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From the stack: HARLEQUIN VIOLET: RESPONSE

December 30, 2005 by

Morbid curiosity isn’t the best reason to buy a graphic novel, but sometimes the very idea of a book, contained in a paragraph of solicitation, is difficult to resist. You read the pitch, then you read it again, and you say to yourself, “I shouldn’t, but how can I not?” You could be missing something so awful that it travels all the way around to awesome.

I had kind of a jumbled response to Dark Horse’s Harlequin: Ginger Peach line of romance-novel manga adaptations. It’s an interesting attempt to reach out to a new audience. It’s also… well… weird. Mass-market North American prose pulp turned into Japanese illustrated pulp turned into North American illustrated pulp? From the holder of the Star Wars comic license? It sounds like nonsense rhyme.

Then there’s the personal context. I remember Wednesdays in high school when I’d volunteer at the local hospital. It wasn’t exactly demanding, and we had long stretches of down time. So the other volunteers (two mercilessly sharp-tongued young women from the nearby all-girls Catholic school) and I would grab Harlequin books off of the library cart and read them with a combination of disdain, horror, amusement, and secret pleasure.

Dark Horse provides Harlequin books in two flavors: Violet, for readers aged 16 and up, and Pink, offering “the sweeter side of love” for readers 12 and up. One of each came out this week, and I went for Violet: Response, because it promised a higher quotient of smut.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t deliver the kind of so-bad-it’s-good thrills I’d anticipated. The plot is certainly insane, like many I remember from those afternoons in the hospital. It features a Greek tycoon, a temp agency, revenge, a coma marriage, amnesia, malaria, and tons and tons of yearning held in check with no small amount of difficulty.

But it isn’t aggressively insane. Writer Penny Jordan and illustrator Takako Hashimoto studiously resist the urge to wink at the reader even once. That’s only to be expected, because the intent is obviously to create an enveloping mood. Irony would be like salt in the punchbowl.

The characters are developed exactly as well as they need to be. Prim Brit Sienna is credibly torn between moralizing and unchecked lust. Mogul Alexis is that patented combination of love god, bastard, and lost little boy. The handful of supporting characters rounds things out and fills in the slow bits.

Hashimoto’s art is gloriously accomplished. In design and composition, it’s all swirling emotion. It doesn’t entirely serve the story, though. The driving point of Response is Sienna’s almost primal attraction to an unworthy man, and the visuals are perhaps too demure to convey that kind of hunger.

They’re also purple. The book is “printed in hot violet ink!” Again, the point is to envelop, but it’s only partly successful. The hue actually highlights the delicacy of the quieter scenes, but it diminishes the impact of the darker ones. When shadows creep in, they don’t suggest darkness. They just look really purple. (I can only imagine what Pink: A Girl in a Million looks like.)

And the ultimate effect, like those Wednesday afternoon novels, is one of disposability. Response is proficient, and it has an underlying weirdness of purpose and conception that’s diverting, but I can’t imagine ever wanting to read it again. Still, morbid curiosity didn’t go entirely unrewarded. I’m glad I sampled the line, though I won’t be rushing to pre-order others.

I am very curious as to whether this initiative will reach its intended audience. Romance novels make a lot of money, but is the existing audience dying for the same stories in a different medium? Part of me hopes so, because of the daring of the attempt, but I’m dubious. And if the Ginger Peach books get shelved with the manga instead of the romance novels, which strikes me as very likely, the experiment might never experience the kind of conditions it needs to succeed.

Filed under: Dark Horse, From the stack 1 Comment

From the stack: NIGHT FISHER

December 11, 2005 by

R. Kikuo Johnson’s Night Fisher (Fantagraphics) is kind of like a piece of jewelry where the setting has been crafted with artistry and imagination, but the stone it surrounds is lackluster. Kikuo Johnson demonstrates considerable skill as an illustrator, but he does so in service of a rather mundane coming-of-age story.

Loren, the protagonist, is nearing the end of his studies at a prestigious private high school. His connection to best friend Shane is in one of its waning phases. They used to spend nights fishing together, but Shane has moved on to other nocturnal activities that include petty theft and amphetamines derived from rat poison.

