For some reason Valente's stories always defy my expectations even when I do not really have any.

I’m dead. The deadest girl in Deadtown. It’s been a while now. I’m comfortable with the word. You wouldn’t believe how comfortable the dead can get. We don’t tiptoe. Dead. Dead. Dead. Flying Ace of the Corpse Corps. Stepping the light Deathtastic. I don’t actually know what a doornail is, but we have a lot in common. Dying was the biggest thing that ever happened to me. I’m famous for it.

Did I expect a book about super-heroes? No. Did I expect a book about female representation in comics? No. Did I expect to catch the references? No. But I did catch enough to make this a worthwhile and fun read that was over way too soon.

Monologues refers to each of the female protagonistas telling her own story to the "Hell Hath Club"... there are scientists, scaly mer-punk-maidens, slightly off-key asylum-inhabitantes and a girl in a refrigerator.

So if you've watched one too many superhero movies or read the comics give this quick novella a spin. The language is beautiful and the stories captivating.