It’s the dialogical spirit of pluralism as embodied by a green-skirted Arendt versus the unitary monoculture of Being as represented by the Magus of Messkirch, from whom Hannah makes the most equivocal of her escapes. A slangy, nearly sexy Walter Benjamin steals the show with his life and death, while Krimstein’s pencil wavers between cartoony verisimilitude and something blankly visionary, as asterisked references pile up the wreckage of proper names for the benefit of readers insensible of their loss. No one’s fool, Heidegger’s femme fatale slips out of Dichtung into history with the key to all ideologies in her pocket.