Category: Reviews

Wicked Epic Adventures by Will Henry

Wicked Epic Adventures by Will Henry

This is the third collection of Will Henry’s Wallace the Brave daily strip; it follows Wallace the Brave  and Snug Harbor Stories . Usually, with a series, the advice is to start at the beginning – but any half-decent newspaper comic has to be capable of standing on its own, every single day, out of any context, providing a little moment.

And Wallace – if it’s not in your paper (it’s not in mine), you can read it online at GoComics every day instead – is much better than half-decent. It’s at least all-decent: funny, involving, memorable, drawn with verve and written with a puckish wit.

So you could jump into Wicked Epic Adventures  first if you wanted. Or either of the preceding books. Or, probably, the fourth book, which I haven’t read yet. Or, as most people do with daily strips, with the daily strip itself, until you get the point where you want to read a big clump in one designed package at once.

Wallace is a person: a six-year-old boy in the bucolic New England town of Snug Harbor. His creator lives in Rhode Island, but I’ve gotten more of a Maine vibe from Snug Harbor – it’s not near a big city, and seems to be on an island or otherwise separated from anywhere else. (Tourists arrive by ferry at a dock, for another touchpoint.)

Wallace McClellan is one of those relentlessly positive, endlessly active kids – the kind of person who has so much energy and crazy ideas that he would be annoying if he weren’t so nice. (And, frankly, I still find him annoying some of the time.) He’s also the center of the two semi-separate casts of the story, as often happens in a strip comic. One group is his family; the other is his friends at school.

His father is a commercial fisherman; it’s a bit vague about whether Mr. McClellan works for a larger company or is an independent guy with his own boat and operation. His mother doesn’t work outside the home, but is an avid gardener and surfer, and a more modern version of the tough, loving mom figure than you see in most strip comics. She also seems to be the source of Wallace’s imagination and crazy ideas. His younger brother Sterling is less prominent here than he’s become more recently, but he’s a different and pure kind of wild child.

In school, Wallace often fails to heed the grounded, helpful Mrs. Macintosh, who is mostly in these strips to be a voice of reason when there needs to be an unheeded voice of reason. His best friend is Spud, my favorite character: a quirky, food-obsessed fussbudget who I suspect would be much more at home further away from all this nature and who gets dragged along on all of Wallace’s crazy schemes without ever enjoying or agreeing to any of them. And then there’s Amelia, who is still “the new girl” at this point – fairly newly arrived in town, with the take-charge, no-nonsense attitude of a girl who is smart, knows it, and has plans for herself and the world.

The core plot for these strips is still mostly “Wallace does something nutty” – that has changed a bit, more recently, with particularly Amelia driving some plotlines and the newer character Rose being a voice of reason that does get heeded, at least sometimes.

And the joys of a daily strip are in how the creator works out semi-standard plots with well-defined characters – Henry does that well in Wallace, which follows the rhythms of the school year (we get a summer vacation in this one) and relies on everyone’s established character points for his storylines. He’s also a light, visually inventive artist, happy to dive into sidebar visions and ideas, with a line that’s always illustrative and loose.

Bottom line: Wallace the Brave is one of the best strips currently running, fun and distinctive while still clearly in the great tradition, with interesting echoes of a number of predecessors. If daily strips are anything you’ve ever cared about, you should check it out.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth by Zoe Thorogood

It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth by Zoe Thorogood

This is all true, as far as I know. Zoe Thorogood says this book is the story of six months in her life, as filtered through her own head. But everything everyone ever sees or knows is filtered through their heads, so that’s reality as best we know it, always.

It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth  is the name – I guess you’d call it a graphic novel, since it’s in comics format. Or maybe a comics memoir, or graphic non-fiction.

I suspect it’s vastly more carefully constructed and conceived than it seems to be: the best works of art always have a lot of prep-work and invisible details. Centre of the Earth says it’s the comics pages that Thorogood made during this stretch of time, to be a GN memoir, to chronicle an expected trip from her native England to the US for the first time.

She also says, up front, that she wants it to be a positive story, a particular kind of story – one of those “learn to live with yourself” stories, the kind with a quirky girl who gets better.