Shane reappears to invite Loren along for his nightly rounds. Maybe he misses his longtime friend. Maybe he just needs a lift. Whichever it is, Loren agrees. Agreeability seems to be one of Loren’s defining characteristics. He’s an honors student to please his father. He lies about his sexual experience to fit in with schoolmates. He smokes batu (the rat-poison crank) and plays look out to spend time with Shane.

Essentially, Loren is along for the ride. While it’s an entirely believable stance for an adolescent to take, it’s not a particularly engrossing one. His emotional reticence is understandable, given his age and situation, but I never felt like I got too deeply into Loren’s character. Even his narration seems disconnected and dryly observant.

The banality of the material gets a lift from its setting, Hawaii. Loren is an import, having moved from the mainland as a child. Bits of culture, environment, and history are woven into the narrative. But Kikuo Johnson takes a restrained approach, never letting details overwhelm his story. It’s a backdrop, and an effective one, but Night Fisher isn’t a travelogue.

And if Loren is bland, some supporting characters make distinct impressions. With some well-chosen details and careful dialogue, Kikuo Johnson portrays Shane as a charismatic, elusive figure. Eustace, another classmate, blends stoner comedy with hints of thug menace. Loren’s father is both decent and interesting. He tries to connect with his son, but he’s reluctant to push. He’s sacrificed for Loren, and at times the resulting weariness is palpable, even heartbreaking.

But the real attraction here is the illustration. There’s real creativity and fluidity in the ways Kikuo Johnson renders his story. Straightforward narrative sequences are interspersed with unexpected moments of flashback. Money shots of shadowy landscapes have real impact. There’s playful use of maps, diagrams of knots, and other unexpected imagery.

I’m particularly taken by the lettering. At times, Kikuo Johnson plays with the visual shape of words to highlight the emotion behind them. He also peppers his images with sound effects, from Loren nervously clicking the door lock on his car to the hiss of a cigarette. It’s lovely, grounding work, the kind of distinct details that help build the world of the story and define its visual language.

I just wish the story, the stone of this piece of jewelry, showed the same depth of imagination and craft as the way it’s told. Ultimately, the impression for me is that Night Fisher is an exercise in style. While it’s an impressive exercise, I can’t help but wonder what kind of breathtaking heights Kikuo Johnson could reach in service of meatier material.

Filed under: Fantagraphics, From the stack Leave a Comment

Not-so-quick comic comments

November 29, 2005 by

Rick Geary’s latest entry in the Treasury of Victorian Murder series (NBM Comics Lit), The Murder of Abraham Lincoln, might be the best I’ve read so far. In spite of the familiarity of this particular chapter of history, it’s still very engrossing reading. By translating these events into a graphic novel using his specific gifts as a storyteller, Geary demonstrates that any material can seem fresh in a new medium.

“Part III: Good Friday” is a particularly strong illustration of this. Geary ticks off the events of the day, alternating between domesticity with the Lincolns and conspiracy with John Wilkes Booth. Against all likelihood, the sequence ends up being wonderfully suspenseful, quickly cutting between concurrent events. The combination of inventiveness and detail in these books always impresses me, and this is no exception, but The Murder of Abraham Lincoln achieves an even higher level of pathos than usual.

To find out more about the Treasury series, you can visit NBM’s site, check out Johanna Draper Carlson’s overview at Comics Worth Reading, or look at a couple of my old reviews.

***

Part of the fun of the Seven Soldiers books (DC) has been seeing my expectations overturned. It seems like there’s an inverse relationship between my familiarity with DC’s version of a character and reading enjoyment. That isn’t to say that I didn’t like the Zatanna series, but my clear favorite so far has been the relatively obscure Klarion the Witch Boy and now, based on a very entertaining first issue, Frankenstein.

Putting aside whatever it might owe to a certain episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, I love the juxtapositions between teen revenge fantasy and noble monster action. I think this is the best art I’ve ever seen from Doug Mahnke, and the coloring by John Kalisz is just superb.

I’m glad I stuck with the floppies on the Seven Soldiers books. I’ve enjoyed them all to varying degrees, even if Zatanna’s occasional lapses into lectures on magical narrative theory made my eyes droop. And the suspicion that the left hand isn’t precisely sure what the right is doing and vice versa gave The Bulleteer an interesting kick.

