Doom Patrol Collections 3 & 4

The Doom Patrol Wants You!

(to read some collections of their past adventures)

Weird strange bizarre encounters confront the reader of Doom Patrol.   These chronicled enigmas warp into even more outlandish escapades when Grant Morrison’s brain divulges the tales of whimsy.

Doom Patrol trade collections 3: Down Paradise Way and 4:Muscle Bound transport the reader to the fringes of a dream-logic world. Comic books possess a strong ability to capture the outré, and bring forth stories resplendent with strange encounters. Morrison presents a “psychedelic hyperreality”[1] of odd originalities that grab, shake, and awaken an imagination and sense of wonder that may have dozed, or become sedate through consumption of material already seen before. Despite the original 1990-1991 publication dates of these stories, they eschew datedness and still feel unique and timely. In these volumes Morrison spins yarns of clock-faced time mercenaries, emissaries of orthodoxy, a psychic muscleman, a wandering transdimensional cross-dressing street (where the Doom Patrol finally establishes their head quarters), and a villainous group called the Brotherhood of Da Da. Tone varies throughout the book, but it always maintains playful germs of chipper frivolity. 

Doom Patrol first graced comic racks in the same year as Marvel’s X-Men. Morrison wrote:  

“Originally billed as ‘The World’s Strangest Heroes,’ the Doom Patrol had always been played as misunderstood outsiders, so I have them a new purpose as the only superheroes disturbed enough to deal with the kind of menaces to sanity and reality that not even Superman could hope to confront. With artist Richard Case and some design assistance from Brendan McCarthy, the spiritual father of my take on the book, Doom Patrol cornered the market in ‘strange’ and picked up the baton Steve Gerber had passed in the from of The Defenders.”[2] The 15 issues in these two collections launch a vicious, yet entertaining, attack on sanity that would leave Gerber’s Defenders questioning reality.  

Reading these issues produced a feeling of displacement and a captivating sense of having lost one’s way in an infinite labyrinth. Doom Patrol harbors a raw and primal element to the stories. The tales are good although a certain slick polish has been left out; a reader can still see the dents and scratches that have yet to be refined. This glimpse of the tales’ birth structure enhances the impact of the story by showing readers some elements from the artists’ initial thrill and creative energy. Saga stands as a creative book of the weird with the polished edges this version of Doom Patrol has left sharp and jagged; this comparison isn’t to say one book reads superior to another, merely a way of bringing forth a difference in style. Consider that if Saga is Powerslave, then Doom Patrol is Live After Death.

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[1] On page 220 of Grant Morrison’s book Supergods. This is the book that caused me to pick up collections of Doom Patrol.

[2] On page 221 of Supergods

White Devil #1

On writing of another white devil, Nathaniel Hawthorne noted that the mourners attending the internment of Young Good Brown “carved no hopeful verse upon his tomb-stone; for his dying hour was gloom.” The first installment in White Devil casts a foreshadowing shadow as dismal and tragic for its own characters as for the distrustful Goodman Brown from Hawthorne. The creators of this free electronically self-published comic White Devil craft a visual story of creeping terror that entertains and evokes introspection and social questioning akin to Hawthorne’s adept utilization. The creators don’t dip out a thrice-told tale though; this work holds the creative distinction of a fresh and original spawning into the world.

White Devil hatched from the machinations of writers Matt Evans and Andrew Helinski with art by Nate Burns. This first of four issues opens in the town of Wetumpka, Alabama, “tucked deep in the southern foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.” The main character Judy Harper (loving mother of Buddy and Sarah and wife to Vince) feels discontent and stagnant. So, she and her best friend Betty choose a hobby to disrupt the routine and tedium of domestic obligations. They join a demonic cult. The first issue, after giving introductions to Judy, the town and the Judy’s family, follows Judy and Betty through their subterfuges of using a book club as cover to escape to a summoning ritual of the cult.  After the ritual, the group members disperse, and the final pages contain a diabolical surprise that strides forth with all the evil portent of an old scratch from Hawthorne.

This comic itches to be read like an itch. White Devil soothes irritants (if only fleeting) from superheroes, crossed crossovers, relaunches, and the fatiguing slickness of piercing colors and too-glossy pages whose glares inhibit reading.

Plotting, dialogue, narrating and pacing get handled with attentive skill that allows readers to easily slip and stay in the small-town world of Judy Harper. The first spoken words in the book are by Judy’s daughter Sarah yelling “It’s not fair!” while running through the door. This commotion, and Judy’s smile while watching her husband and son talking to one another, takes on greater complexity when compared to Judy’s remembered advice from her mother at the beginning of the comic: “I remember her telling me, when I was younger, that it’s important to keep something for yourself. A woman can try and give her all to her husband and her children—but make sure there’s enough left for you so you’re not left ‘empty.’ I’d like to think she’d be proud I finally listened to her. For once I don’t feel empty.”

These juxtaposed feelings augment Judy’s allure. The creators constructed an authentic character trying to balance individual identity and while surviving the unrelenting, tedious, and thankless routine (no one asks how Judy’s day went when all returned, no one said thank you for the meatloaf dinner) of domestic demands. Here exists an honest and dynamic heroine.

The story reads with rhythmic suspense. The plot dangles inferred possibilities before the reader, then shifts to a mundane scene with sinister suggestions then drops the suspense for a normal conversation, before tightening the tension even more. The tension sine waves to the end of the book which leaves readers at a summit of dread and foreboding. It’s a fine bit of manipulation.