If this were a movie, the audience would leave the cinema feeling fine, maybe bordering on pleasant. But this isn’t a movie – and I’ve been considering stabbing myself in the neck with a sharp knife.

Her previous GN was that kind of story, fictional. It got good reviews. Thorogood sees the parallels. She doesn’t explicitly say why this new book is autobiographical, but Center of the Earth is all about art. She cares a lot about making art: drawing comics pages, telling stories, turning her own pain and confusion into something better and maybe, just maybe, getting one of those quirky-girl endings for herself along the way.

It’s not impossible, right? If you treat your life as a story, and tell that story really well, you can get the right ending, can’t you?

How Thorogood works through that is what happens in Center of the Earth. She doesn’t talk about any particular diagnosis – I get the sense that institutions have not done well by her, that whatever peace and balance she’s found has been hard-fought, and not aided by medication or therapy or diagnoses, even as a reader suspects any or all of those things, done right, would be hugely positive for her.

Call it depression, I guess, if you need a name to hang on it. Suicidal ideation at times. Thorogood draws it as a grinning tall devilish figure, mostly a dark silhouette with what looks like a frozen mask for a face. It’s there a lot of the time, lurking around the edges of a lot of these pages. That’s what it’s like: it’s always there, somewhere, sometimes more prominently than others. Whispering to her, saying unpleasant things she can’t unhear.

Thorogood draws herself many different ways: there’s a realistic version of herself, at her current age, that is more or less the “protagonist” of the book. But there are also younger Zoes, at several ages. There’s also a cartoony-headed version that takes over page-space for long stretches – I think the cartoon version is the maker of comics and the realistic one is the character in the story, since they interact with each other.

All of the versions of Thorogood interact with each other. At times it’s a little cluster of Zoes, though, as you might expect from someone this hermetic and lonely, they’re not much of a support group.

The pages circle those core concerns: living the story, telling the story, constructing the story. Living in the world, the way she wants or can, the way the world wants her to, the way maybe she can get to someday. Planning for that big trip, having it cancelled once, planning again, finally going.

I’m making this sound messy and complex, but it isn’t. It’s organic and straightforward and personal. It’s Zoe Thorogood’s story, told by all of the Zoe Thorogoods. It doesn’t quite go the way she wants it to, and that’s a large part of what Center of the Earth is about: what you want, what you get, what you make of it.

Her art is inventive and quick and supple, changing modes and styles within individual panels and mixing up levels of representation all the time. I’ve never seen her work before, but she has some serious art chops, and brings thought and skill and insight on every page to tell this story in the strongest, deepest way she can.

Centre of the Earth is masterful and moving; there’s a moment a few pages from the end that nearly made me tear up. I hope that all of the positive things are true and that all of the negative things are overstated; I wish Thorogood all of the happiness in the world and a long career making books just as surprising and magnificent as this one.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Ordinary Victories, Vol. 3: Precious Things by Manu Larcenet

Ordinary Victories, Vol. 3: Precious Things by Manu Larcenet

The first time this book was translated into English, a decade and a half ago, the title came out as “What Is Precious.” This time, in a translation by Mercedes Claire Gilliom that I think I found more colloquial than Joe Johnson’s back in 2008, the title is Precious Things .

What difference does that make? The first has the echo of a question; the second is more clearly in line with the titles of the previous books – Ordinary Victories , Trivial Quantities . Both of those are plausible things to want in your translated title, but you can’t have both. Translation is a game of choices: of veering closer to the exact meaning in the original language, which can be more formal or clunky in the new one, or of aiming for more colloquial expressions in the target language, which can deform the original words.

Every translation is its own artistic work, separated inexorably from the original. Each translation is closer to the original than a sequel, but still a separate thing, as languages are separate things. And those of us who don’t read the original languages are left like the blind men and the elephant, grabbing pieces, feeling differences, trying to decide what it was originally, in the land of its birth.

Ordinary Victories is a semi-autobiographical bande dessinée series by Manu Larcenet, about the purpose of art and life (among other things), so those concerns are in the book – and they may tend to circle when a reader encounters it again, in a new translation. Gilliom uses a very naturalistic English here; I noted that Johnson seemed to be trying to stay as close as possible to the French grammar and meaning back in 2008.

