“Suddenly, I realize I’m sitting pensively on the edge of a tall building, overlooking the city and pondering life. Only two types of people do this. Suicide cases…and superheroes.” (Polarity #2, p.18)

As likable and wry as Bemis’s Dr. Mays may be, his delivery of Polarity’s central allegorical conceit–that bi-polar artist Tim Woods is actually if improbably accruing supernatural abilities as a result of the chemical imbalance of his manic episodes–is clunky, even for exposition. That said, once an enlightened and shirtless Tim returns home, loses his Jesus beard (no really, he thought he was Jesus), and goes back to living his life with only his normal discontent, Polarity regains its stride. Once Tim, perhaps ill-advisedly, decides to embrace his superhero potential at a particularly awkward and vapid dinner party with hipster girlfriend Alexis, Polarity zips at a pace that lends credence to Tim’s cocaine-induced, super-powered mania.

Having embraced his disorder’s potential, Tim’s life suddenly takes a dramatic turn for the better. He dumps his pretentious, cheating girlfriend; his art–a clever homage to Coelho’s Polarity #1 cover–is well received by his admiring art agent, whom he puts into place with his mind-reading abilities; he returns to his former high school to rescue a young kid named Herschel from the latest crop of jock-bullies; and he musters enough ego and courage to ask out his crush Lily, who, it turns out, liked his not-manic personality. If Polarity is Bemis’s allegory for perceived invincibility caused by bi-polar episodes and its seductiveness, this issue tempts the reader as well with the promise of surging confidence and powerful singularity, inculpating the audience in the same enticing delusion as Tim himself.