"New Avengers: Breakout" by Alisa Kwitney

            This review is of the prose novel “New Avengers: Breakout” by Alisa Kwitney, not the graphic novel.

            The book starts off as Natasha Romanova/Black Widow invades the S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier, catching the attention of Agents Clint Barton/Hawkeye and Jessica Drew/Spider-Woman. Upon her capture, Commander Maria Hill and current head of S.H.I.E.L.D. tasks the agents to bring Natasha to the maximum maximum security prison for super villains or other prisoners who can’t be contained in a regular prison, the Raft, off of Ryker’s Island in New York City. Hill gives Clint the nuclear option of hitting the kill on Natasha should she try any resistance. Clint and Jessica meet with S.H.I.E.L.D. liaison Luke Cage, a man with unbreakable skin and super strength, as Jessica’s powers are currently inactive. As they attempt to bring Natasha to her cell, super villain Max Dillon/Electro stages a breakout. Steve Rogers/Captain America, Tony Stark/Iron Man, and Peter Parker/Spider-Man all head to the Raft in an attempt to contain the prisoners. The heroes all fight together, but forty-two super villains and Natasha are able to escape.

            Commander Hill demotes Clint and Jessica, Jessica secretly discovering her powers are not as inactive as she had been made to be believed. Steve is reminded of the assemblage of the original Avengers, the original team having disbanded following Wanda Maximoff/Scarlet Witch’s breakdown, and decides a new team is needed. Commander Hill is not happy with this and does not recognize the New Avengers’ status as a superhero team, but Steve defies her wishes.

            The New Avengers assess the damage caused by the Raft breakout and get a lead on the true mastermind behind the breakout, the super villain Karl Lykos/Sauron, now in the surprisingly tropical region in Antarctica the Savage Land, populated by Mutates (artificial mutants) and dinosaurs and other prehistoric creatures. The team heads to the Savage Land and meets opposition and a few surprises S.H.I.E.L.D. has been attempting to keep secret.

            As far as the novel goes, I rate this as a 6/10. Having read the graphic novel, I had slight disappointment with the adaptation. The rewrite of history of Clint as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent and having erased any story with Natasha was an interesting choice, but still I felt it detracted from my enjoyment, having been a fan of the graphic novel, which had no inclusion of Clint and Natasha, and lacked the inclusion of Logan/Wolverine, who was a surprise but welcome addition. During the breakout scene, I felt that some of the villains, such as my favorite super villain Carnage, were perhaps defeated too easily. Some of the story in the Savage Land, to me, felt a little drawn out. As far as accessibility to casual readers of the comics or those who have never picked up a comic in their entire life may have difficulties reading this novel. Several of the super villains have never been presented in any other form of medium such as film, and even before this graphic novel, I had no idea there was a Spider-Woman, whose prominent storyline may seem perhaps hard to accept. Luke Cage had his own Netflix series, but his storyline in the novel has no correspondence to the series, so it may seem alien to inexperience readers. Some of the humor was a little dull or lacking. The slightly unrequited love triangle between Clint, Jessica, and Natasha didn’t detract from the story, but it perhaps just didn’t add too much to it. If you are a fan of the graphic novel, I really can’t exactly recommend it directly, but you may want to pick it up. The changes with Clint and Natasha were interesting, but purists may find offense to it. All-in-all, it wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t stellar either. It was a good effort, though, and I appreciated it enough, but I still feel that the graphic novel was better, but again, that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t read the novel, but it was relatively interesting, so I can recommend it to you if you have knowledge of the comics, but if you don’t, this book might not be for you.

Lucky Part Four

    The following is part of a true story.

The next few days passed without much different a routine than the days before the bird entered out life. The only difference was Mom’s calls to Jean. She kept asking how our bird friend was. Jean happily responded that our bird was doing okay. Considering what had happened, the bird’s life was not assured. Sure it was doing fine at the moment, but really its survival was not guaranteed. After all it went through, with the injury, the cold, and the damaged wing, odds were somewhat against our little bird friend. But every day, the little one kept going. It was truly a fighter. Jean managed to get into contact with a Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy who was willing to take our little bird and try to get it back to health and able to fly again, but there were no guarantees that it could ever fly again, or even survive any longer. It was all touch and go. To say this was intense was an understatement. After Jean got the bird to the Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy, we called Jean regularly just to see how our little bird friend was doing. And fortunately, things were going great. The bird was making great progress. Things were looking good.