Amidst this character investigation and plot pacing the images add to the book’s captivating aura. A variation between soft and hard lines gives a dynamic range to the panels. It reminds one of the soft light from a projector in a darkened theatre. The characters move. On page 10 when Judy enters the car of her friend Betty and they talk while driving, the panels capture scenes of frozen movement rather than posed statues. These panels contain energy that brings another aspect of life to an already lively dialogue that further energizes this comic.

Burns’s rendered facial expressions add to this energy. The look of a pleased son getting praise and his hair mussed from his father; on page 8, the distant vacant look of Vince as he looks up, interrupted from reading his newspaper; on page 9, the ironical expression on Judy’s face when she mentions that “A  Good Man is Hard to Find” is the focus for their book discussion; on page 14, the interested yet bored expression of the cult leader as he watches Judy and Betty undress; as well as the annoyed expressions of Judy and Betty being watched as they undress: Burns captures some life with all these (and more) scenes.

Combined with the great story, the gripping art, and the independent source of this comic and it’s difficult to resist and not join in the enthusiasm of the creators that flows through each page of White Devil.

In the vein of Hawthorne, a small town gothic community and its family tensions churn with a wonderful dark edge in White Devil. Treat yourself to this fine book before you die from regret, at which time your dying hour will be gloom, and they will carve no hopeful verse upon your tombstone.

Snag your copy of White Devil at:

http://www.mediafire.com/view/?zqcc9ju88mdznnj

Conan the Barbarian #7: Border Fury Part 1

Conan the Barbarian #7: Border Fury Part 1

Stepmothers

A boy bent to drape flowers on his stepmother’s grave,

Thinking that death had changed her,

But the stone toppled and killed him.

Stepsons! Be wary even when they’re dead!

Substituting Bêlit for the son and Conan’s mother for the stepmother, Callimachus’s short poem deftly captures the relationship between the two.  In issue 7 of Conan the Barbarian, Conan and Bêlit travel to Conan’s homeland to confirm rumors of someone[1] performing atrocities in Conan’s name. The harshness of Cimmeria’s landscape carries mirrors the inhabitants’ familial relations as shown by Bêlit’s initial greeting from Conan’s mother: “Ah. A slave girl. Nice to see you didn’t arrive empty handed. She will be useful…”

Why does Bêlit put up with this treatment?

Brian Wood and Becky Cloonan and Dave Stewart answer by delicately maintaining Bêlit’s marshalled grandeur, regal fierceness, independence, and godlike aura of tamed savageness against her desire to fully and equally become a part of Conan’s life. This desire she holds is changing her, shifting her into something else. The proof (at least in this story) of the transformative power of love is that Conan’s mother, and the rest of the Cimmerian village still live, spared the fury of goddess queen of Shem. The creative team balances this transitional screen of Bêlit with deft and honest images and words.

Such fundamental change rarely arrives with ease. The depiction of Bêlit’s anger, adds to the believability and interest in her character. Bêlit’s words to Conan’s mother on page 6 contain pride, self respect, and a warning: “I am Bêlit of Shem, Captain of the Tigress and descended from the kings of Askalon! Men bow at my feet!” The same attitudes that lace the words inhabit the images of the panel as well. Bêlit’s pale facial skin framed by her black hair draws the eye to the central left side of the panel. Bêlit visually balances both Conan and his mother. Structurally Bêlit is strong enough for them both. While the partial view of the back of Conan’s mother’s head is shown to readers (and the largest element looming in the panel) it’s turned-away face diminishes its power, even though it menacingly haunts the scene. Conan too seems inferior to Bêlit. His upper body is angled away from his lover, whereas Bêlit’s posture is drawn straight. Conan’s right hand is open and is either halted in a comforting gesture of touching Bêlit’s shoulder after proclaiming to his mother that “—she is my lover,” or in the midst of drawing away as a response to force with which Bêlit declared her identity. The expression on Conan’s face, the tilt of his head and eyes, the slightly open mouth paints the Cimmerian with a look of surprise and (I imagine) awe at the power of Bêlit.

These signs of strength allow Bêlit her dignity and power. Also note too, Bêlit never hangs her head to anyone in the Cimmerian village, except when alone (at least visually in the panel) with Conan who provides encouraging and probably wise words on restraining her fury. Even after falling in the mud and getting insulted by the village girls, and drawn with a sad frustrated expression on her face, Bêlit holds her head erect.

So Bêlit maintains her strength and power and dignity, yet she endures abuse for Conan. The last issues have shown how this love existing between Bêlit and Conan has changed the barbarian, and in issue 7 we’re witness to the changes wrought upon Bêlit.

Such changes rarely happen with ease, and this resistance, frustration, and anger in reaction to her shift in character, Wood, Cloonan, and Stewart depict as well, which only adds to the portrayal of Bêlit as a rounded and developed character.

Page 8 shows Bêlit yelling and pointing at Conan, whapping the soup bowl from his hands. Narration is present, but anyone who has ever been in a relationship doesn’t need the words to obtain the basic feelings of the scene. Bêlit’s fear of the wolf and embarrassment at her fall in the mud and jeers of the natives shows readers her feelings other than just anger…although there’s no mistaking the demonic face as she charges towards her mockers with the drawn knife.