***

Top Shelf sent me a preview copy of Coffee and Donuts by Max Estes. It’s a mostly sweet, often odd, and rather slight all-ages tale of homeless cats who briefly and disastrously contemplate a life of crime to get them out of the dumpster.

Bespectacled Dwight and silent Jules are friends who have stuck together through thick and thin, and it doesn’t get much thinner than setting up housekeeping in a trash bin. A mysterious benefactor brings them coffee and donuts each morning, which is pretty much the only bright spot in their tentative existence. They see the opportunity to change that in the form of a carelessly guarded armored truck.

Dwight isn’t really criminally inclined, and they botch the hold-up badly. In the process, they run afoul of eye-patched Myles and silent, hulking Moose, actual criminals who had their own plans for the truck. Myles tries to strong-arm Dwight and Jules into helping with another crime, feeling they owe him for lost income. Chases, scraps, and twists ensue, creating an odd fusion I can only call kiddie noir.

Estes’s cartoons are appealingly off-kilter, and there are some funny bits. But after a couple of readings, my reaction is “That’s all?” Estes limits his panel count to one or two per page, with ample white space. While the layout draws focus to the illustrations, it also tends to highlight the slightness of the story. Themes of friendship and loyalty and plot elements like crime and homelessness end up seeming kind of perfunctory.

Despite its length (128 pages) and some strong elements, Coffee and Donuts ends up seeming like a very good mini-comic rather than a $10 graphic novel.

Filed under: From the stack, NBM 2 Comments

From the stack: TENSHI JA NAI!!

November 16, 2005 by

There’s no denying that shôjo manga can be formulaic. Scenarios and themes tend to recur, and many manga-ka adopt a common, easily recognizable visual aesthetic. But what’s constantly surprising to me is the ability of individual manga-ka to invest the formula with distinct energy and a sense of fun.

That’s the case with Takako Shigematsu’s Tenshi Ja Nai!! (I’m No Angel!!) (Go! Comi). A lot of familiar elements are in place, but Shigematsu brings spark and charm to them, even if she doesn’t turn the genre upside-down.

Hikaru, the protagonist of Tenshi Ja Nai!!, is faced with a choice. She can move to France with her mother and stepfather, or she can enroll in an elite boarding school. Since she doesn’t care for her mother’s husband, she chooses the latter, hoping for an uneventful, low-profile experience.

As a child, Hikaru worked briefly as a model and was teased relentlessly by classmates. Anonymity is important to her. She doesn’t want to fit in with her classmates so much as blend into the background, avoiding attention and, by association, bullying.

Unfortunately, her room-mate is budding pop idol Izumi Kido. Hikaru’s classmates are dying to get close to Izumi and see Hikaru as their point of entry. When Hikaru balks at this role, she becomes the object of intense curiosity and animosity, just what she’d hoped to avoid.

Things get worse, as Hikaru learns that Izumi’s sweet, camera-friendly exterior masks sly ruthlessness, and that Izumi’s handsome and devoted assistant, Yasukuni, carries a sword. Oh, and Izumi’s actually a boy pretending to be a girl to achieve pop stardom and wealth.

Hikaru gets drawn further and further into Izumi’s deception and associated emotional craziness. It’s the last thing she wanted, and she resents these insane people screwing up her wallflower ambitions. But she’s just passive enough to go along with their demands, seeing defiance as a quick route to even more attention and turmoil. At the same time, she learns a bit more about Izumi’s motivations, and she softens towards the cross-dressing shark.

It’s a bit heavier on plot than I’m used to from shôjo. Twists come regularly and often, and things move along at a brisk pace. Shigematsu structures her story nicely, balancing scheming comic developments with gentle emotional observations. The premise is rather absurd, but it has just enough internal logic to hold together.

It’s also populated well. Hikaru may be a victim, but she’s no dummy. As the volume bustles along, she gets plenty of opportunities to stand up for herself and come out of her shell inch by inch. Izumi is selfish schemer, but he’s a compelling one, and the things that drive him generate real sympathy. Yasukuni may be a bit of a walking shôjo type – handsome, loyal, and mysterious – but he’s essential to the dynamic in his own way. He’s a nice bridge for Hikaru’s introversion and Izumi’s narcissism. Shigematsu is careful in developing their interrelationships, and the care yields a lot of nice moments.

