There are many reasons why spandexed figures, with names that mock credulity and powers that mock physics, have long dominated comics. One reason, however, is simple: Comics are well suited to the fantastic.

While not a superhero comic itself, the Vertigo/DC book Neil Young’s Greendale, based on a 2003 rock opera album by the Canadian rock legend, illustrates this principle well. Young’s original record, subsequent tour and film adaptation (directed by Young himself) received mixed reviews; whether they were praiseworthy or poop, this writer can’t say.

What this review can attest to is the source material has been turned into a good comic. The history of comics in the past 10 years particularly reflects a conscious, widespread shift away from — if not outright elimination of — the superhero. Consider the work of Daniel Clowes (Eightball), Chester Brown (Louis Riel) and Chris Ware (ACME Novelty Library), just to name a smattering.

Yet the rise of so-called “alternative” or “literary” comics notwithstanding, comic artists and creators can still do whatever the hell they want — so long as they can draw it.

Cliff Chiang, the artist of Greendale (writing executed by Joshua Dysart), is experienced with superheroes: He’s also drawn the likes of Batman and Green Arrow. In this book, his fanciful acumen supplies sights like a soaring two-page spread displaying a girl gliding through giant redwoods. (She doesn’t have superpowers, incidentally, but we’ll get to that.)

Other panels feature fields of dead caribou herds or beaches covered with beached whales. And a vision at book’s end echoes Neil Gaiman’s The Sandman, with a girl riding first on the shoulder and then in the palm of two colossal, spirit-like figures. Yes, Chiang can draw whatever the hell he wants, all right.

The story: It’s 2003 and teenaged Sun Green is both sexually and politically awake. She’s also really curious about her eccentric family history — particularly the female side.

You see, her grandmother Ciela, like other Green women, just… disappeared, under mysterious circumstances. Also mysterious is an unsettling stranger who suddenly shows up in the town of Greendale, and may possess powers beyond those of mortal men.

What’s his game? Is there a connection between him and the political turmoil that defines that fateful year? And does Sun unknowingly hold the power to stop him?

It’s less the story and more the striking graphics that cement the book. Chiang’s clean, handsome, uncluttered draftsmanship makes every line seem to count; subtract the colours, and some panels might start resembling the work of the Hernandez Brothers, of Love and Rockets fame.

A visible influence, as in so much mainstream (superhero) comic art of the past decade, is Japanese manga: it’s there in the big eyes and sometimes melodramatically heightened expressions. For instance, when it’s necessary for Sun to get all hard-nosed with the mysterious stranger, naturally Chiang has her scream at him with the most petulant expression he can muster. She’s actually pretty cute when she’s mad.

On the thematic level, Greendale might resonate more for American readers post-9/11, post-Bush administration and even post-Obamamania.

But it also has strong characters, compelling narrative and — most importantly — powerful, imaginative art to propel it. The concluding two-page spread is one of the book’s most striking images; with that endnote, Chiang and Dysart show how well they understand their medium.