While I could see why The Dark Knight Returns was so acclaimed in its time, I just couldn't appreciate it personally. The artistic style didn't work for me, and the inner anger of the storyteller made it off putting. This follow up, however, magnifies both of those elements far more than in the first book. The story is a relentlessly nihilistic, misogynistic, nonsensical pile of seething rage. And the art is hideously ugly. Frank Miller could benefit from a few decades of anger management and intensive therapy.