I read in English, so I like colloquial language I can read. Selfishly, I prefer this newer translation. (It was published, digitally, in 2016 by Europe Comics, a collective mostly designed to get other publishers in the Anglosphere to publish comics from continental Europe.)

Speaking of translation: the series title in French is Le combat ordinaire. I gather that’s a French idiom; it means something like “the everyday battle.” You could hang a whole essay on the difference there – the French focus on the fight, the American need to be assured of a victory.

There are no assured victories here. Marco Louis is a thirtyish photographer with a serious anxiety disorder and a career he’s mostly successfully shifting from war photography to artsier work, with a gallery show of dockworkers turning into a book in the course of this story. Marco Louis is Manu Larcenet, to some degree, and his battles, I think, echo those of his creator – but how close the echoes are, and what the echoes bounce off is a much more tangled question.

Marco is also navigating what seems to be his first really serious, long-term relationship here, with a woman named Emily. In this book, she makes it clear she wants children: she’ll give Marco some time to come to terms with that, but it’s not a point for negotiation. She will have children, either with him or without.

At the same time, Marco is dealing with the recent death of his father: visiting his now-widowed mother, cleaning out a workshop, reading a diary of his father’s that isn’t as personal as he wanted, arguing with the brother who is also upset after the death.

As with the first two books, this is a slice-of-life story with serious depths, a story that is much more constructed and organized than it may seem. Marco is Manu, but he’s not just Manu, and this is probably not “what happened to Manu” transmuted from comics to photography – it’s a memoir-ish story influenced by Larcenet’s life, that comments on or look at many other aspects of life as it goes on.

It’s a deep and resonant book, and I’m glad I’m reading Ordinary Victories in order this time, and equally glad to read it in Gilliom’s language. This would be a good book to read any day you need to face your own combat ordinaire.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

REVIEW: His Dark Materials: The Complete Third Season

REVIEW: His Dark Materials: The Complete Third Season

Philip Pullman’s Golden Compass trilogy has stood the test of time, becoming beloved young adult fantasy novels. HBO saw enough promise in the story that they picked up a television adaptation after sister company New Line Cinema failed to ignite a fervent following with their singular film. Season One\ got things off to a good start while Season Two stumbled a little.

After pandemic delays, the third and final season of His Dark Materials arrived earlier this year and is now available on home video from HBO Home Entertainment. The final eight episodes loosely adapt the third book in Pullman’s trilogy The Amber Spyglass and does so in a satisfying enough way that we will miss the series, this world, and the fine ensemble that brought the characters to life.

The focus remains on Lyra (Dafne Keen) and her growing relationship and Will (Amir Wilson). First, they have to find one another what with Lyra still in Mrs. Coulter’s (Ruth Wilson) clutches, and Will is being told to kill Lord Asriel (James McAvoy), which he might do, but only after finding her.

The varying worlds and faiths are on full display as The Authority in Magesterium is tested, threatening its existence.

It’s beautiful to look at, densely packed with plots and religious allusions, and ultimately honors Pullman’s work.

The eight episodes look superb in 1080p with the 2.00:1 ratio. The gorgeous cinematography, coupled with superior CGI creatures, looks terrific on disc. The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 track is its equal so the home viewing experience is an excellent one.

Despite being an HBO series, this box set does not have any Special Features, mores the pity.

Philip Pullman’s Golden Compass trilogy has stood the test of time, becoming beloved young adult fantasy novels. HBO saw enough promise in the story that they picked up a television adaptation after sister company New Line Cinema failed to ignite a fervent following with their singular film.

After pandemic delays, the third and final season of His Dark Materials arrived earlier this year and is now available on home video from HBO Home Entertainment. The final eight episodes loosely adapt the third book in Pullman’s trilogy The Amber Spyglass and does so in a satisfying enough way that we will miss the series, this world, and the fine ensemble that brought the characters to life.

The focus remains on Lyra (Dafne Keen) and her growing relationship and Will (Amir Wilson). First, they have to find one another what with Lyra still in Mrs. Coulter’s (Ruth Wilson) clutches, and Will is being told to kill Lord Asriel (James McAvoy), which he might do, but only after finding her.

The varying worlds and faiths are on full display as The Authority in Magesterium is tested, threatening its existence.