 

            Finally, on one day, Jean gave us a call, saying the Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy was on his way with our little bird friend. So Mom and I crossed the street to Jean and John’s house to wait for him to come with the bird. The wait was not long. The Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy arrived. He stepped out of the car and got the bird, who was in a large plastic container, of course with breathing holes. We then learned five facts about the bird. First off, it was a yellow speckled sparrow. Next that it was a female. I did not convey this in my narration, but prior to this, we thought it was a little guy. On top of that, it was mature. Considering its size and comfort in Mom’s hand, we figured it was a baby. Fourth was that it had a head injury, which really wasn’t surprising. Finally, we learned it was, in fact, still able to fly. The Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy had brought our bird here because this was her natural habitat, where she grew up and was comfortable, to release her where she belonged. And so, the honors to open up the container was given to Mom, considering she was the one who found her. And so, mom opened up the container. At first, the bird looked confused, like she didn’t know quite what to do. Then, she spread her wings and leapt out of the container. Then she started to flap her wings, and took to the sky. She first alighted in one of Jean’s bushes, then flew off on her own to continue her life in the wild as a free animal. We all clapped as we watched her fly off. Then we shared a few words, especially thanking the Wildlife Rehabilitation Guy, then we all went back to our homes. Although we never actually give her a name, I thought of the only name that would ever fit our little bird friend: Lucky!

Lucky Part Three

   The following is part of a true story.

            So for a while, John, Sandy and I watched the bird. The bird was hopping around the cage. It seemed pretty with it, showing very little sign of damage. If there was conversation, I don’t remember. This was a very unusual, crazy, overwhelming and exciting situation. I even observed, “This is so crazy you just can’t make it up.”

            Finally, Jean and Mom came to the cage. “Do you think we can let it go?” Jean asked.

            After all of the watching, Mom said, “I think so.”

            Having seen the bird going on about the cage, John and I agreed.

            We walked outside with the birdcage. Mom placed it on the ground and opened the cage door. Mom coaxed the bird out of the cage. The bird flapped its wing and began to fly… only for a couple of seconds, literally. It landed in the snow. It began to hop around in the snow, but couldn’t manage to fly again.

            Mom immediately ran into the snow, trying to catch the bird, who was hopping around fast, but confused. It didn’t know where it was or what to do. After several hops, Mom was able to catch the bird, which then laid down into Mom’s Humane Society of the United States gloves, comfortable in the warmth of Mom’s hands.

            Jean held out the birdcage, and we were able to get the bird back into the birdcage after much struggle in trying to separate it from Mom’s gloved hands. It seemed that the bird had injured one of its wings, apparently unable to fly.

            We then assessed the situation. We had bird who couldn’t fly resting in a cage. We then decided that the best thing to do was leave it with Jean and see what would happen. Unfortunately, the bird didn’t seem like it would recover from being separates from its native habitat, being it the cold, and unable to fly. So that night, Mom and I said our goodbyes too the bird, hoping for it to have a peaceful passing away, then walked back across the street, sad, yet happy to have given the bird a little more time to live and that it didn’t freeze to death on our wooden deck. So then Mom went back to her room and I went back to reading my digital comics until we both went off into our sleepy status.

Lucky Part Two

  The following is part of a true story.

            At first, I wasn’t sure what to do, then I said, “I’ll go get Jean.”

            Jean was our neighbor across the street. She has had countless pets over the years, and I figured she’d be able to help, maybe even have a birdcage.

            I ran across the street in the cold night. Fortunately there was no traffic.

            I rang the doorbell. Her husband John answered the door. I launched into the fastest description of the situation as I could, probably messing up words. Essentially, I said, “There’s this bird! It flew into the house! Mom’s got it! Is Jean here?”

            John looked at me a little confused, then called out, “She’s in the potty. Hold on a second.” He walked over towards the bathroom and called out to her, exclaiming the situation as he understood it. Soon enough, Jean came out. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

            I was out of breath at this point, and essentially said, “Bird! Flew in house! Mom’s got!”

            Then the doorbell rang. Mom was at the door with the bird. Jean let my mom and the bird in. “It’s just sitting in your hands,” Jean observed. It was true. The little bird was just contently relaxing in Mom’s hands, just looking around curiously.

            “Aww,” Jean said, then turned to me and said, “I’ve got a birdcage in the attic. Can you help me get it?” she asked.

            I followed her into the house. She led me into the house. I helped her pull down the stairs into the attic and she walked up. She rummaged around a bit then produced the birdcage. “Here, take this,” she called.

