Written and illustrated by David Lapham

Vertigo, 2007

Filed under: Graphic Novels

David Lapham’s 2007 graphic novel Silverfish reads like an illustrated screenplay for a never-filmed John Carpenter-style suburban thriller. And while writer/illustrator Lapham is clearly familiar with (and fond of) the conventions of such films (Chief of Police father, bratty, rich-girl best friends, overly nice strangers with terrible secrets, etc.), he isn’t merely paying tribute to a lost genre, but reviving it in a separate medium.

If cinematic horror has largely abandoned atmosphere, suspense, and character, why shouldn’t comics pick up the slack? It’s not the novelty of “cinematic comics” that makes Silverfish such an exciting read, though; any comic that uses wide panels and dramatic visuals can make the same claim. Urgent pacing, realistic (if supernaturally tinted) danger, and a bold visual style set Silverfish apart in a field flush with predictable plots and flat characters.

Set in Seaside Heights, NJ in the late 80s (only one Springsteen reference!) Silverfish concerns bored teenager Mia, who is still reeling from her father’s remarriage to a younger woman, Suzanne. When her father and stepmother leave for a weekend ski trip, Mia and her best friend Vonnie steal Suzanne’s notebook and make a few prank calls, hoping to uncover a lurid past life. A suitcase full of money and a blood-stained knife in hidden in a bedroom closet deepen the mystery, as does unhinged realtor Daniel, who responds to their call with a mixture of terror and bloodlust. Too scared to delve any further, Vonnie, Mia, and her little sister stop the calls, but soon find themselves pursued by both Suzanne and Daniel, each violently disturbed by the churning gears of their shared past.

The plot is pretty basic, but Lapham being Lapham, there’s something more sinister at work beneath the surface. Daniel is possibly possessed by demonic anglerfish with razor teeth and long, notched tails that seem to be swimming through his head and attacking his brain. For most of the book this seems like the author’s attempt to illustrate the sensation of psychosis, but by the climactic chase scene the safety of metaphor is abandoned, and Lapham forces us to wrestle with the potential threat posed by the fish. Realistic settings and characters, blended with a bit of supernatural uncertainty and a dark take on human behavior, is Lapham hallmark, and here those themes turn what would otherwise be compelling, but standard, genre work into genuinely terrifying graphic storytelling.

Lapham’s art also contributes to the sense of unease. His lines are clear and bold, almost cartoonish, and the detail isn’t exaggerated so that everything feels real and organic to its universe, particularly the beach-town and empty amusement park settings. The widescreen panels add a “film” feel to the book (and make it a rather quick read despite its length) but it’s Dom Ramos’s greytones that give the book its visual character. The shadows feel darker, almost palpable, but I think light gets the biggest boost from the black and white scheme. Headlights seem brighter and more penetrating, and the amusement park is all the more unsettling when lit up and gleaming and totally still.

I must mention Lapham’s gift for dialogue as well, if only because it’s a rare commodity in contemporary comics. Mia, Vonnie, and their friends speak like real teenagers, confident and cynical, but never falling into the hyper-aware riffing that plagues both mainstream and indie comics. And while plot details are sometimes offered in conversation, Lapham lets his characters speak without forcing them to push the story along, or underline meaning for any readers who haven’t been following along.

Silverfish only falters in its conclusion, which seems to want to put a smile on a story that’s way too dark to render any kind of real comfort. While the quick wrap-up ending may be another convention of the genre Lapham is working in, it nevertheless feels like a missed opportunity to push the psychological horror further than a mainstream-friendly books (or films) like this are likely to go. Regardless, Silverfish is a tense read, and a welcome return to a kind of story that’s long been relegated to the pop culture dustbin.