While the art is shôjo-standard pretty, there’s the odd hint of subversion, too. Since many of the emotional moments are staged to meet Izumi’s personal and professional ends, the swoony shôjo sheen can seem like a bit of a wink.

Tenshi Ja Nai!! doesn’t overturn the shôjo apple cart in any meaningful way. It has familiar romantic-comedy ambitions and easily recognizable elements. But Shigematsu’s craft and energetic storytelling make it an engaging read all the same.

Filed under: From the stack, Go! Comi 2 Comments

From the stack: PARIS 1

November 10, 2005 by

If Andi Watson’s script for the first issue of Paris (Slave Labor Graphics) is a bit slight, it doesn’t really matter, as it would have needed to jump through absurd hoops to compete with Simon Gane’s fabulous illustrations. Watson wisely stands back and lets Gane do the heavy lifting, presenting highly stylized, richly detailed images of the City of Lights in the 1950s.

Juliet is an American studying art. Deborah is a rich English girl visiting the city for the first time. Juliet has to churn out portrait commissions to pay her tuition. Deborah is prevented from seeing the city by her snobbish chaperone. They meet when Juliet gets a commission to paint a portrait of Deborah, and they click when Deborah has some interesting and unconventional ideas for the commission

That’s pretty much all that goes on in the first issue in terms of narrative. Watson provides solid if minimalist introductions to his characters and their circumstances. There’s nice chemistry between his leads, and the supporting cast – the frumpy chaperone, Juliet’s bloviating tutor and bohemian roommate – rounds things out with dashes of humor.

But Gane is the main attraction here. Paris doesn’t really look like any other comic on the stands, with the possible exception of Joann Sfar’s The Rabbi’s Cat. Watson has scripted a number of showpieces for Gane’s lavishly detailed, imaginative style.

Establishing shots of a variety of settings are breathtaking, from sidewalk cafes to hotel lobbies to Juliet’s Latin Quarter digs. They’re glorious and numerous, but they never seem like travelogue material. Instead of interrupting the momentum of the story, big panels and splash pages contribute to its flow, immersing readers in the city and connecting them to its inhabitants.

Character design is exaggerated and appealing. Gane likes to draw characters in profile and uses the perspective to give added detail (like the chaperone, with her hawk-like nose). Wardrobes have specificity and texture, from Juliet’s rolled-up denim to Deborah’s starchy dresses. Juliet’s art-school activities allow Gane to reproduce works by Ingres and others, loyal to the source but investing them with enough of Gane’s own visual vocabulary to ground them in the comic.

So maybe Paris is an experiment in style over substance, with Watson purposely receding as a writer to let Gane do what he does best as an illustrator. Given the gorgeous results, I’ve got no problem with that.

Filed under: From the stack, Slave Labor Graphics 2 Comments

From the SPX stack: LA PERDIDA 1-5

November 6, 2005 by

Every time I read La Perdida (Fantagraphics), I’m amazed at the balancing act Jessica Abel achieves.

Her characters could come off as naïve, and they are to a certain extent. They ache to connect to something larger, to immerse themselves in something they believe will fix their lives. But they pursue this immersion without fully understanding its implications and consequences. They dive into their respective pools without knowing how deep they are or what precisely is under the surface.

But the sincerity of their desires is never in question. They may be willful, selfish, and even foolish, but they don’t mean any harm. That they end up doing harm is clearly their fault, but it’s hard to blame them entirely.

Take Carla, the protagonist. An American with an absentee Mexican father, she travels to Mexico to see the land of her dreams. She’s romanticized Mexico, and she longs to have an authentic experience. Carla attaches herself to an acquaintance, Harry, an upper-class American who’s traveled to Mexico City to follow in the spiritual footsteps of Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs. (Yes, he’s kind of a git.) They casually fall into a sexual relationship, though Carla’s clearly using him to stay in Mexico.

Before long, Carla finds herself chafing at what she perceives to be Harry’s elitism. She scolds him for hanging around with nothing but other expatriates and walling himself off from “real” Mexicans. Carla has gone from romanticizing Mexico generally to yearning for a truly authentic experience, and her use for Harry comes to an end. (Harry may be pursuing his own posturing, romanticized notions, but at least he isn’t using anyone to fulfill them. It’s easy to sympathize with his irritation with Carla.)