Conan and Bêlit are changing from the characters they both were at the beginning of this series, but the change, this alteration of their individual lives to accommodate an equal with respect and love, is one they both approach consciously and sincerely. Just as Bêlit states at the beginning of the issue “Conan…Be my eyes. Look sharply. Tell me everything you see.” and Conan’s own admission of Bêlit at the end of the issue, “I can’t do it without you.”

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[1] And what of the Conan doppelganger? I can’t help but think of him as the Mcguffin to this issue, like the birds in Hitchcock’s The Birds. The birds were the main aspect of the movie, but they were the magician’s slight of hand that drew attention away from what was really going on, the mother’s angst at losing her son to another woman, the anger and frustration of which manifested itself in deadly avian attacks. At least at this point in Border Fury, the Conan impersonator seems to stand as the anger and destruction of his mother’s anger…or at least an alternative of how very brutal Conan could be if he had no honor, perhaps if he didn’t have Bêlit’s influence…

Rotworld: Prologue Parts One and Two

Rot the night away!

Animal Man #12 and Swamp Thing #12

 

Rotworld is going to be epic!

 

Well, maybe not, at least probably won’t be epic, at least not in the traditional literary denotation of the word.

According to the 9th edition of the Norton anthology , an epic is:

“An extended narrative poem celebrating martial heroes, invoking divine inspiration, beginning in the medias res, written in a high style and divided into long narrative sequences.”

A synonym given for epic is heroic poetry.

Rotworld foils the definition of epic at the very beginning; it’s not written in verse (even though Denny O’Neil (on page 145 of Grant Morrison’s Supergods) described comic-dialogue and captions as “headlines written by a poet.”

Still, the literary definition serves as a useful lens for noticing and appreciating elements in the two-part of Rotworld prologue.

In regards to an epic containing martial heroes, Animal Man and Swamp Thing easily fit this aspect. And like the best epic heroes their characters have a depth extending beyond fisticuffs. Each hero has loved ones (Buddy Baker has his wife, son, daughter, and mother-in-law while Swamp Thing has Abigail Arcane) immediate to them and greatly relying upon their success.

In the most touching scene in Animal Man, Buddy Baker’s mother-in-law states:

"Buddy, ever since you met my Ellen, you’ve been trouble. Chaos follows you around and overturns everything in your wake. I’ve never liked you being with my daughter.

“Shush! I have something to say you, young man!

“Despite what I might feel about you, there is one thing that even I can’t deny…

“You love them. You love them more than anything else in your life. I see it in your eyes every time you look at them.

“So you go out there and you do what you need to do. You stop this craziness. You save Cliff. Make them safe again Buddy…

“Make them safe.”

A touching scene one could perhaps imagine Hecuba saying to Hector upon the walls of Troy.  A scene that reminds readers in an epic (however one may understand the word) more than mere martial prowess and fame depends on the protagonists.

The heroes in the literary epics weren’t brutes, and neither are Animal Man and Swamp Thing. Often in superhero team-ups, a too-large portion of the storyline involves the main characters fighting each other before they realize they’re on the same side; Lemire and Snyder gracefully avoid this confrontation between Animal Man and Swamp Thing. In Animal Man 12 (Rotworld Prologue Part 1), the first words spoken to Swamp Thing are: “No Alec…We need to enter it. Animal Man and Swamp Thing together. Now.” Thus their friendship and trust is established.

The Red and The Green?

Foregoing a formal invocation of the Muse, Snyder and Lemire provide plenty of divine presence. The Green and the Red exist as fundamental entities to all of life and creation. Both the Red and the Green resurrected their avatars (both Swampy and Animal Man died, and were rebuilt stronger, better, and faster and returned to the world…Arcane, the epic villain, went through the same recreation process).

These elements of and interactions with the divine tend to cause great consequences for mundane humans. Given the future visions as witnessed by Animal Man’s daughter, of the destruction of cities and a zombie Flash, the potential affect of Animal Man and Swamp Thing’s success  seems far reaching. It seems all existence as they know it depends upon them. I hope they possess plenty of duct tape.

Along with the presence of divinity, the triangular composition of the contention includes fundamental elements of life: The Green, the Red, The Rot: Plants, Animals, Death: this triumvirate ideally remains balanced, and each element holds the other in check, except that now, The Rot holds the greatest power and the other two elements work in tandem to return the balance. This triad structure holds numerous possibilities for Lemire and Snyder to utilize.

Thus begins an epic, comic book style. Lemire and Snyder employ these elements as best fits their genre of comics and has the reader poised to begin beg of the writers, go ahead and rot my world!

Black Church

...Farewell happy fields

Where joy for ever dwells: hail horrors, hail

Infernal world, and thou profoundest Hell

Receive thy new possessor...

Paradise Lost: I:249-252

Praise Belanger, from whom this comic flows;

Praise him all readers here below;

Praise him above, ye big publishers two;

Praise him editors, helpers, and printers too.

So begins one’s induction into the Black Church, a self-published 40 page mini comic by Andy Belanger that can be summarized as follows: 

Holding snake and skull, topless Kelda (a harsh iron maiden) adorns the cover while the skulls of killers surrounded her feet; the back cover contains the number of the beast while within the book Vlad battles a bear for piece of mind; a powerslave bishop seek to forestall the seed of Vlad, (to be born somewhere in time, a true seventh son of a seventh son that offers no prayer for the dying nor has any fear of the dark); Vlad’s son, Dracula, will be powered by some internal dark X factor, whose power level goes to a virtual XI, to usher in a brave new world with his dance of death; the Bishop frets over a matter of life and death in Wallachia and fears the final frontier. Come on you Irons!