It’s beautiful to look at, densely packed with plots and religious allusions, and ultimately honors Pullman’s work.

The eight episodes look superb in 1080p with the 2.00:1 ratio. The gorgeous cinematography, coupled with superior CGI creatures, looks terrific on disc. The DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 track is its equal so the home viewing experience is an excellent one.

Despite being an HBO series, this box set does not have any Special Features, mores the pity.

REVIEW: Justice League x RWBY: Super Heroes & Huntsmen, Part One

REVIEW: Justice League x RWBY: Super Heroes & Huntsmen, Part One

Let me start by saying I am not now, nor have I ever been a fan of RWBY, an American anime series that has been chugging along since its debut in 2013. For the last few years, producer Rooster Teeth has managed to partner with DC Comics for crossovers between the warriors, trained and dedicated to protecting the world of Remnant from Grimms, actual monsters.

I suppose it was inevitable that the comics crossovers would eventually find their way to the animated world where RWBY enjoys its fame. So, released recently is Justice League x RWBY: Super Heroes & Huntsmen, Part One, available as a 4K Ultra HD/Blu-ray/Digital HD combo pack from Warner Home Entertainment.

The World’s Greatest Super-Heroes are brought to Remnant to help the teen heroes save their world. Somehow, DC’s stalwarts wind up as teen versions of themselves, to better match the warriors. As a result, Superman (Chandler Riggs), Wonder Woman (Natalie Alyn Lind), Batman (Nat Wolff), and The Flash (David Errigo, Jr.) arrive scattered among the kingdoms of Vale, Mistral, Atlas, and Vacuo, unaware of how they arrived or why. They encounter Ruby (Lindsay Jones), Weiss (Kara Eberle), Blake (Arryn Zech), and Yang (Barbara Dunkelman) and pairings occur, so they adventure is spread around the world. Other Leaguers seen briefly in the film include Cyborg (Tru Valentino), Green Lantern (Jeannie Tirado), and Vixen (Ozioma Akagha).

Of course there’s a cliffhanger since this is part one, but I can easily wait. The familiar tropes are on display with little variation on the expected. Frankly, the screenplay from Meghan Fitzmartin, who previous wrote Justice Society: World War II, does precious little with the Teen JLA members which may explain why the RWBY characters feel predominant. This is definitely only for those who appreciate the RWBY world and characters. With Rooster Teeth overseeing the animation, our more familiar heroes certainly have a different look and feel, leaning in to the Anime influences.

The 2060p transfer is fin, nicely capturing the color palette of Remnant and its inhabitants. The DTS-HD 5.1 Master Audio is merely adequate but acceptable.

There are just two Special Features: Justice Comes to Remnant (7:35) and You Look … Different (9:01). Additionally, fans can enjoy Justice League Unlimited’ s “Kid Stuff” (23:09) and Justice League Action’s “Plastic Man Saves the World” (11:14). 

REVIEW: Missing

REVIEW: Missing

Aneesh Chaganty, Will Merrick, and Nick Johnson have spent the last few years slowly building an anthology of films that deal with missing people and the growing sophistication of technology in our lives. They arrived on the scene with Searching in 2018, told entirely through computer screens. Then came Run in 2020, and now, after a Covid-19 delay, Missing. Chaganty directed the first two with Merrick and Johnson as editors; but now the editors have become screenwriters and make their directorial debut with the new film.

They have intertwined the characters from the three films so you actually get some closure for Run with dialogue in Missing.

The new film swaps the father seeking his daughter from the first film as this time, teenager June (Storm Reid) uses her laptop and computer skills to track the whereabouts of her mother, Grace (Nia Long), who has disappeared in Colombia with her new boyfriend Kevin (Ken Leung). Since she can’t leave America, June finds Javier (Joaquim de Almeida), a gig worker, to do the legwork in South America.

The film is the best sort of onion, with every new layer revealing twists and turns, upending what we thought only minutes before. No one is who they appear to be and June, still mourning her dead father, feels increasingly alone, isolated, and just a tad paranoid.  That she relies entirely on her computer for a real connection to the world works as a metaphor for so many teens (although, as a teacher, I jealous at how adept she is with the laptop compared with my own high schoolers).