But Carla’s notions of the “real” Mexico are no better informed than her earlier fantasies. She ignores warnings from friends and acquaintances, cuts herself off from the expatriate community, and finds an apartment and a part-time job teaching English. She starts hanging around with Oscar, who dreams of international DJ fame, and Memo, a washed-out socialist who feeds Carla’s vague notions that any kind of American lens will ultimately distance Carla from Mexico (and make her morally inferior, like the expatriates she rejected). Carla goes from user to used, but she’s in too much of a happy fog of authenticity to notice.

Abel uses amazing clarity in presenting Carla’s flaws. Her hypocrisy and narcissism are evident. At the same time, Abel uses equal delicacy in portraying Carla’s need. It’s overwhelming, obscuring consideration and common sense. It’s also very real, and it softens the reader’s view of Carla. As a protagonist, she almost transcends conventional notions of sympathy. Abel isn’t asking readers to support Carla’s choices and behavior so much as to immerse themselves in them. You don’t need to like her to find her compelling.

All of this carefully modulated characterization doesn’t lead Abel to neglect plot. It’s driven by character, obviously, but it’s also almost immune to character. All of Carla’s certainty and passion do nothing to protect her from still another “real” Mexico, and the five-issue series builds to a satisfyingly suspenseful conclusion.

I love Abel’s illustrations. She favors a fairly heavy line, but it doesn’t obscure any of the delicacy or depth of emotion. There’s a wonderful sense of place, too, which is obviously critical for this kind of story. Pantheon Books has a collection of La Perdida in the works, but I’m glad I bought the singles. They’re wonderfully proportioned and have gorgeous color covers. Beyond the quality of their contents, the comics have value as objects. (I was also lucky enough to pick them up from the Fantagraphics booth when Abel was signing during SPX.)

Visually striking and emotionally nuanced, La Perdida is a tremendous book. It’s probably my favorite SPX purchase.

Filed under: Fantagraphics, From the stack, Pantheon 2 Comments

From the stack: NOTHING BETTER

November 4, 2005 by

(The following contains spoilers for Nothing Better #1.)

After an initial reading, I wasn’t quite sure what to make of the first issue of Tyler Page’s Nothing Better (Dementian Comics). It seemed to start in a very low-key, observant place, then move rather swiftly into more melodramatic territory. By the end, differences of perspective erupt into shouting matches and slammed doors, and I admit that the comic made me laugh in places where I suspect it didn’t mean to.

After a couple of subsequent readings, I’ve decided that I’m fond of Nothing Better in the same way I am of other young-adult melodramas like Degrassi: the Next Generation. The eruptions of just-post-adolescent melodrama have the happy effect of letting me be moved while still finding them funny. The characters would hate it if they knew I was laughing at them from my old-man chair, but they don’t need to know.

The first issue follows Jane Fisher as she arrives for her freshman year at a Lutheran college. Page has good eyes and ears for the summer-camp quality of those first days of higher education – independent but not, structured but solitary, and sometimes a little mortifying. Jane’s terrifyingly enthusiastic resident assistant gathers the corridor for a “getting to know you” session (“Say your name, and one thing about yourself!”). “My name is Jane and… my roommate isn’t here yet,” is Jane’s pitch-perfect contribution.

As the new arrivals go through the stations of the freshman cross, Jane feels out of step due to her missing roomie. Katt Conner eventually arrives, but Jane isn’t particularly comforted. Katt rolls her eyes at the mixers and corridor activities. She’s glad to be away from her family. (Jane misses hers.) She smokes and sneaks off to less socially sedate corners of campus, dragging Jane with her. Fed up with Jane’s mild (but somewhat constant) disapproval, Katt plays a nasty prank on Jane. To her credit, Katt regrets it almost immediately and tries to clean up after, but the fallout throws Jane even further off of her freshman stride.

Thanks to Katt, Jane is late for course registration and winds up stuck in a religion class called “The Bible for Pagans.” Katt is in it, too, and she can’t understand Jane’s disappointment. This leads Jane to wonder, with disbelief and perhaps a little terror, if Katt is “like an atheist or something?” Glare! Shout! Slam! (Snicker.)