The story contains a coffin-full of fun with its take on a Dracula (even though he appears only in zygote form) story. When reading and ruminating upon Andy Belanger’s tale, the question kept recurring of what services Black Church offers that can’t be obtained at The house of ideas or the aisles of DC.  What does the Black Church provide that you can’t obtain in another congregation?

Quite a lot actually, and it all starts with the presentation.

Andy Belanger has a great package. The display and delivery of the comic comes bound in a snug fitting sleeve colored with Satan’s preferred colored scheme.

Black Church Legends and Lore: Rumors have surfaced that Belanger mixed his own blood with the dye for the sleeves. 

The tyranny of rectangles maintains tight clutches on the published shape of comics. While rectangles read well, the novelty of a square comic (in shape, not savviness) adds to the unique experience of reading Black Church. While I suspect printing and shipping this geometric oddity must have summoned undreamed of horrors with the post office, the originality and effect was enjoyed (at least by one reader).

Black Church Legends and Lore: If you face a mirror while holding the front comic cover of Black Church upside down, you can trace a pentagram onto the mirror following the triangular lines of flame and snake. That night, if you leave the pentagram on the mirror and have used the appropriate ink, a miniature Andy Belanger will crawl through the center of the pentagram and answer any questions you have about the comic. Be sure to have wine, coffee, and a variety of snacks.

Lest you fear this comic is about surface with no substance (all style and no content), rest your worries, the metal spikes bite deep and true.

Despite the presence of sin, witches, and demonic sperm, Black Church (in the vein of the best metal bands) sports vaudevillian flairs and contains some fine humor. Dracula’s daddy wears a robust and wild Tony Iommi moustache, Bruce Dickinson chest hair, and Ozzy Osborne locks. The dialogue retains a natural speech rhythm (fragments, short expressions and questions, utilitarian sentences and word groups that clearly convey meaning).

After falling off a cliff during their fight, Vlad and the bear look at one another in the best Looney Toon fashion.   The humor extends to dialogue as well. After killing the bear, Vlad and Kelda say to one another:

Kelda: “I’ll get you fixed up, but no funny stuff.”

Vlad: What do you mean? I’m really good at jokes.

Kelda: No no, get fresh, you know.

Vlad: “Fresh?” Oh right.”

A healthy flow of good cheer and tongue-in-cheek toughness courses through the panels.

Black Church Legends and Lore: Rumors have surfaced of readers who have read a certain page of dialogue backwards during a full moon in a chalk circle have been able to summon and control a demon newt.

While colors dazzle the eye, glorious black and white rarely fails to transfix the cornea. Resisting the obvious analogy of black and white representing good and evil, a reader should know this comic is all black, doused with inverted crosses, hairy skulls, demon-headed maps, witches, snakes, bats, the devil’s number, and serpentine sex. The black and white color scheme provides  a complexity, a depth and wide range of exploration for the possibilities of two colors. Whereas a full chromatic palette may charm momentarily, here the black and white draws awe with the plethora of variations achieved with two extremes.

Black Church Legends and Lore: According to rumors whispered in waiting lines at comic book conventions, Andy Belanger sacrificed the soul of a cartoon llama he created for a newspaper syndicate to guarantee the success of Black Church.

Bleanger’s care for the media (comics and metal) blaze on every page of this comic. Here you'll find a combination of elements undreamed of (well ok, at least unpublished) at the big two or any other publisher. So if you've ever laughed at a horror movie, if the volume on your radio always rests at 11, and if you know who Paul Di'Anno is, you won't be displeased by your purchase of Black Church. 

 The Playlist:

“Murders in the Rue Morgue” Iron Maiden

“Hooks in You” Iron Maiden

“The Family Ghost” King Diamond

“Living After Midnight” Judas Priest

“The Warp Riders” The Sword

“Paranoid” Black Sabbath

***An enjoyable trait of heavy metal bands (for me anyway) were the rumors, outrageous stunts, and acts that became attached to them. The Black Church Legends and Lore are totally fabricated from my twisted comic-book metal-pocked mind. Please don’t believe them. Please don’t try them at home. Please don’t send sacrificial corpses to Andy Belanger. He seems like a really nice guy, and besides, he needs time to work on Mad Priest! (the sequel to Black Church) and can’t be bothered with police investigations, exorcisms, or demon possession.

****Add to the Black Church Legends and Lore. Please place your totally false and fabricated rumor in the notes below, the stranger (and funnier) the better.

Supergods Telling Stories

Supergods Review

“We live in the stories we tell ourselves” (Morrison xvii).

“Are you a god?”

If you’re talking to Gozar the Gozarian, answer yes.

If Gozar questions you further, use sections of Grant Morrison’s Supergods: What Masked Vigilantes, Miraculous Mutants, and a Sun God from Smallville can Teach Us about Being Human to provide some support for your hasty apotheosis. Although be warned that the divine powers which Morrison claims humanity possess tend to be better suited for mundane matters rather than celestial fisticuffs. If you still end up in a fight with Gozar, you might want to make peace with your preferred deity. You also might want to resist the urge to think of marshmallow icons.

Supergods, like its topic, possesses a secret identity. It addresses what superheroes can teach humanity, as promised in the title, by presenting its lecture through the structure of Grant Morrison’s biography rather than a formal jargon-laden academic treatise. While perhaps not living up to all the superlatives on the back cover, the book is engaging and contains some worthwhile thought-provoking tenets on superheroes and the nature of time and reality (these are the sections where the book becomes rather odd).