            I reached up and took the cage from Jean’s hands, then got out of her way.

            As she walked down, she said to me, “Nice jammies!”

            I looked down. I had been relaxing and reading my digital comics so well and had been in my Avengers Assemble t-shirt and pajama pants. I had put on my heavy coat and boots, at least, but no socks. I had just had no time to dress due to the seriousness of the situation.

            Mom had been wearing jeans and a long sleeve shirt, but she could only barely slide on boots and had no coat, what with holding a bird in her hands and all.

            Once Jean had gotten down, she pointed me back into her living room, where I placed the birdcage down. Mom and Jean put the bird into the cage.

            Their dog Sandy was rather excited. This craziness was going on around her and it seemed to interest her.

            Mom and Jean had gone on to talk, leaving John, Sandy, and myself with the bird.

            “I think she wants to adopt the bird,” I observed.

            “I don’t think so,” John replied, “I think she wants to eat her.”

            Sandy had been very interested the whole time. She had been circling around, staring at the bird. She did seem that she want the bird as dessert, jumping around, slobbering, and trying to run towards the bird.

            “Mm,” I said in agreement.

Lucky Part One

 The following is part of a true story.

Lucky began on a cold January evening. It wasn’t snowing, but it was very cold. Mom was home, not working that day. She was resting in her bedroom. I was in the living room, reading digital comics on my laptop. We were both doing our own thing, essentially ignoring each other, or just minding our own business, to be more polite.

            At some point, we heard an enormous BAM! against the side of the house. I jumped, almost knocking my laptop off my lap. It was so loud and sudden and just so surprising. It came without any warning which, I guess are how things like this work.

            “What did you do?” Mom screamed from the bedroom. I’ve been known to throw and break things.

            For once this wasn’t me. “It wasn’t me! It came from outside!” I called back.

            Mom came out of her bedroom into the living room. Myself, well, I figured it was the deck outside the house. The deck always makes THUMP!s during the winter, the cold reacts with the wood, so I was ready to dismiss it. Mom, on the other hand, wasn’t.

            Mom walked over to the door and opened it. She looked over to the left of the door. “Oh, no!” she cried out.

            I kind of dismissed it. I was still reading my digital comics, after all.

            “Aww! Oh, no!” Mom said sadly.

            I sighed, and said almost dismissively, “What?”

            “It’s a bird. It flew into the side of the house,” Mom said sadly.

            “Yeah, like that’s never happened before,” I said, rolling my eyes. It does happen from time to time, after all.

            “I’ll go clean it up,” Mom said. Mom went to look for a shoebox and gloves. This was a standard thing for us. It happened once or twice a year. Mom had just gotten gloves from her Client that were given as a gift from The Humane Society of the United States, so she grabbed the shoebox and put on the gloves.

            I continued reading my digital comics on my laptop as Mom opened the door. She walked outside. I kept reading until she let out a gasp.

            I sighed and called out, “What?”

            “It’s still alive!” she cried out. She then started giving the baby talk to the bird.

            I just continued reading my digital comics on my laptop.

            “Come here!” Mom called.

            I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I’m reading,” I said, drawing out my words.

            “You’re never going to see this again in your life!” Mom called out again.

            I sighed again irritably and put down my laptop. I walked over to the door. There Mom was, standing with a little bird cupped in her hands. It was a cute little thing. It was looking around, confused. I could almost imagine it saying “Are you my mommy?”

I Wanted a Dog Part Four

 The following is part of an original poem I wrote.

I had never lost a pet before,

And when this happens,

Anyone who has the first loss of a pet,

Knows how I felt.

The devastation had he was gone.

No more googly eyes,

No more slobbering,

No more cuddling,

No one to watch cartoons with.

It would never happen again.

And of course we hear the awful attempts at comfort.

“It was only a dog.”

Well, I have a major counter:

If your kid died,

Would you like it,

If someone said,

“It was only a child.”

Because that’s what a dog is:

Family.

You can’t replace that.

And I wanted what any dog lover wants:

A new dog.

Sure I could never replace my old dog.

You can’t expect that.

There is no replacing any living being.

To expect the same this,

Is just not going to happen.

Even an exact lookalike,

Would never be the same.

No two creatures are alike.

Still, I wanted a new dog.

A new love, a new friend, a new companion.

And time went on, and I wanted a dog.

It was just never convenient for the family.

