This collection of the golden age title from issue 6 through 9 at its strongest point, in the fall of 1940, like any collection of the era, is a mixed bag of innovation, tradition, and kitsch, and the stories are often at their best with humor in the mix. That’s the case with the titular Silver Streak, a speedster hero whose standout adventures are played more for laughs. The breakout star is Daredevil, no relation to the Marvel version. Following a unexceptional debut, Daredevil is coupled in permanent conflict with Fu Manchu–style villain the Claw. Those entertaining stories are by a pre-Plastic Man Jack Cole, editor for the series starting with issue 7 and creator of the two shining gems of the collection: “Dickie Dean, the Boy Inventor,” a madcap and often surreal outing involving futuristic gadgetry, and “The Pirate Prince,” which gives a sophisticated comedic bent to swashbuckling adventures. The latter story also provides the most progressive moment in the archive, a story line involving the freeing of slaves, although so many other stories in the volume are marred by the casual racism too common in that era. Cole’s energy saves the day creatively, and admittedly the racial biases have historical value. (July)

Young software genius Shebab longs to escape the social constraintsof modern Cairo while also trying to avoid an irate a loan shark. A way out comes when a local businessman offers him work, but that hope is snuffed when Shebab and his friend Mustafa witness the man’s murder. The man’s cryptic dying words set the two friends on a trail of political corruption and intrigue, while they also commit a bank robbery in a desperate effort to fund a reboot of their directionless lives. El Shafee strives for an insightful look at modern metropolitan Egypt, but even the best fiction can be a tough read when its characters are unsympathetic bores, perhaps this work’s greatest failing. The characters are just not engaging enough to care about, so Shebab’s nonjourney leaves the reader with a disappointing narrative. The inconsistent art varies between the occasional accomplished illustration, but a majority of images are so confusing they warrant backtracking a few panels, or maybe a page, in order to understand what’s being communicated. (June)

As a part of DC’s global reboot program, the New 52, these first six issues of Justice League serve as a fast-paced if dramatically inert origin story. Writer Johns resets the time line to “five years ago,” when the world at large fears and mistrusts Batman, the Green Lantern, and Superman. Beset by infighting, these three are joined by Wonder Woman, Aquaman, the Flash, and Cyborg to battle ever-multiplying emissaries sent by Darkseid to collect and recycle human beings. The plotting and character dynamics are mechanical and cautious: our heroes haven’t really changed, but their costumes have. Cocky quips (the Green Lantern to Batman: “You’re not just some guy in a bat costume, are you?”) abound, but do little to change or develop readers’ decades-old familiarity with these characters. The artwork by Lee and Williams reflects the industry standard for superhero tales: dynamic action is masterfully staged, while bodies suffer from anatomical hysteria. These first issues’ major objective is persuading readers to again recalibrate their imaginations so that future stories are less burdened by continuity concerns. It’s entertaining, but has the staying power of a stick of Juicy Fruit. (May)

Dugan and Noto’s Eisner-nominated miniseries sets Homer’s Odyssey in a postapocalyptic near future with fantastic results. The unnamed narrator, called variously Captain and Nobody, fights a losing war; with orders to hold the last airport out of Syria, he and his men are abandoned by the rest of the army and must find a way home themselves. On the home front, wife Penelope faces enemies trying to steal her land, her water, and her son, and reacts with a spine of steel. The recasting of other characters from Homer’s epic works beautifully without ever betraying the new setting. Both art and text create an uneasy tone; the story is not a comfortable one, and Noto’s elegant but disturbing art reinforces how askew the world can feel, particularly in the colors chosen to represent various landscapes. The bleak tale ends, like the epic that inspired it, with both triumph and hope, making for a satisfying and thought-provoking story. (Apr.)

If OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) were an art form, Niemann would be Michelangelo. He does best concocting a graph to illustrate his fluctuating coffee cravings; a pie-chart to isolate the components of that slippery beast, the Really Great Idea; or even a photomontage designed to underscore the difficulties of combating lint. His undeniable graphic prowess becomes diluted when he focuses on the Berlin Wall over 10 pages, as well-meaning as his intentions may be. “She was the wall’s first official victim,” writes Niemann, about Ida Siekmann. “And here I was, pitying myself because I had slept only a few hours and couldn’t get my DSL connection up and running.” Indeed. There’s nothing really abstract about Abstract City, a compilation retracing Niemann’s often self-aggrandizing New York Times blog, but he does have an uncanny knack for encapsulating those anecdotal-yet-unavoidable moments that constitute the background chatter of a New Yorker’s existence, like shopping at Fairway. He does almost equally well describing the more serious vagaries of metropolitan life, such as the subway system and the weather. Most satisfying is the section Niemann devotes to “unpopular science,” in which his linear art and his fastidious, analytical wit mesh perfectly, distilling some wicked good humor. (Apr.)