You can say whatever you want to about Che Guevara -- good, bad or indifferent. At the end of the day the most important thing to remember about this creep is that he failed to live up to his Hippocratic oath.
The little bastard comes through loud and clear in this piece of shit graphic novel, because let's be real for a moment, in spite of its presentation as some kind of fact based biography, this thing has about as much in common with history or journalism as Superman, and that's not even fair because Clark Kent was a decent journalist, when he wasn't flying around in faggy tights, which you get the impression is what this Che shithead really wanted to do.
It seems (like so many liberal coed women over the past 40 years or so) that Spain had such a big crush on Che that he couldn't sort out the real story of this cold-blooded butcher and mercenary political opportunist. Oh well, take it from me, this book sucked. The worst thing about it is knowing that the artist could have depicted the hot bodies of all those exotic women that Che fucked and then tossed aside, but just didn't out of some kind of misguided notion of artistic purity.
C-