Similar reads: Stray Bullets, by David Lapham; and 100 Bullets, by Brian Azzarello and Eduardo Risso

Author: David Petersen

2008/2009 Archaia Studios Press

Filed Under Graphic Novels, Fantasy

I used to love Brian Jaques’s Redwall series when I was younger (and I’d probably still love it if I went back now to read it, which I now may), so when I saw the cover of Mouse Guard Winter 1152 depicting the cloaked and armed mice trudging determinedly through the snow, I couldn’t help but get it. This review is actually of two books, Winter and Fall, both quite short.

While the premise of the series seems almost identical to that of the Redwall series, Petersen actually creates a pretty unique and compelling scenario for his world. Unlike Jaques’s mice, who more or less live in a human universe all their own (i.e. trees and rivers are of the same proportions they would be to human characters), the mice of Mouse Guard live in a world where they are the smallest beings. They inhabit oak trees and rock walls converted to great halls, and the non-mouse foes (crabs, an owl) they face are many times larger than they in size.

What I liked most, though, is that for the most part, the foes are other mice. Mouse Guard is set after a great war with weasels has been over for enough years to be slipping into legend. The guard mice, once heroes, now travel between the isolated mice cities and act as emissaries, or as body guards to trades mice. The first compilation (each season collects a run of individual comics), Fall, concerns sabotage and insurrection: a faction of rebel mice, fearing oligarchy, attempt to overthrow the guard mice and establish a monarchical government. It does a nice job (as any first entry in a series should do) of presenting a complete beginning, middle, and satisfying end. Winter works more as an establishing point for a longer running series, opening the world and revealing a much broader setting for the fiction.

I enjoyed the art style a lot. There are lots of bold lines and colors, and the characters have a sort of badass-Beatrix-Potter look to them. The landscapes and action scenes are also a pleasure to look at. Neither of these Mouse Guard compilation quite manages to be the sprawling epic a novel could be, but they do lay the groundwork for a series that may accomplish that. I found these books to provide a nice, if brief diversion, and I’d be interested in revisiting Petersen’s fiction in the future.

Similar Reads: Salamandastron (Jaques), Watership Down (Adams), The Arrival (Tan)

AKA, The Aaron Block Awards For My Favorite Comics of 2009, Presented By Aaron Block

Rather than pretend to claim any kind of comprehensive look at the best comics of the past year, I thought I’d give out special awards to the books that I most enjoyed. There are likely better books than what I’ve included here (Asterios Polyp anyone?) but these are the five closest to my heart.

“Fulfillment of Potential” Award — Detective Comics #854 — present, written by Greg Rucka; illustrated by J.H. Williams III

The critics who assailed DC for playing up the modern Batwoman’s sexuality, or who argued that a reviving her as a lesbian was mere tokenism, were silenced when writer Greg Rucka gave her the spotlight in Detective Comics 854. No mere token or object of fanboy fantasy, Batwoman is a strong, nuanced lead character, and Detective contains easily the most satisfying character work in mainstream comics. Though much of the story-so-far is familiar (particularly in the Bat-world: struggles with dual identity, loss of family members, bittersweet victories), Rucka manages to pull fresh ideas from those conventions, and all without irony or cynicism.

Artist J.H. Williams III deserves much of the credit for the book’s unique feel. More than a gifted storyteller, Williams continues to reinvent the architecture of mainstream comics, employing unconventional layouts that often stretch across two pages, but still reveal the scene gradually. And he continues to experiment with style, using a stable, Alex Toth-like line for flashback scenes and switching to an ethereal painterly style for the present. Credit is also due to colorist Dave Stewart, who’s vibrant reds stand out in nearly ever panel, particularly in Batwoman’s close-ups; her red hair and lips, contrasted with the otherworldly white of her skin and dark black costume suggest all of the emotional complexity of Rucka’s script.

