This is the final volume of Grant Morrison’s fabled run on the book, a run trapped somewhere between the churning meta-ideas of his Invisibles and the wide-screen heroics of his JLA, trapped and then heavily dosed with absurdity and crooked horror. The whole thing reads like a fever dream, but we’ve all have fevers before and this book makes more sense than we’d like to admit. So put down the latest event-leading-into-another-big-event-which-is-in-turn-merely-the-prelude-to-yet-another-event and the current completely-not-brand-new-throwback-to-the-Silver-Age and pick up something that’s still forward-thinking and spine-tingling 15 years after it first came out.

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