The 480 page trade paperback, sporting the cover of a cut-out Batman mask sized for a shrunken head, is divided into four parts: The Golden Age, The Silver Age, The Dark Age and The Renaissance. Of the four sections, the metallic partitions give a history of comics, focusing exclusively on the superhero and contain perceptive and thoughtful readings of Action Comics #1 and Detective Comics #27 (where the Batman first appeared…in case your inner fanboy momentarily forgot the issue number), and The Fantastic Four #1. Spider-Man’s origin and Peter Parker’s woes, along with highlights from a young Grant Morrison’s life, also haunt these initial veins of the book. The two parts historiography shift almost exclusively to Grant Morrison’s personal experiences as he relays his involvement with comics and the trends of comics from the 80’s to the recent present[1]. 

Of superheroes, Morrison posits some probing ideas. He readily acknowledges the limitations and repetitions inherent in reading comic-book superhero titles, yet instead of denigrating this element of the genre, he presents the repetition as “It’s not so much that history is cyclical, it seems to progress via recursive, repeated fractal patters with minute variations” (294). While noting and accepting how ultimately, nothing major really changes in a superhero’s comic, Morrison also focuses on the limited alterations that brush characters in their books through a span of time. These momentary shifts in how a character is portrayed (like when Batman was paralyzed, or campy, or grim, or insane) Morrison suggests can be used as a sign of the anxieties and desires of the society that rendered this version of the superhero. Some variations in the Superman stories also adhere to this pattern; Morrison notes how in the late fifties “The socialist power fantasies, the jingoistic propaganda and gimmick adventures, gave way to cataclysmic tales of love and loss, guilt, grief, friendship, judgment, terror, and redemption, biblical in their scale and primal purity” (63). Morrison describes a later depiction of Superman as “Freed of the baggage of the past, eighties Superman was no longer your dad but your big sister’s horny beefcake boyfriend. He snarled and got torn up a little” (215). This consideration of subtle changes helps guide a reader to become a closer reader of superhero comics, or at least to start asking questions of why certain elements of a hero’s mythos are given greater emphasis while the hero’s core identity remains intact. Morrison’s positive focus on one of the often lamented aspect of superhero books (nothing changes) serves as a refreshing response, and nudges comic-book superheroes close to the pantheon of ancient gods. Myths of the ancient Greek gods (and the stories of Buddha, Shiva, Krishna, Jesus, Mohammad, God, Gozar the Gozarian, and others) don’t regularly change on a monthly, annually, centennially, or millennially schedule, so if the superhero is viewed as a society’s mythology, why should readers expect the tales of superheroes to contain continual metamorphoses?

Morrison asserts superhero comics provide more than just escapist fantasy[2]. They have some important work to do for humanity that goes beyond killing some time with pretty colors; “It was time they [superheroes] got their act together and gave us something to look up to” (294).

That “something” Morrison wants superheroes to model are stories that “…emphasize our [humanity’s] glory, intelligence, grace, generosity, discrimination, honesty, capacity for love,  creativity, and native genius, those qualities will be made manifest in our behavior and in our works. It should give us hope that superhero stories are flourishing everywhere because they are a bright flickering sign of our need to move on, imagine the better, the more just, and more proactive people we can be” (414). 

Before engaging in a Lex-Luthor sneer and cynical roll of the eyes in regards to the previous quote, consider the findings reported in The Boston Globe’s article “Why Fiction is Good for You.” The article notes the metamorphisizing power of a good story: 

“This research consistently shows that fiction does mold us.…We are moved emotionally, and this seems to make us rubbery and easy to shape.…Fiction is often treated like a mere frill in human life, if not something worse. But the emerging science of story suggests that fiction is good for more than kicks. By enhancing empathy, fiction reduces social friction. At the same time, story exerts a kind of magnetic force, drawing us together around common values. In other words, most fiction, even the trashy stuff, appears to be in the public interest after all.”

Morrison’s view on heroes, giving them both the role to mirror society and to model a superior society through encouraging and empowering readers fits current studies in fiction. And while the static elements of superhero comics often become vexing, Morrison’s work reminds readers that there are variations (if only momentary) and creativity that occur within the boundaries and parameters of a superhero’s chronicle. For a subgenre of comics so often targeted for jokes and derision, these stories transcend the immediate plot and empower readers an opportunity to contemplate their society and adjust their views and behaviors so their souls can soar up up and away.

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[1] Somehow I missed reading Grant Morrison during my initial deluge of comic books during the late eighties and early nineties. When beginning to read I was a Marvelite feeding heavily on superhero fare (Thor, Ghost Rider, Punisher, X-Men, Namor, and (yes, although I cringe to admit it) even Alf). Obviously my reading sensitivity and interest in comics weren’t up to the antics in Grant Morrison’s writing. After a bowing out and return to comics a dozen years later, I somehow again missed his work. From the ideas and explanations in Supergods (and thanks to my comic store’s stock of collected trades) I’ve been reading his work on Doom Patrol while eagerly awaiting All-Star Superman. Surely an author’s book that causes a reader to buy more of that author’s work has to count as some sort of literary success…or an unique form of printed mind control….

[2] Continually I ask myself why I read comics, especially superhero comics. While at times, elements of escapism and nostalgia tinge my reading of the panels, more often it’s the generation of a sense of wonder and imagination comics (especially superhero and science comics…for me anyway) provide. Comics are crucibles of creativity, banes to the mundane and routers of soul-wearying routines. They contain sparks of the sublime. Comic books stand as pulp pills for astonishment.

