Moonshot, Vol. 3: A Contemporary Indigenous Graphic Anthology Showcasing Mature, Genre-Bending Storytelling

Graphic anthologies are risky. One story might completely knock you out, while the next feels like filler you flip through politely. Moonshot, Vol. 3 does not have that problem. The collection is confident, cohesive, and very intentional, bringing together Indigenous writers and illustrators from across North America who are clearly not interested in playing it safe or explaining themselves to anyone.

Published by Avani, an imprint of Inhabit Education Books, Moonshot, Vol. 3 is the third installment in an acclaimed graphic anthology series edited by Elizabeth LaPensée and Michael Sheyahshe. The volume blends speculative fiction, realism, futurism, and reimagined folklore into a reading experience that feels expansive without being scattered. What stands out immediately is its refusal to frame Indigenous storytelling as either historical artifact or social lesson. These stories exist because they want to exist, not because they are trying to teach you something.

That confidence carries through every page.

One of Moonshot, Vol. 3’s greatest strengths is its resistance to categorization. The anthology moves fluidly between genres, tones, and visual styles without ever feeling disjointed. Indigenous futurism appears not as a novelty or trend, but as a natural extension of cultural continuity. These stories understand the future as something Indigenous peoples have always imagined, shaped, and inhabited.

Some pieces lean into science fiction, imagining technologically advanced worlds rooted in Indigenous values and ethics. Others draw from folklore and spirituality, reworking familiar narratives into something sharper and more contemporary. There are also quieter, realist stories that focus on interpersonal relationships, memory, and everyday moments. Together, they create a rhythm that feels deliberate rather than chaotic.

Importantly, the anthology does not flatten Indigenous experience into a single voice or theme. Each contributor brings their own aesthetic and worldview, resulting in a collection that feels more like a conversation than a manifesto.

What makes this graphic novel particularly compelling is its maturity. This is not a collection designed to gently introduce readers to Indigenous storytelling. It assumes intelligence and curiosity from its audience and rewards both. The stories are sometimes unsettling, sometimes humorous, sometimes emotionally heavy, but always purposeful.

The anthology also avoids the trap of centering trauma as its primary narrative engine. While questions of land, identity, and history are present, they are woven into the fabric of the stories rather than announced upfront. The result is work that feels lived-in and multidimensional rather than explanatory.

In a media landscape that often demands Indigenous stories perform education for non-Indigenous audiences, this comic feels refreshingly uninterested in that role. It is more concerned with artistic freedom than accessibility, and that choice strengthens the work.

Visually, Moonshot, Vol. 3 is striking. The anthology embraces a wide range of illustration styles, from bold and graphic to soft and atmospheric. Color palettes shift dramatically from story to story, yet the overall design remains cohesive. The book gives artists space to experiment, allowing visual language to carry as much narrative weight as text.

The physical design of the anthology also matters. Page layouts are clean and intentional, giving readers time to sit with images rather than rushing them along. This is a book that wants to be held, flipped through slowly, and revisited. It understands comics as an art form, not just a delivery system for plot.

At a time when mainstream comics often feel oversaturated with recycled franchises and cinematic tie-ins, Moonshot, Vol. 3 offers a reminder of what graphic storytelling can be when creators are trusted to lead. The anthology positions Indigenous artists not on the margins of the comics world, but at the forefront of innovation.

It also quietly challenges assumptions about what “adult” graphic storytelling looks like. Maturity here is not defined by shock value or cynicism, but by emotional complexity, narrative risk, and aesthetic confidence. These stories linger, not because they are loud, but because they are thoughtful.

For readers who want to go deeper, Moonshot, Vol. 3 lends itself well to community engagement and digital conversation.

Short-form video platforms like Instagram Reels and TikTok are ideal for quick flip-throughs, reaction clips, or highlighting favorite panels. Readers can share which stories resonated most with them or which visuals stopped them mid-page.

Book-focused platforms like Goodreads and Bookshop.org are also great spaces for reviews. Even brief reflections help amplify Indigenous graphic work and push it into recommendation cycles beyond niche audiences.

For those interested in discussion, live conversations on social media or virtual book clubs offer space to talk about genre, visual storytelling, and Indigenous futurism without reducing the work to a single takeaway. Pairing the anthology with interviews or past work from contributors can also deepen appreciation for the range of voices involved.

Moonshot, Vol. 3 does not ask for permission. It does not over-explain. It does not soften itself to be more digestible. Instead, it presents Indigenous graphic storytelling as dynamic, complex, and fully contemporary.

By blending genre, honoring individuality, and prioritizing artistic vision, the anthology makes a compelling case for where comics can go next. Not just as entertainment, but as a space where culture, imagination, and design intersect without compromise.

For readers willing to meet it on its own terms, this graphic novel offers something rare: a graphic anthology that trusts its creators and its audience equally.