The tricky thing, and the thing that saves the book for me, is that the shifts in tone don’t come out of nowhere. Things do run from one to ten, but Page successfully portrays this as a function of the highly charged experience. His cast members are experiencing their first taste of independence and coming at it with different expectations. Their clashes are heightened but strangely natural at the same time. Jane didn’t expect to be stuck with some atheist art student who drinks and smokes any more than Katt was looking forward to nine months with a homesick Lutheran tight-ass. Neutral corners, and come out fighting!

I don’t know if I’m enjoying Nothing Better in precisely the way I’m supposed to, but I’m enjoying it nonetheless.

Filed under: From the stack, Webcomics 1 Comment

From the stack: TRICKED

October 28, 2005 by

Alex Robinson’s Tricked (Top Shelf Productions) is kind of like a building. When you walk in, you can’t help but admire the architecture. It’s been designed carefully and with imagination. The proportions are impressive, and the structure hangs together. The interior design doesn’t suit the structure, though. It’s a little chilly and uncomfortable.

Robinson has crafted the graphic novel equivalent of a Robert Altman movie (like Short Cuts or Nashville). Six very different characters move through their individual lives, but their stories bump together with increasing frequency. The intersecting personal arcs move inexorably towards a shared – and traumatic – experience.

It’s an impressive piece of narrative construction. And Robinson doesn’t just rely on proximity, creating thematic undercurrents that link his sextet together. Most of the events are driven at least partly by fandom or hero worship. But how much weight those themes have depends on how invested the reader can become in the characters, particularly the six leads. For me, the results were mixed.

While there isn’t really a lead in the conventional sense of the word, the most pivotal role is held by Ray Beam, rock star in the midst of a creative dry spell. He’s got a ready-for-VH1 biography, personally and professionally, with a turbulent romantic history and a shattered band in his wake. Robinson’s too smart to think there’s much sympathy to be mined from Ray’s life, so he makes Ray somewhat ridiculous. He’s lazy, self-indulgent, and completely out of touch with the way normal people live. He’s also going through a string of attractive young “personal assistants” in search of a muse who can kick-start his recording career.

Steve is a big fan of Ray’s. He writes lengthy missives to Ray, delving into his work and offering unsolicited career advice. He’s also off his meds, and his innate misanthropy and obsession are gaining ground. Nick is a husband and father who’s been reduced to forging sports memorabilia after losing his office job. He’s lying to his family about his activities, and his boss has an unsettling mean streak.

The women protagonists are driven more by relationships. Waitress Caprice is coming off of a bad break-up. She re-enters the dating scene with mixed results, though she does find a promising boyfriend candidate. Unfortunately, her low self-esteem may derail the relationship before it really begins. Teen-ager Phoebe has jumped on a bus from New Mexico to track down the father who abandoned her family when she was an infant. And Lily gets drawn into Ray’s orbit while temping at his management agency. A misunderstanding leads Ray to believe Lily is a fan (she isn’t) and a potential conquest (she declines), but her apparent disinterest only makes him more intrigued. Lily is a practical person, and she’s willing to tolerate Ray’s weirdness to hold onto a lucrative, undemanding job.

Their lives are interesting to varying degrees. Caprice is the most obviously sympathetic, and her romantic woes ring true, even when they bring her into Nick’s unsavory orbit. Phoebe is a nice balance between innocence, anxiety, and anger, and her scenes with her long-lost father are written with subtlety and care. There are hopes on both sides, but Robinson is careful not to lapse into fairy tale. And Lily is a marvelous example of understated character development. She doesn’t really care if Ray’s inspired by her presence, and she isn’t much phased by the hostility of Marybeth, Ray’s real personal assistant (the one who does all the actual work). She seems like an innocent, but she’s really just biding her time.

The men are more problematic. If Robinson doesn’t really ask us to feel for Ray, he can’t quite bring himself to let us laugh at him too much. Ray is a man-child and a jerk, and he needs a team of people to handle his appetites and his ego. But there’s the suggestion that readers wouldn’t be out of line in seeing him as somewhat tragic, and I just can’t. Steve is tragic on paper (in the same way as under-medicated antagonists who show up periodically on Law and Order), but he’s an exhausting nerd. His interests are so narrow and his dedication to them so boundless as to generate resentment. While his deterioration is carefully and cleverly portrayed, he’s really unpleasant company. And Nick verges on walking plot device. His dishonesty has put him in an uncomfortable and dangerous position, but he’s kind of a jerk to begin with.