Conan the Barbarian #6: The Argos Deception Part 3

In Supergods, Grant Morrison writes "It's not so  much that history is cyclical, it seems to progress via recursive, repeated, fractal patterns with minute variations" (294).

While Conan the Barbarian #6 concludes the arc of the "Argos Deception," it also hearkens back to the beginning of Wood's run on the series and positions the plot for a future story to fall into this fractal pacing. Such structure unites the previous issues and weaves a strong structure for Brian Wood's Conan compositions.

So far in "The Argos Deception," Bêlit and her crew plan and execute a scheme to rob the port of Messantia by offering Conan as public-execution bait. While the populace assembles around the chopping block, the crew of the Tigress procure treasure (pirate style), give Conan a fighting chance, and then set the town afire (also pirate style) and wait aboard the ship for Bêlit, Conan, and N'Yaga to embark so they can sail a swift escape against the scenery of a setting sun.

It seems simple.

Of course it doesn't go as plan.

Even though enough edged and blunt trauma occur to provide a plethora of cadavers to Argos's medical students, this action serves solely as the McGuffin; the deeper focus of the issue transpires in Conan's head where he again, with a fractal reflection to previous issues, contemplates his freedom, love, and loyalty wound within his relation to Bêlit. This relation seems simple, but of course Conan's unsure of the plan. 

Wood reroutes the reader back to issue while Conan revels in his freedom slipping through the streets atop a horse thinking, "And for the second time in a few short weeks, the Cimmerian rides the streets of Messantia...but this ride could not be more different. He rides with passion and purpose. He rides to reunite with his lover and her crew of loyal followers. He rides to his future. But is this his future, he wonders?...He doubts himself suddenly." By having the narrator relay Conan's thoughts, Wood reminds readers of the first issue, and issue 5 that contained hefty doses of the barbarian's self doubt. 

Wood interweaves another recursive strand by conveying Conan's concern regarding his relation with Bêlit,"And in that moment, Conan the Cimmerian realizes something else...he is a free man. He is not tied to the Tigress. He is not beholden to anyone. He is as free as he was the last time he was on horseback...that thrilling chase through the streets. He could not help but laugh as he rose, even with the guards behind. Surely he could feel that way again? Why not just ride as he did before, but away, off to an unknown future?" It seems simple, but these narrator boxes have Wood returning Conan (and readers) to events in earlier issues. These rebounds seem to exceed a basic hack-and-slash plot-plan for issue 6. Wood has some sneaky subtext slipping slyly through issue 6. 

But why? Initially, this recursion and extended escape seems tedious and unnecessary,  but upon re-reading (and thinking while composing this post), these mental returns and repeats of Conan seem to serve several schemes beyond just providing a textual backdrop to James Harren's and Dave Stewart's revelings in panels replete with blood-gushing lacerations, decapitations, and penetrations of brutality. 

N'yaga's response to Conan's query of "Why not just ride as he did before, but away, off to an unknown future?" provide a parallel purpose to Conan's ride : "Conan. She chose you Conan. Do not despair. My mistress rules with terrible violence, but that is the law that governs in lawless lands. You know that. You are profoundly conflicted. And I say again, do not despair. There is another way, a path between the chaos and desolation...You can find the way to her heart. And you can understand her. And, in that, perhaps she will understand you too."

Learning and love are recursive. When understanding, at some initial level, is finally achieved, the entirety and full range of knowledge about the topic isn't known instantaneously.  In this detail of Conan's ride to a greater understanding, Wood deftly bolster's authenticity in portraying this young and inexperienced Conan in front of the readers. To thoroughly learn a lesson, the subject must be revisited and reflected upon to gather its full import and effect. It sounds simple, but of course it so often is not.

We're not treated to a verbal answer from the barbarian, to N'Yaga's urging towards understanding, but judging from the stern melancholy look on Conan's face and the fact that he perseveres in his hunt for Bêlit[1], the barbarian provides his answer. Through these recursive fractal reflections Wood cinches tighter the bond and believability of Conan and Bêlit's relationship. It seems simple, but such understanding demands repeated returns. 

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[1] …which is puzzling. How did Bêlit end up captured by two guards? When seen in the last issue, she had blood running down her demonic murder-eager face after knifing two high-ranking city guards. How could she be so easily captured by a pair of inept Messantian guards? Bêlit should be flossing her teeth with their arteries as she strolls back to the Tigress.

Mind MGMT #2

Or How I Learned to Stop Worrying and “Get” the Art

Despite my best efforts at an active stout resistance, Mind MGMT ensnared me with the brutal effectiveness of a Cold War Soviet style reeducation regiment in a Siberian gulag.

Matt Kindt controls all creative aspects of this book (story, art, color, letters) and coalesces them with such skill that, even with my extreme reservations and narrow and flawed expectations, I’ve become a convert. Fellow comic-book comrades, trust your comic book creators (especially independent creator-owners).

Mind MGMT relays the story of the journalist Meru as she treks from city to city searching for the allure of clay pots, and dolphins while being pursued by immortal assassins. Somehow mass memory loss, psionics, and secret organizations connect to integral parts of the plot too, but the details and roles of these elements remains very hazy. Ask again later.

How Love Arrives for a Hated Art:

Story indulges in a tantric relation with the art in this book.