“Continued Brilliance” Award — Batman and Robin #1-3 — written by Grant Morrison; illustrated by Frank Quitely

Since joining the Bat-books in 2006, Morrison has been steadily developing a thesis that argues for the continued appreciation and relevance of Batman’s entire published history, rather than just the few “in continuity” years that publisher and fanbase are willing to acknowledge. “Circus of Strange”, Morrison and Quitely’s introductory arc, juxtaposes the bright colors and humor of the 60s “Batman” television show with the grim amusement park setting of Alan Moore’s “The Killing Joke.” From the brilliant incorporation of sound effects (largely, and sadly, absent in most contemporary comics) directly into the action rather than slapped on top like a sticker, to the terrifying hordes of physically and mentally-disfigured “dolls” created by Professor Pyg, the whole arc is unsettling in its juxtaposition of both worlds. Even Alex Sinclair’s colors contribute to the book’s sickly sweet feel.

The first three issues of Batman and Robin might not be the quintessential Morrision/Quitely collaboration, but I’d say it’s probably the most overt with what it intends to accomplish through the form; action sequences are laid out to highlight the character’s movement through space (and through the page) rather than musculature or viscera, and the story beats strike a precise balance between psychological terror and introspective drama. Morrison’s follow-up arc, with artist Phillip Tan, held less rewards, but nevertheless operated at a higher level than most superhero books. Upcoming collaborations with Cameron Stewart and Frazier Irving, however, and rumblings of Quitely’s return, should return Batman and Robin to its inventive glory.

The “Grant Morrison Was Awesome in 2009, Don’t You Agree?” Award — Seaguy: the Slaves of Mickey Eye — written by Grant Morrison; illustrated by Cameron Stewart.

Morrison’s work is often tagged as “deliberately confusing,” couched as a sort of art-school prank abetted by fans and critics who hold the writer in high regard. The Slaves of Mickey Eye, the second volume of his and Stewart’s divisive series, is the perfect response to such lazy, uninspired criticism, as the story is fairly straightforward: Seaguy, who seems on the verge of uncovering the mysteries behind Mickey Eye’s inexplicable hold on society, is bullied so deep into self-doubt he retreats into the prefabricated identity of a matador and must think his way back to reality before the villain, Sea Dog, marries She-Beard, Seaguy’s barbarian love interest.

As in the first volume, The Slaves of Mickey Eye is flush with the sense that much is not right in a seemingly perfect world. Stewart’s art, with it’s bold, almost cartoonish, yet remarkably detailed backgrounds and characters create just such a world, while also carrying the emotional weight of Seaguy’s trial of self-awareness. The book’s complexity comes not from the plot, then, but from the layering of sometimes disturbing but surprisingly sweet coming-of-age story over the screwball super-heroics. True, Morrison isn’t holding anyone’s hand; close reading and a little thought are needed to get at Seaguy’s greater resonance, but the same is (or should be) true of any comics worth reading.

The “Idea So Obvious It Hasn’t Been Done” Award — Irredeemable — written by Mark Waid; illustrated by Peter Krause.

With any luck, Irredeemable will finally skewer Mark Waid’s inexplicable reputation as a Silver Age revivalist. No paean to “simpler times,” the on-going series from Boom! Studios actually engages in a bit of icon baiting, positing a world where the Plutonian (a Superman analogue, complete with mild-mannered secret identity and fabulous powers) goes rogue, begins hunting and killing his former friends, destroys the city he used to protect, and in general runs amok. Some of the surviving heroes have banded together to stop the Plutonian, but how do you hide from a man who can hear and see you from thousands of miles away?

Waid’s trademark sarcasm is all over Irredeemable, but this book feels more personal than much of his work in the past five years. While it might be too easy to say Waid is externalizing self-doubts and coping with his somewhat confrontational public persona through the Plutonian’s actions, I do think he is questioning the roles and responsibilities of those we trust with our safety in an anonymous comment/insta-critic society. Can “good” really exist in a world where everyone’s stability seems so tenuous, and even the most mild-mannered have the power to upend that stability? And if that line is so thin, what do we now make of our heroes? Irredeemable is not even a year into it’s run and is still only beginning to grapple with such questions, but the result so far is a dark, compelling story that doesn’t point to any easy or obvious conclusions.