There’s enough action and danger tossed into the story that we’re not just sitting and watching June and Javier do the real work, similar to a Twitch experience. Here, the tyro directors do a fine job ratcheting up the tension and handle the action just fine. They’re helped with a solid cast led by Reid, who has never been less than impressive in her roles.

The film, out on Blu-ray with a Digital HD Code from Sony Home Entertainment, has a fine 1080p transfer that lets all the digital screens and computer graphics shine. The visuals are improved by the excellent DTS-HD Master Audio 5.1 lossless soundtrack.

The disc comes with a very fine assortment of Special Features, including Storm Reid and the Challenge of Missing (5:34); The Screens that Rule Our Lives (5:10); Hunting for the MISSING Easter Eggs (8:28); Misdirects, Online Crimes and the Social Media Mystery of Missing (6:53): Making a Frame Timelapse (0:48); Deleted Scenes (9:07); Filmmaker’s Commentary with producer Natalie Qasabian, Merrick, and Johnson.

Blood of the Virgin by Sammy Harkham

Blood of the Virgin by Sammy Harkham

Literary fiction is identifiable in any format: the story of unhappy people told with care and grace and close attention, from outside.

It’s not necessary that it be set in the recent past, but that helps: sometime just long ago to be before the working lives of the audience, but still familiar – say, fifty years or so.
It’s not required that the main characters be married, but they probably are. They probably have young children – a baby, preferably, to have someone they need to care for, to care about, who is not old enough to be another character. If they’re married, they fight. They probably separate, at least temporarily, at least physically. At least one of them sleeps with someone else during the story. And there are conflicts between their married lives and the work of at least one of them – probably the one whose work life is closest to the creator, the one who does something vaguely artistic.

Sammy Harkham’s Blood of the Virgin  is a major literary graphic novel: it does all of the things expected of the genre, and does them well. It has a novelistic heft and scope, even including very loosely related flashbacks to earlier people and times. There may be something slightly obvious about it: it does hew really closely to the conventions of its genre. But it’s a strong entry in that genre, a book that has a good version of the core story to tell and that tells its story with energy, passion, and a precise eye. More importantly, it’s not a genre that comes up all that often in comics to begin with, so it looks fresher and more exciting as it is that it would have as a movie or a prose novel.

Seymour edits movie trailers for a cheapie horror-movie production company; it’s the fall of 1971. He’s twenty-seven; he’s had this job three years; he’s ambitious in the sense that he loves movies – unabashedly loves horror movies – and that he wants to keep doing them, to get closer to the core of filmmaking. I don’t know if he has grandiose artistic visions that he wants to see on screen; I get the sense that, at this point, he has changes he wants to ring on established ideas and that his ideas will keep iterating, keep developing, as he works and learns and gets better.

Assuming he gets those opportunities. Assuming he takes them and does well.

He’s written a script – “Blood of the Virgin” is his title, of course. There’s a hole in the company’s schedule that script can slot into. As usual with a business like that, the hole is right now. Seymour has to finish the script immediately, and then dive into being one of the on-set producers for that movie, during the hectic three weeks it films. All of that is a big opportunity, a chance to move up in the business, to get public credits and be part of something real. But it’s also a hell of a lot of frantic, demanding work, right now.

Time is money. Nowhere more so than the movie business. Nowhere more so than in marginal, low-budget businesses.

Harkham gives a great view of the contingent, improvisational, scrambling nature of low-budget filmmaking: Blood of the Virgin is about a lot of things, but central to most of them is what it’s like to make a movie. To be in a location for that day, chasing shots, wrangling actors, fighting with effects, tracking time as the sun inexorably chases across the sky. Planning and strategizing, directors and producers and moguls and assistants, figuring out what they need and what they can get done and what might need to be abandoned. (And “what” always includes “who.”) The big parties afterward, where everyone goes a little crazy, where they all mix more freely. We see all of those scenes, different times during the course of the creation of this movie, as Seymour tries to handle his new responsibilities and to do them the ways he thinks movies should be made.

