Sophie finds her mentor/predecessor early in Volume Three, and the two go off in search of Barbara's husband, a comic strip artist who was partly responsible for her taking on the mantle of Promethea. (One of the series' other themes is the connection between imagination and magic.) They travel through spheres of love and emotion, of beauty and harmony, of strength and judgment, encountering metaphorical perils at every level. In his weirdly didactic way, Moore is treating us to a mystic updating of medieval allegorical fiction like The Faerie Queen and of early twentieth century fantasists like James Branch Cabell (Moore definitely shares Cabell's love of puns and word games). Only, occasionally, he'll stop and return to Earth for some slick mainstream superheroine action.

While she travels the mystic realms, Sophie has left a new Promethea back on Earth: her roommate Stacia, who takes to the role with hard-edged punk enthusiasm. If Sophie hearkens back to the goddess-worshipping supergals of Paradise Island, than Stace's Promethea is a comics creation more in tune with current genre mores. At one level, Promethea also works as a consideration of Golden Age vs. Modern Age superhero fantasy, and Moore provides a kicky enthusiasm to his Stacia subplot. (The city's mayor, a manic multiple personality, has apparently been possessed by some of the same demonic forces connected to Sophia and Barbara's quest.) Volume Three leaves these connections unresolved, presumably to be addressed in the next six-issue arc.

At times, reading Moore's pedantic dialog balloons about Aleister Crowley or divine symbolism can be a bit much. But bottom line: Alan Moore is too inventive as a graphic storyteller to produce a thoroughly uninteresting book. Every time you think he's gone around the bend with his metaphysical preaching, the man's storytelling instincts kick in - and you're ready to follow him into the next chapter.

Fascinating and infuriating. . . that's Promethea. Can't wait for Volume Four.