The “Greatest Loss” Award — Young Liars — written and illustrated by David Lapham

Yes, Young Liars began in 2008, but it was cancelled in 2009 and deserves mention in this section. How to write a capsule review for such a book, which defies encapsulation? Describing the plot would be pointless, since it doesn’t even have a beginning or ending; the “deeper significance” is only as deep or significant as any particular reader wishes to make it. What’s left? Maybe the characters? Danny Noonan, a loser from central Texas who may or may not also be Danny Duoshade, rock legend; Sadie Browning, heiress of the Brown Bag retail fortune and Danny’s dream girl, who has turned into an uninhibited ass-kicker thanks to a bullet lodged in her brain; Donnie, the likeable cross-dressing heroin addict; Big C, the consummate groupie; Annie X, a former model who might also be a spy for the invading Martian spider forces that are attempting to conquer Earth through the Brown Bag franchise. Also, Sadie might be a rebellious Martian Spider Princess, and Danny might be the worst spider of them all. Maybe. If all of the Spiders From Mars stuff has you worried, don’t worry; in the end the book is really just about rock and roll. Maybe. Lapham plays fast and loose with multiple realities, never stopping to give an answer without also questioning everything that’s come before. Young Liars was the one book I could trust to surprise me every month. And now it’s gone.

Authors: Various

DC Comics, 2009

Best ebook deal: not available

Editor’s Note: Due to the number of authors and artists who contribute to this series, there is no ratings table for this work. Aaron has said it deserves a 10 in the Entertainment category, however.

Before I review Wednesday Comics, DC’s new weekly series, I’d like to say a few words about its conceptual predecessor, Solo. Like Wednesday Comics, Solo was the pet project of DC’s art director, Mark Chiarello, a gifted painter in his own right who conceived of the bi-monthly series as a celebration of the industry’s diverse artistic talent. The concept was simple enough – released on a bi-monthly schedule, each 48-page issue would be a showcase for a single artist, who would then fill those pages with short stories, sometimes written by the artist, other times written by friends/collaborators.

I loved it, and treasured even those issues with art I didn’t particularly care for. And though it won three Eisner Awards in 2006, Solo was cancelled after only twelve issues, due to poor sales. Considering the talent on display: Darwyn Cooke, Paul Pope, Brendan McCarthy, and Tim Sale among others, speaks volumes about the average comic fan’s distaste for the anthology format. 

Which brings us back to Wednesday Comics, another anthology series that’s attracted top-level talent, but this time with a built-in twelve issue terminus. Once bitten, twice shy, I suppose.

Fifteen writer/artist teams get one page each per issue, making it something of a slow burn. Readers already antsy with the glacial pacing of many mainstream comics might balk at the prospect of sticking around for three months for the resolution of fifteen short, out-of-continuity stories. But each issue covers nearly every genre – superhero punch-ups, war, science-fiction, supernatural/horror, comedy, mystery, even romance. A Western would’ve been a nice touch, and DC has plenty of iconic Western characters for a creative team to toy with. Fingers crossed for next time.

Anyone with a particular graphic storytelling itch should be satisfied by what they find within. And at 14” x 20”, Wednesday Comics is decidedly bigger than the average 7.5” x 11”, giving the creators room to experiment with layout and pacing and inviting the reader to pour over the art, even after the bits of story have been digested. A few reviewers stated that they wanted to wallpaper their offices in Wednesday Comics pages, the art is that compelling. Not a bad idea, but at $3.99 per issue not exactly practical, either.

Much of the attention the series has earned is due to the talent involved. Brian Azzarello, Kurt Busiek, Kyle Baker, Dave Gibbons, Neil Gaiman, Mike Allred, Paul Pope, and Joe Kubert are just a handful of the writers and artists contributing to the series, crafting stories that feature some of DC’s biggest properties (Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman) and some lesser-known fan and creator favorites (Kamandi, the Metal Men, Adam Strange). And while the big names will cast a larger net for prospective readers (Gaiman loyalists alone might comprise a bigger audience than Solo ever had) hopefully some reliable but under-used talents like Karl Kerschl, Brian Stelfreeze, and Lee Bermejo will find new fans, and new respect.