Meanwhile, his marriage is…well, I don’t want to overstate it. In the annals of literary-fiction marriages, Seymour and Ida are pretty good. They snap at each other angrily only some of the time; they talk past each other only as much as any couple does. They have real affection for each other, when there’s time around hectic movie shoots and a demanding baby. They fuck other people for the usual literary-story reasons, but not often, and pretty far into the book. They are not “doomed” in any way: they can get through this if they want to.

Harkham here is putting it all on the page; this is a big story stuffed with ideas and characters and insights and ideas. There are pages jammed with panels, filled with dialogue, and pages of long quiet late-night drives – it’s set in LA, so freeways are at least a minor character. It’s a hugely ambitious book that largely lives up to its ambitions: there are probably a half-dozen themes I haven’t even touched on here. It’s a big book, a rich one, that tells its story well and has a big, compelling story to tell. It is literary fiction, and we can use more of that in comics: the ambition, the depth, the scope.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

REVIEW: All-Star Superman

REVIEW: All-Star Superman

Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely’ s All-Star Superman is described as the finest salute to Silver Age ever to be written, embracing all the silliness and heart found in the Mort Weisinger-edited run of the Superman family of titles. Distilled down into a feature animated film, the story remains the same, just tighter.

The 2011 Warner Home Entertainment release is back, making its 4K Ultra HD debut. I liked it when first released, and the new edition is sharper and crisper, the 2060p transfer is excellent. Is it enough to upgrade? That’s up to you, but it belongs in your home video library in one form or another.

The strength in the adaptation has everything to do with the late Dwayne McDuffie’s screen adaptation, aided and enhanced by a wonderful score by composer Christopher Drake

The DTS-HD 5.1 Master Audio track is the same as the 2011 release and sounds just fine.

The 4K disc has two new Special Features, both featuring Director Sam Liu, composer Christopher Drake, producer Bruce Timm, and character designer Dusty Abell. The first is An All-Star Adaptation (7:57), which looks at the challenge of turning a dozen comic books into a coherent 77 minute film. The other is An All-Star Salute to the Silver Age (7:16), which leans into the absurdity of some stories, all aimed at the younger end of the readership.

Also included in both the 4K and Blu-ray discs are the original features: Audio Commentary – with Timm and Morrison; The Creative Flow: Incubating the Idea with Grant Morrison; All-Star Superman #1 Digital Comic; and Superman Now. A digital HD code is also included in the package.

Chivalry by Neil Gaiman and Colleen Doran

Chivalry by Neil Gaiman and Colleen Doran

Stories about old people who are happy and content being old, who stoutly resist fantastic temptations otherwise, are I think always the products of much younger people. Actual old people are much less sanguine about looming death, I find, less likely to smile indulgently at mantlepiece pictures of themselves in their younger days, sigh contentedly, and turn their faces away from mysterious elixirs and fabulous potions.

Neil Gaiman was barely thirty when he wrote the short story “Chivalry” in the early 1990s. It’s a light, mostly humorous story. But it’s very much the humor of someone quite young looking at someone else who is quite old, at a light, humorous distance.

Chivalry was turned into a graphic novel recently – just about a year ago – by Colleen Doran, who apparently scripted this version as well as doing all of the art in a variety of styles. (Lettering is by Todd Klein. There’s no sign Gaiman did anything for this edition other than say the word “Yes” and sign some manner of document.)

Lots of Gaiman stories have been turned into individual GNs over the past decade or so – I count a dozen on the “other books” page here, plus multi-volume adaptations of American Gods and Norse Mythology – but he’s probably written close to fifty stories in prose [1], so the well will not go dry any time soon.

This is one of the lighter – I’m pointedly not saying “lesser,” but we’re all thinking it – stories, though Doran brings a formidable, and frightening, level of art firepower to this piece, depicting some pages as medieval illuminated manuscripts and explaining in an afterword the extents she went through to find photos of the actual rooms of the real house Gaiman was thinking about for his protagonist back thirty years ago. (One might think that’s all rather more effort than Chivalry required, but it’s not for us to say, is it? The final product is indeed lovely throughout.)

So: pensioner Mrs. Whitaker finds the Holy Grail in her weekly trip to the Oxfam shop in the high street. She knows exactly what it is, and that it will look nice on her mantlepiece. Soon afterward, the parfait gentil knight [2] Galaad arrives, asking politely if he may have it, since he’s on a quest from King Arthur, with a fancy scroll to say so.