A swift comic-shelf-browsing glance causes the art to strike the eyes as puerile with no sharp and consistent application of perspective and physical proportion (heads are too big, characters sport Muppet arms, and walls dissipate into flaccid ink washes). The lines are loose while details and characters appear to be laid on the page with sloppy and rushed swipes of the pen and brush.

But these reactions stem from an inept and fast 2-3 page glimpse of a book half-heartedly pulled from a shelf, and this loathing changes once I indulge in the story’s words.

Mind MGMT weaves an atmosphere of an existential noir detective tale. The mood of Mind MGMT could easily host Philip Marlowe drinking his morning coffee, or scotch. The works of John Shade and the brutality of Donald Westlake’s Parker could also coexist with Meru and the agencies of Mind MGMT.  Kindt weaves hard-edged desperation in his comic, through the apt collusion of images and words.

On pages 8-13 where Perrier (a mentally askew Mind MGMT agent) types and types and types and types Kerouac style on one continuous roll of paper through a typewriter until Meru’s arrival causes her to back over the balcony railing and pitch herself to the ground. Why? We don’t know. Meru’s reaction, after an initial scream of “No!,” involves asking “What is going on?” and sifting through Perrier’s typed scroll where she discovers the key command:  “Talk to the dolphins.” There’s little concern given towards Perrier, and far more questions raised rather than answered with this scene from issue 2.

This same feel of disregard and perplexity again is repeated on pages 20-21. A man watches Perrier plummet onto the pavement and the immortals enter the building while drinking espresso and smoking a cigarette before declaring “No, I’m out of those games” and then he walks away still possessing some hesitancy about his choice as show by Kindt’s 6 panel page with unvarying background.

Sharp clean bright color art would be out of place in this book. Instead of adding to the subtle oppression and confusion perpetuated by the plot, a style like Jim Lee’s work on the X-Men or Justice League would rob the reader of the full mind jolt of Mind MGMT. The surreal proportions of Kindt’s characters not only fit with the tone of the story, but actively work to enhance the story’s evocative power. The ink lines that initially struck me as hasty, when paired with the words and events in the panels have turned expressive and lively and add to the tension Meru feels as she dashes through the pages and propagates the paranoia that gnaws the mind when one begins questioning the reliability of one’s senses…or even when one reads about a character questioning the reliability of her senses. The skewed proportions and vanishing support lines in the art bolster the sinister sensation of the world not connecting or merging as expected.   

Gestalt theory’s “the whole is greater than the sum of its parts” works wonders akin to Kool-Aid in Dixie cups at capturing and keeping an audience. The plot, the art, the dialogue, the characters, the colors, the presentation and meta-reading activities (Kindt offering a contest for finding planted clues in each issue will lead readers to a MindMGMT webpage) unite more tightly than any coupling described in the Kama Sutra to produce an ideal comic book reading experience. 

The Joys of Unknown Plots (in fiction)

While the absence of conventional art and spandex may not agitate most comic-book readers, the absence of a clear plot does tend to carry its own unique set of annoyances to an audience.  When the majority of questions about a story result in repeated replies of “I don’t know,” questioners may begin to suspect that they’re wasting time reading scrambled nonsense. While the plot to Mind MGMT proves difficult to relay, Kindt does a masterful job at giving the reader enough details to ground the story and orient the reader while leaving a plethora of questions and hints at plot possibilities to maintain his audience's curiosity and excitement.

The obscure elements of Mind MGMT stoke a sense of wonder and structure a world with labyrinthine potential. A page in Kindt’s comics calls to “[f]ollowers of obsolete unthinkable trades, doodling in Etruscan, addicts of drugs not yet synthesized, black marketers of World War III, excisors of telepathic sensitivity, osteopaths of the spirit, investigators of infractions denounced by bland paranoid chess players, servers of fragmentary warrants taken down in hebephrenic shorthand charging unspeakable mutilations of the spirit, officials of unconstituted police states, brokers of exquisite dreams and nostalgia tested on the sensitized cells of junk sickness and bartered for raw materials of the will, drinkers of the Heavy Fluid sealed in translucent amber of dreams” (45-46). A similar frantic and lyrical madness of both characters and ideas populate Mind MGMT as can be found in Burroughs’s Naked Lunch. Certainly the text may disturb, but, even if the eyes remain truculently closed, the unknown elements will engage and promise a myriad of prospects limited only by a reader’s own dreamy creativity.

Art and story meld into an ideal gestalt in a way that wouldn’t be possible with any other style than the one Kindt utilized for the pages of this comic book. Teased out and separated, neither art nor story could absorb a reader so completely. For the absorbed ones who feel Mind MGMT’s paranoia slouching them to madness, some proverbs for paranoids extracted from Thomas Pynchon’s Gravity’s Rainbow (the novel from which the title of this blog was plumbed) may sooth the mental distress caused by Kindt’s ongoing series:

1. You may never get to touch the Master, but you can tickle his creatures.
2. The innocence of the creatures is in inverse proportion to the immorality of the Master.
3. If they cane get you asking the wrong questions, they don’t have to worry about the answers.
4. You hide, they seek.
5. Paranoids are not paranoids because they’re paranoid, but because they keep putting themselves, fucking idiots, deliberately into paranoid situations.

X-Men # 31: Blank Generation Part 2

Speak X-Men #31 Speak! [1]

What transpires here? Why bother congesting the cyberspace sprawl with another comic book review blog? Posts at The Low-Frequency Listener[2] hope to highlight aspects of a comic that might escape an initial reading. Hopefully, awareness of previously overlooked features will enhance a reader’s perception and add to the appreciation and enjoyment of the comic book.

