The World's Canon (since the "world" is mostly the UK and USA)
This volume was better than volume 1, but one has to say that with the same tone as one says "having a temperature of 104 is better than having a temperature of 106." Some of the artwork is great - this is a fine showcase of a number of up-and-coming artists who may make it big for all the right reasons. Some of the "artwork," though, is just sloppy mediocre pseudo-art pretentiously demanding we call it "art" just because it says so (even though Mrs. Wilson's 3rd-grade class could draw better than this). In what purports to be a collection of the "World's" best work during the 18th-19th centuries, we are led to believe "the world" is mostly the UK and the USA, with only a dozen or so selections from other countries, including one that is essentially pornography (Venus in Furs), but Kick assumes we are enlightened enough to consider masochism is actually fine literature. Some artists do treat the source material with great respect. Others, like Hunt Emerson, don't. If I said Kick gives too much space to Nietzsche, Darwin, Ludlow, Carroll, and Blake, would that betray my biases? or his? Nat Turner, who killed people solely because of their race, we are told is a hero - killing people on the basis of their race is a quality of a hero? in the 21st century? or ever? I dunno. Kick, as usually, exerts himself to the point of apoplexy trying to get us to believe each selection is astounding and each artist is a genius: if the work doesn't speak for itself, no amount of cheerleading (i.e., grandstanding) is going to make it canonical. At other times, Kick makes us wonder if he even read the work in question: Huck Finn respects Jim as a human being early in the novel? Not really, no. Perhaps Kick's penchant for postmodern criticism has hindered his understanding of the actual works. Some inclusions just make us scratch our heads in bemusement, wondering why entire short tales are in here simply to show off one panel of artwork from Kick's heroes - especially since Kick includes other works about selections without the relevant prose (such as the lengthy litany of Alice adaptations). If the purpose of this is to encourage readers to go out and read the real thing, I fear it fails. If the purpose is to show off the contemporary panoply of artists, it may succeed both to tell us whom to admire and whom to avoid. Reading this is mostly a chore - it has some bright spots, but they are few and far between.