Gaiman, as usual, is not doing the collision of high and low speech thing, as other writers might. Galaad is high-toned, and Mrs. Whitaker is sensible and middle-class, not some comic-opera Cockney. They have polite, friendly conversations, with no hint of drama or conflict. Mrs. Whitaker simply wants to keep the Grail; it looks nice where it is.

Galaad returns several times, with more-impressive gifts to entice Mrs. Whitaker. What he does not do is listen to her, ascertain what she wants, and try to deliver that – that would be a more serious story, and not the one Gaiman apparently wanted to write in 1992. Galaad just wants to find the thing that will get her to agree to a swap, and he does, in the end, since this is a light fantasy story.

The prose “Chivalry” was a pleasant quiet thing, all about what wonderful characters the plucky elderly British ladies of the war generation were, basically a love letter to Gaiman’s grandmother’s cohort. The graphic version keeps the tone and style, and adds a lot of very pretty art, some of which is incredibly fancy and detailed. It is still a very light, fluffy thing, which only very slightly connects to actual life, but this is a very good visual version of the thing this story always was.

[1] It’s difficult to count, since his collections differ by country and mix in a lot of poetry, and he’s also done a lot of chapbook and small-press publications over the years. When you’re the subject of a rabid fandom, you can publish in all sorts of complicated expensive ways and people still buy as much as they can.

[2] OK, Gaiman doesn’t actually phrase it that way. But it is still true.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.

Maybe an Artist by Liz Montague

Maybe an Artist by Liz Montague

I say this a lot, but audiences are important. If you’re putting something out into the world, and don’t have a sense of who would care about it, it might be because no one will.

But “people like me” is a valid answer. “People like me at age 10” is an even better one. People get quirkier and more specific every year they live; every eighty-year-old is an entirely different microsegment. But kids are still early in that journey; they’re weird and particular but still care about a lot of the same things.

And a good “this is the kind of weird kid I was” book is always welcome. Maybe an Artist  is that kind of book, from cartoonist Liz Montague. It is about her childhood, and it is aimed at people who are children now – or who will be children when they read it; there’s no reason it won’t still be read in thirty years, by the kids of the kids reading it now.

Montague has had cartoons published in The New Yorker, had a strip called “Liz at Large” in Washington City Paper, and did other pretty high-profile cartooning gigs (a Google doodle! illos for the Obama Foundation!), even though she is, if I’m counting correctly, only about twenty-seven.

She gets into that quickly at the end, but Maybe an Artist is about how she got there – it’s the story of how drawing and art were important to her as a child, starting at the age of five in 2001. It’s really tightly focused on Montague, and deeply in her head most of the time. The external stuff of her life is included, some of the time, but it’s all about Montague, and, in the end, all about the pull of creating art and cartoons.

It won, eventually. We know that, because we have the book. But it wasn’t the path Montague or her family thought she was on – she was supposed to get an athletic scholarship to a good school, study something that would lead to a “good” career, and move forward. (And she did a lot of that: Maybe an Artist might be helpful for a lot of driven kids, or kids with demanding parents, to show how you can mostly follow the path laid out for you and still get to exactly the place you want to be.)

Here’s an example: the back cover mentions that the book includes how she “overcame extreme dyslexia through art,” but the book itself never uses the word “dyslexia.” Montague shows her problems with letters, and how she used art to work through it, but this is not a book about problems, or about diagnoses – it’s not that kind of YA graphic novel at all.

Montague has a cartoony, immediate style throughout, and keeps her young self front and center in the book – most of the panels are about Young Liz in one way or another, and Montague gives her younger self a lot of great facial expressions. She also lays out the book in a light, breezy way, with panels most of the time, filling up most of the page a lot of the time, but spilling out or vignetted regularly as well, to give more energy and life to her story.

This is much more a a purely YA book than I usually read; the audience is very much young maybe-artists. But Montague’s voice is true and straightforward and helpful; she gives a great account of the struggles and turmoils of her younger self. So there are joys, even for those who are very much past the maybes of their younger lives.

Reposted from The Antick Musings of G.B.H. Hornswoggler, Gent.