Hyperion just agreed to publish a book by Richard Phillips, the captain of the ship that was taken hostage by pirates. They allegedly paid him $500,000 for the rights to publish his story. These kind of book deals astound me: People will only want to read the three chapters that deal with the hostage situation, and he'll probably talk all about that on Oprah anyway. Why spend half a million bucks for it?

Last September I reviewed Scott McCloud's The Complete Zot!

Zot is a superhero from an alternate dimension who falls in love with a girl from our world named Jenny Weaver. Most of the conflicts in their relationship have to do with the fact that the man might as well be from Mars: Zot's home planet is an unbelievably optimistic earth high on the lasting effects of world peace and packed to the rafters with harmless adventure. This nearly 600-page collection of Zot! comics produced between 1987 and 1991 is surprisingly cohesive; the first half of the book consists of dumb superhero fun and the second half is a more thoughtful and (sometimes too) serious examination of the book's supporting cast. It exemplifies the problem that almost all comics creators—from Jack Cole to Jaime Hernandez—wrestle with over the course of their careers: In a medium that's especially good at fun, sometimes the creators' desire to be taken seriously can overwhelm the reader in issue-heavy drama.

Well, HarperCollins has just released 100 pages of Zot! for you to read for free. It's a fun collection of comics, and I recommend taking the time to read them. This should take you to about quitting time, I reckon.

(Via Robot6.)

Don't read this book review by Lindy West while eating your lunch—not because it's disgusting, but because it's a laugh-until-your-sandwich-comes-shooting-out-of-your-nose hazard. Two words: "weeping cock." You have been warned.

Last week on the Seattle Poetry Chain, Bob Redmond gave us a spirited poem about Ohio and the burning of the Cuyahoga. This week, he gives us a new poet whose writing you may know, but probably not from his poetry. Here's what Bob has to say about him:

Larry Lee Palmer covers horses and horse racing for the P-I and other outlets, and on a hunch I asked him if he writes "regular" poetry as well. He does—in fact he considers himself a poet foremost. With this I agree wholeheartedly: no local columnist is as lyrical, no matter what form they try. And while most self-described poets forget that the word "poetry" is bestowed rather than presumed, Palmer has earned his.

Here is Larry Lee Palmer's poem:

THE BEAST OF FIRE

Bright creatures in the fiery glade
Where under glaze and etch of stars
The rub of hot sweet promise made;
She feels it in her nape and loin as if
The moon might burst to quench
Her wet desire with her thirst—
Then comes he roaring round a bend
Prancing round her like the night—
Her moan has made his armor proud
The wildebeest of desire
Wallows in the liquid fire
And she bends low as if to rub
Her open beauty in the earth,
Her screams for tenderness
Remind the dead to breathe
And make his bellow hoarse with need—
Then like a swift and brutal god of love
He mounts his leapord bride and rides with
Her through kingdoms of the Pleiades:
If beauty be the sex of tenderness
Then love a beast of fire
That haunts us in our emptiness.

Palmer unlocks another whole world of possibilities for the Seattle Poetry Chain, so tune in next week to see who he chooses to succeed him. Thanks to Bob Redmond and many thanks to Larry Lee Palmer for participating in the Seattle Poetry Chain.