But even if the character arcs aren’t always affecting, they cohere. Robinson may indulge in some narrative legerdemain to bring his cast together together, but he plays fair for the most part. Nobody is shoved into too unlikely behavior to serve the story or its construction. It’s detailed, mostly restrained work. (I did find Robinson’s decision to have the chapters count down to one a little pretentious. Things tick along nicely without a virtual timer.)

For me, Tricked ended up being less than the sum of its parts. It left me admiring the craft of the work without feeling fully engaged. It’s impressive but not entirely moving.

(This review is based on a complimentary copy provided by Top Shelf Productions.)

Filed under: From the stack, Top Shelf 1 Comment

From the stack: SPIRAL-BOUND

October 5, 2005 by

It’s summer in Estabrook, and things are looking up for some of its younger residents. Ana, a rabbit, thought she’d be miserable with her best friend off at music camp. But she gets a job at the town’s underground newspaper, the Scoop, and she’ll get to team up with Em, another friend (and bird) who’s working there as a photographer. Shy Turnip, an elephant, figures he won’t do much of anything until he’s befriended by Stucky, a dog from his class. Stucky suggests Turnip sign up for sculpture camp with him.

The activities seem normal enough, but they end up putting the kids’ creativity, compassion, and courage to the test in Aaron Renier’s very entertaining Spiral-Bound (top secret summer) (Top Shelf Productions). Renier balances the comic adventure with some very perceptive and moving moments and does some terrific world building in the process.

Ana’s first assignment, a preview of the sculpture camp, leads her to investigate one of Estabrook’s biggest mysteries, the Pond Monster. Her investigation stirs up the fears of Estabrook’s adults and puts the sculpture teacher, a whale named Ms. Skrimshaw, in a tough position. Turnip enjoys sculpture camp, trying projects with the various different media, but he worries that he’s not really being creative, just appropriating other people’s styles and inspirations. Ana and Turnip’s activities intersect in clever ways, keeping the various subplots connected and moving forward.

The characters, especially the kids, are wonderful. Ana has the spunky reporter thing down. She’s intrepid and curious, but she’s also thorough, doing research in the library and in the town’s bookstore and grilling sources. She also has some hilarious moments of outrage when people tell her to pull back on the Pond Monster project or notice that she repeatedly uses certain words in her writing. (“But sometimes that’s the most fitting word!” she says in defense of her beloved “impeccable.”)

Renier resists the urge to cute up Turnip’s shyness and uncertainty. The little elephant takes things very much to heart, and he’s hard on himself. When a flustered Ms. Skrimshaw snaps at him, it has real sting because she’s inadvertently touched on some of Turnip’s most vulnerable points. Fortunately, Stucky is as thoughtful and persistent as he is inventive, and he does his best to keep Turnip on his creative track. (“Nobody’s an island, Turnip. You’re going to borrow something from everything!”)

Renier has also given his characters subtly individual voices. Ana is outspoken and declarative, and her conversations with Em have a funky, friendly rhythm. Turnip flusters easily; it’s like he isn’t that used to talking to people, at least about things that matter, and he can’t always articulate the complex things that are going on in his head. It’s a big cast, with camp students, newspaper employees, parents and various other townspeople, and each makes a distinct impression.

The story itself is less consistently successful. The solution to the over-arching mystery is less satisfying than the investigation. That might partly be because Renier has tried to concoct a solution where nobody’s really at fault for the misunderstandings that have preceded it. That’s tough to pull off, and Renier has sprinkled some almost ugly moments of tension into the story. Estabrook’s adults are alarmingly (and a little unconvincingly) prone to mob mentality. They’re driven by protectiveness, but some of their behavior leaves an unexpectedly bad aftertaste. (The illustrations don’t hold up as well in the tenser action sequences, too.)

But the overall feel of the book more than compensates for the rougher edges of the story. Estabrook is a wonderfully rendered fictional environment, and its Noah’s Ark citizens make for charming visuals. Crowd scenes are filled with funny Easter Eggs. I particularly love Renier’s conception of how the Scoop operates, half newspaper and half spy organization. With such a great landscape in place, it will be a shame if Renier doesn’t follow up with a sequel.

