in fact). So when it comes to Superman, it’s a bit annoying that significant developments are apparently taking place in one-shot titles rather than the main book – the upcoming New Krypton Special is apparently the next part of the story, although it remains to be seen what it does that couldn’t be told in one or both of the main Superman titles.

Still, divorced from that context, this isn’t a bad read – and in shifting the focus onto Olsen, there’s at least a reason for it to be kept out of the main title. It’s also clear that it offers more to the Superman fan than to anyone drawn in by Robinson’s run on the main title (which has so far kept admirably free of the trappings of tangled continuity, and so has proven pretty accessible to the casual reader), dealing as it does with characters – and an entire organization, in fact – that were created by Kirby in the ’40s (some of them) and ‘70s (the rest) before becoming a slightly overused part of the title’s early ‘90s storylines. Yes, it’s the Newsboy Legion and Cadmus - in fact, in somewhat surprising fashion, it’s the end of the Newsboy Legion and Cadmus, along with a retconning revelation about the Guardian. I can’t imagine there are masses of people out there who’d particularly care about this, but those that do are probably the sum total of the target market for this special.

Anyway, it’s a measure of Robinson’s ability as a writer of dialogue and mood that, on those occasions that he gets the tone right, he’s able to mask storytelling problems with strong atmosphere. Here, if you pick apart the story, it’s a relatively simplistic one, with almost all the exposition handed to Jimmy on a plate - yet it has the feel of a fairly compulsive mystery thriller, and that’s no mean feat. Still, it doesn’t feel like the most coherent work Robinson has ever put together - for example, a neat telepathy-related moment involving Dubbilex contradicts a plot point established earlier in the issue - although that’s no fault of the three pencillers and two inkers, who somehow conspire to give the book a consistent look and style even as they’re passing it between themselves.

Where this works, though, as with much of Robinson’s work, is in the dialogue and character beats. Olsen is a difficult character to make work - too long the butt of jokes, too outdated in the role he tends to play in stories - and I even felt he was, the closing issue aside, one of the weaker elements of All Star Superman. I wouldn’t say that Robinson shows the strongest grasp of the existing character here - because by putting him through a bit of progression for once, he comes out with arguably a new person entirely. But crucially, and this is what makes it more satisfying than most other Jimmy appearances of recent years, he might just be turning him into a character I want to read stories about. And that’s an achievement in itself.