Clifford Conner’s A People’s History of Science: Miners, Midwives and Low Mechanicks offers a nice corrective to the great-man history that often serves as the discipline’s founding myth. While notable names from Pythagoras to Newton receive attention, Conner’s focus is on the unnamed artisans, craftsman and observers of nature who incrementally created a body of knowledge through countless hours of labor. He inverts the notion that scientific advancements are rooted in theory, showcasing quotes from eminent researchers throughout history about the value of the knowledge possessed by the “miners, midwives and mechanicks” cited in the title. (The relative uselessness of the classical curriculum offered by Oxford and other academies throughout much of their aristocratic past is oft-referenced as well.)

The book is most fascinating at the beginning, when it explores the knowledge and learning of traditional cultures, touching upon the astronomy of prehistoric people and the advanced navigational skills of Polynesian sailors. The book falters a bit as it nears modern times; it lacks a comprehensive take on the successes of modern, professional science, and it also falls into the trap of muddling research and politics. Systematic theories of nature, rightfully frowned upon by Conner when they’re formulated by the Greeks, are presented as a compelling alternative during the French Revolution.

Ultimately, the book is refreshing in presenting a more democratic history of science. Great anecdotes and a lively contrarian nature make for a good read.

Paul Pope’s Batman: Year 100 is most notable for its visual design, with Pope’s artwork providing the Dark Knight with an inky, evocative atmosphere of darkness and paranoia. The plot involves an interesting futuristic take on a dystopian 2039 Gotham City, but the wonderful drawings are at the service of a familiar story. There’s no crowd of adversaries Batman is unable to wade into, no problem that escapes this version of the World’s Greatest Detective.

Warren Ellis’ Fell, a twisted cop procedural, relies similarly on atmosphere. The eponymous detective has exiled himself to a vaguely supernatural island of urban squalor; the only competent detective on his police squad, he dedicates himself to solving his new home’s sick crimes. While the art by Ben Templesmith is suitable in evoking the failed state of forgotten places, the stories all follow the same rough arc. Fell solves crimes with insights beyond those that the reader can glean from the page; his superiority established, he then wades in with his fists to secure the raw, tired justice that comic book fans seem to enjoy.

Finally, Neil Gaiman’s Sandman series, an epic of myth and dreams, stands tall among the greatest achievements in sequential art. Highly personalized and deeply universal, Gaiman’s opus engages themes of duty and duplicity. Referred to collectively as the Endless, his main characters—Dream, Destiny, Desire, Destruction, Delirium, Despair and Death—serve as springboards for richly textured examinations of the triumphs and failings of human nature. Even people who aren’t fans of the genre will find much to enjoy, although they should be ready to persevere past the first volume, which is most rooted in comic-book conventions. It’s an amazing read, one reveals additional richness with every new pass through its pages.