Best of all is the fact that the kids end up stronger than they start. Ana proves herself as a reporter through resourcefulness and hard work. Turnip inches out of his shell, making friends and finding a creative outlet. They’re active and inquisitive, learning by doing and having a positive influence on their town in the process. Watching this unfold is very satisfying and a lot of fun.

(This review is based on a complimentary copy of Spiral-Bound provided by Top Shelf.)

Filed under: From the stack, Top Shelf 4 Comments

From the SPX stack: MOPED ARMY

October 4, 2005 by

(The following contains spoilers for Moped Army.)

Given how much I’ve complained about the recent trend of ethical failure in mainstream super-hero comics, it seems weird that I’d find fault with an excess of moral clarity in a graphic novel, especially one as fine as Paul Sizer’s Moped Army (Café Digital Comics). It nags, though, because it limits the story’s suspense and impact.

Moped Army tells the story of Simone, a privileged young woman who lives in Upper Bolt Harbor. She lives in comfort and security, mingling with other rich teens in a rarefied environment. Upper Bolt Harbor is literally named, as it looms high and aloof over Lower Bolt Harbor, crumbling home of the lower class.

As the story begins, Simone is uncomfortable with certain elements of her life and society. She rebels in small ways, refusing to indulge in the kind of body modification and obsession with appearance that’s standard with her peers. She’s also having doubts about her boyfriend, wealthy, obnoxious Chéz, who belittles her for seemingly trivial shortcomings (Simone’s glasses, her apparent indifference to status).

Her doubts crystallize when Chéz and a group of his lackeys take their aircars down to the lower city for cheap thrills. They encounter a group of moped-riding kids and make sport of trying to knock them off the road. Things spiral out of control, and one of the moped riders is killed. Chéz and company flee back to their penthouses, ordering Simone to keep her mouth shut.

But she’s badly shaken by the experience and travels to Lower Bolt Harbor to find out more about the people her friends have callously harmed. She meets the Moped Army, a resourceful group of free spirits who have formed a loyal, surrogate family based on their shared passion for the old-fashioned means of transportation. The kids in the Moped Army are the polar opposites of Simone’s Upper crowd. The Lower kids scrabble by with limited resources, keeping their antique rides going through toil and creativity. While the Uppers seem bound by greed and intimidation, the Moped Army is a family of choice, protective of each other and appreciative of individual contributions.

Moped Army follows Simone’s shifting loyalties, but the distinctions between her two choices are so clear and so extreme that there isn’t very much suspense. The Upper crowd is uniformly loathsome – greedy, craven, abusive, and driven by self-interest. Even Simone’s parents have been corrupted by the culture. The Moped Army has all the spirit and decency, even as they bend and break laws to pursue their passion. (Gasoline is illegal in the futuristic setting, and it’s more than a little strange to be rooting for the group that actively wants to use fossil fuels.) Except for comfort and security, Simone’s status quo has no intrinsic attractions, and her new world is evidently more honorable and rewarding.

Despite the simplicity of the driving narrative, though, Moped Army has a number of strengths. Sizer has created a very dramatic future society, even if it lacks shadings. The have-and-have-not distinctions are depressingly credible. He does nice work with the Army, too, defining its shared passion and the individual personalities of its members. (They’re all decent and plucky, but they’re decent and plucky in distinct, personal ways.)

His illustrations are wonderfully detailed, and he gives Lower Bolt City a gritty, almost archeological allure. Character designs are appealing and stylish, and Sizer is adept at portraying the charged emotions his cast experiences. Action sequences rely on a very smart juxtaposition of words and images, supplying useful (but not expository) information to support visual clarity and impact. It’s a great-looking book.

I just wish there had been a few more grey areas between Simone’s old life and her potential new one. I’d love to see a sequel where Simone tries to reconcile Upper and Lower cultures, as there’s not really room for that here. She’s got all of the foundations to fulfill that kind of role, and she’s positioned well to be an ambassador of sorts. I think it would make for a great follow-up to a very good graphic novel.

Filed under: Café Digital Comics, From the stack 4 Comments
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