The first issue delivers on the hype; one or two of the stories get a shaky start, but the others deliver promising beginnings, even if plot and character are a big scant so far. If it doesn’t catch on, at least we’ll have the next three months to ooh and ahh together. But if it finds a solid readership (and given DC’s big promotional push the past few weeks, the prognosis is better than when Solo #1 politely snuck into stores) then Wednesday Comics might be the kind of game-changer the industry has been frantically grasping for.

Authors: Grant Morrison and Philip Bond

Vertigo, 2008

Best ebook deal: Not Available

Grant Morrison and Philip Bond’s “Kill Your Boyfriend,” originally published by DC Comics’ Vertigo imprint in 1995 and reprinted (again) last October (likely to capitalize on Morrison’s recent high-profile work on “Batman,” “All-Star Superman,” and “Final Crisis” for DC), is a classic love story.  Girl meets Boy.  Girl and Boy drink, vandalize their quiet English suburb, and toy with nihilism.  Boy kills Girl’s geeky, sex-phobic boyfriend in cold blood while she watches.  Her response: “I think I’m in love.”  Boy and Girl then set off on a criminal holiday involving sex, drugs, art students, teacakes, and, finally, Blackpool tower. 

In an afterword included in the 1998 reprint, Morrision acknowledges that the story has been told in excess in the wake of Natural Born Killers (released just before “Kill Your Boyfriend” was initially published) but claims at the time his only model was Badlands (though he misidentifies it as “Heartland”) Terrence Malick’s 1973 film which fictionalizes Charles Starkweather’s Nebraska-Wyoming killing spree.  “Kill Your Boyfriend” is unlike either Badlands or Natural Born Killers in that it never judges you for taking delight in its protagonists’ bad behavior.  The consequences of The Boy and Girl’s mayhem are rarely acknowledged, and when they are it’s as a barrier to further liberating action rather than a moral or ethical force to be reckoned with.  Instead, Morrison places all value on his character’s decisions.  Even if they choose to kill, to “be the girl the boys all fancy.  The one with the big tits and a big smile and nothing in her head,” at least it’s better than living out the prescribed middle-class existence of the Girl’s parents.

Philip Bond’s pencils are broad, and expressive; just this side of cartoonish, and suited to the story’s brisk pace and dark wit.  Not unlike Howard Chaykin, Bond includes enough detail to anchor the story in a believable early 90′s England, but leaves the characters and action flexible, so that we laugh along with what we might otherwise recoil at.  Colorist Daniel Vozzo parallels the Girl’s shift into hyper-reality with a move from muted greens and tans to a pop-art palette – the bright red of the dress she wears when she becomes an E-driven rave queen, the same shade as her lipstick, is prominent throughout, a standard for everyone ready to drop out with a bang.

But that option isn’t available to everyone.  Because this is Grant Morrison it should be no surprise that the Girl’s decision to become a sociopath is couched in one of the writer’s pet themes: the potential of comics as a medium to render change in the reader’s reality.  But whereas Morrison’s superhero stories are inclusive in their metatextual elements (we can all be superheroes, everyone is part of the story, etc.) “Kill Your Boyfriend” is tantalizing for its distance.  The Girl directly addresses the reader in scene throughout the story, but always with a “would that you could” wink.  When she first dons the red dress in the apartment of an MP the Boy had just killed, she explains, “I’m not real anymore.  I’m just a figment of his imagination.  I’m no longer responsible.  And that means I can do anything.”

Alas, we can’t be part of “his” imagination (the Boy’s?  Morrison’s?  Our own?) or opt out of responsibility.  Reading “Kill Your Boyfriend” is a nice consolation prize, though; plenty of the violent mayhem with none of the cleanup.

Recommendations: The Filth (Morrison & Weston), Transmetropolitan (Ellis & Robertson), The Complete Plays (Orton–recommended by the author!)