Still, I wanted a dog.

And I wanted a dog.

And I wanted a dog.

And I got a lizard…

I Wanted a Dog Part Three

  The following is part of an original poem I wrote.

And he loved cartoons.

He knew when they were on.

He barked me awake,

Then we cuddled on the couch and watched them.

He was a doggie alarm clock.

He had to watch his cartoons, crazy as that sounds.

He often watched more of them than I did.

He did have gas problems.

We suffered,

He thought it was wonderful.

And he had a girlfriend,

The big dog across the street.

It was true love.

They would have gotten married if dogs could legally.

The two of them have lots of time together,

When I was in a bad place,

When I was away for a while.

And then there was the seating arrangement.

He’d sit on the couch with me.

I know many dog owners won’t,

But I needed the snuggles.

He would occasionally hop on without me,

Or else try to push me off the couch.

And he was fast.

Let go of that leash,

And he’d be off at a run,

Not responding to me.

All the running he did,

 It was amazing he was never hit by a car.

He was also a coward.

Thunderstorms scared him.

Loud noises scared him,

But who actually likes sudden,

Unexpected loud noises.

My elevated voice scared him.

Most of all,

My cat scared him,

But if you met her,

You’d know why.

And then it happened.

It was all great.

Until it wasn’t.

I Wanted a Dog Part Two

 The following is part of an original poem I wrote. 

As laughs, I made up songs about him.

Sure they were stupid.

Sure performing them in school made me look like an ass.

But I made them up because I loved him.

And I made up the nickname “Booby Dog.”

I honestly have no idea where it came from.

I guess it was like nicknames couples make.

A sign of affection.

And I loved the booby dog.

I went through very hard times and low points.

But I knew that when I got home, he’d be there.

To hug, to kiss, to hold, to pet; he was there.

And we all need that.

A port in the storm. A rock to hold on to, as the waves came crashing.

A sign that at least someone loved me.

And the love of a dog means so much,

A love no human can match.

I’d get off that school bus and I would hear the barking.

His human was home.

No matter how bad the day, I heard those barks.

And I knew I had someone to cuddle with,

Someone to talk to, who would listen to me.

Even if it was filled with googly eyes,

A vacant expression.

But he got me in a way no one had before.

Did he understand what I was saying?

Probably not, but at least he would listen.

And isn’t what we all want anyway?

Someone to talk to, no judgement.

Because judging is something dogs don’t do.

They don’t think you’re stupid or crazy.

You treat them good they’ll treat you good in return.

Now, a bipolar guy like me needs lots of love.

And my dog was in no short supply of love.

Since the moment we met,

The “Mommy, I’ll take good care of him,”

It was true love.

And thinking back,

I didn’t pick him, he picked me.

And I lucked out to have had him.

And my dog danced.

Not just the trot-trot a dog does when their paws are up.

No, my dog did the hula.

And he danced the chicken dance.

Yes, it seems an odd image, but he did it.

I Wanted a Dog Part One

 The following is part of an original poem I wrote.

I had a dog for fifteen years.

He was my bestest buddy in the whole wide world.

We did just about everything together.

When he was a puppy we went of adventures.

We’d walk for miles and for hours.

We’d go uphill, we’d go downhill.

We’d go walking for three hours, sometime four.

His ears would flap in the breeze as he trotted up the street.

Everyone would look at his pathetic face and melt.

For he just looked so ugly he was cute.

He had a prominent under bite.

He had googly eyes.

He was ugly, but the ugly was cute.

He was very friendly.

He loved just about anyone he met.

He loved belly rubs.

If he thought you’d give him one,

He’d flop on his side,

It belly rob position.

He was fun to pet.

He loved it.

He loved to snuggle.

Such great comfort.

Just a warm body.

It felt comforting and reassuring.

Sure his fur was wiry,

But still it felt good.

And his tongue was useful.

He loved to eat.

He was my living dishwasher.

Give him a messy plate,

Come back a minute later,

Nothing would be on that plate.

It made washing dishes very easy.

And he made lots of doggie licks.

Sure it was slimy,

But his saliva was magic.

I know this sounds crazy,

But he cured my acne,

And he healed wounds better than Neosporin.

You’d have had to be licked by him to get that.

And oddly enough,

He loved vegetables.

Give him a plate with veggies,

They’d be gone in twenty seconds.

He even are the Chinese vegetables,

The ones they give in the plates,

When you ordered Chinese food,

                                                                   The ones no one eats.