With such ideas in mind, I found myself holding X-Men # 31, wondering what could possibly be written about this book. Upon re-reading (and re-re-reading it again and again), the book itself provided the answers to my questions:

L-FL: Why did I just spend $3.99 on this 20 page story interrupted with too many advertisements?

X-Men #31: Because I’m worth it! Brian Wood wrote me! In this issue Wood provides a grand story ranging broadly (a new strain of mutant DNA reveals a new species of mutants) while not losing its focus on individual characters (Storm debates what information to withhold (or lie, depending on one's understanding) from Scott Summers). Also, Colossus tussles a giant mutant squid beast, Domino hits her target while clinging to the outside of a jet, and Psylocke chases an ever-growing mutant stomping towards Quebec City. Even though the story spans a mere 20 pages, it doesn’t “feel” short or skimpy. A fine variety for comic book reading rests between these covers; if you want greater depth, read Against the Day.

L-FL: Ok yes, the story is good, but how’s the art?

X-Men #31: Do you need to ask? Have you looked within my stapled pages?

David López (pencils) and Álvard López (inks) provide clear panels that clearly depict the occurring events at a glance. The compositions are concise, clear, and accessible. The characters radiate a sense of movement and motion that López conveys with the character positioning (note how Storm is off balance with the other characters in the top panel on the page to the right) and subtly tilting the frame (note how the top panel is slightly askew). These techniques combined with the action of the plot help readers imagine the characters in action.

 And the expressions on the faces! Look on page 27 (counting the ads...or you can just look at the page to the left of these words...) at the bottom panel with Psylocke. Sorrow, concern, perhaps a bit of fear exude from he expression. Her head's slight downward tilt accompanying the mere 7 short lines that mark the brow, and the 6 lines  beneath each eye immediately convey Psylocke's reaction to her brain scan of the alien…and her findings are dire…although to learn about those findings fully, you need to buy the next issue.

L-FL: Keeping on the idea of the art for a bit, I noticed a lot of the backgrounds in the panels are pretty sparse.

X-Men #31: Yeah, but come on, this is an action comic, not a Victorian romance adaptation. If your interest resides with an abundance of detailed minutia about furniture, indulge yourself in The Spoils of Poynton.

Consider those sparse panels on page 4. The fight’s taking place in the ocean, and unless you’re amidst icebergs or an invasion fleet, ocean scenery doesn't vary much, so the sunset color washes fit the environment. Also, the absence of details brings the action and the characters to the foreground. Come on, you’re reading an X-Men comic, do you want to see Colossus punch a monster, or do you want to look at cross-hatchings on a cloud?

López can and does provide intricate backgrounds when needed (the need comes from providing a clear location to the reader  that the writer conveys, and solidly grounding and positioning the characters in some specific location). Look on page 20 (counting ads...or just glance to the right); the details of the forest fill the top panel. You can count the leaves, if that’s really what you want from a comic. A clear setting is established yet the details give way to the characters and their reactions. In 5 of the six panels, trees appear to ground the location. If every panel contained every tree in the Canadian forest, the page's composition would clutter and wash away. The unfilled negative space within the panels  make the entire page a striking image. Take care that you don’t miss the page because of the panels.

L-FL: Why is this Storm the perfect Storm?

X-Men #31: Because she is awesome. Storm exerts a strong confidence in her leadership and care for the mutants she commands. Her struggle with what information to reveal to Scott Summers, and her motivations behind withholding information, add to her savvy sense of leadership and give her a bit of a rebellious and independent urge without utter anarchy. Her consideration of future consequences add to her leadership allure.  Plus, she likes and trusts graduate students, which always ingratiates an individual with me.

L-FL: When is issue #32 on sale?

X-Men #31: July 18th. Now please read through me again, and let that Silva guy know he’s missing a fine story…unless he wants to pick up issues 30 and 31….   

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[1] X-Men #31 marks the first Marvel book Marvel reviewed at The Low-Frequency Listener, a different approach seemed fitting. The title was adapted from Jonathan Lethem’s essay “Speak, Hoyt-Schermerhorn: Doom and Romance on a Subway Platform.” which is well worth the read, along with the other essays in the collection The Disappointment Artist.

[2] Keith Silva at Interested in Sophisticated Fun? encouraged me to start this blog. I couldn’t have done it without his kind words and assistance; thank you Keith.

My first fanboy teeth cut themselves on Marvel comics. With this current resurgence of comic book indulgence I kept looking for Marvel works to captivate and fire my imagination once again…wanting to cry “Make mine Marvel!” and needing only an excuse of a good book for the cry. But the house of ideas appears less astonishing from those heady days of reading Thor #416. Interest smoldered briefly with Rick Remender and Jerome Opeña’s Uncanny X-Force but after Opeña no longer helmed the illustrations I left the title. Daredevil, without Paolo Rivera couldn’t  command my attention.  But X-Men 30 and 31 have me impatiently awaiting the forthcoming issues. And while I don’t think I’ll ever again be able to cry “Make mine Marvel!” with clear consciousness (friend Silva has sworn off all big two titles), I will gladly cheer and laud the Wood, López , López and Rosenberg X-Men. Independent creators (Wood and Remender) bring a fresh freedom and verve to the Marvel titles, and Wood’s work on X-Men has me hooked. Silva, man, you’re missing out on this one….