Manhattan Projects 1-7

Manhattan Projects:

Scientific Myths

Secrets for building an atom bomb in your basement, won’t be found in this comic book, nor will schematics for inter-dimensional gateways, rocket propulsion, nor do reliable biographies of scientists turn up in these pages of Jonathan Hickman and Nick Pitarra’s tales. Keep grinding through mathematics and physics textbooks if you desire such information (but read Manhattan Projects when taking a break from your studies).

Yet, a mythos of early 20^th century science ferments and is cultured in these Manhattan Projects.

Οὐκ οἶδ᾽ ὄττι θέω,

δύο μοι τὰ νοήματα.

I do not know what I think

The minds are two for me

(Sappho, my translation)

Sappho’s words isolate an element Hickman and Pitarra infused within the first seven issues of the Manhattan Projects. Dual simultaneous existence pads through this comic like Schrödinger’s live/dead kitten…a similar mental dance implicit within the above words of Sappho.

While an entertaining comic book and a great story (of which many reviewers already attest to here, here, and here amongst other places), these seven issues scratch at something beyond mere escapism and mundane entertainment. MP both inspires a study of science and horrifies the study of science; two contradictory simultaneously existing states.

Horrification first.

Destruction radiates within the panels of MP. In the first issue, the death of an Oppenheimer along with a high body count of soldiers and Japanese robots could overflow small cemeteries. The death scale increases with the construction and dropping of the atomic bomb (without the consent of the USA president in this version of the tale); an act of destruction wrought by scientists[1]. Hickman expands thanatotic fabrications to include the genocide of an alien race. The unabashed attitude with which General Leslie Groves regards this pogrom comes through a quip used to persuade the Russian scientists to join q scientific alliance, “We killed an entire race of aliens on a Wednesday…who’s going to call our bluff?”

The scientists themselves (in the story, not in “real life,”) get transformed into depraved and monstrous doppelgängers of their actual counterparts. An “evil” Oppenheimer slays his “good” brother and exponentially manifests new personalities while gaining knowledge by devouring (literally) the minds of others. Harry Daghlian metamorphoses into a fleshless radiation monster (the instrument of genocide that razed the alien race with radiation). Einstein (an evil twin from another dimension of our Einstein) devotedly imbibes alcohol with nefarious connotations, while Wernher Von Braun, (in addition to the Nazism) encamps few qualms of sacrificing others for the advancement of science[2], plus he sports a creepy robotic arm. Enrico Fermi embodies an inhuman form (with green skin, sharp teeth, and an aptitude for violence). If monsters “represent fears held by society, fears associated with danger perceived in the surrounding world[3],” then the social apprehension towards scientists and their creations and use of these creations seems difficult to miss.  If such acts and characters don’t horrify and solicit pause for contemplation about the effect of uninhibited scientific research utterly controlled[4] by uninhibited genius madmen, then the back cover of the collection conveys this message with less subtlety than Von Braun threatening to slap an atomic bomb into a Russian research laboratory through an inter-dimensional gate:

And yet, even with such horror, there is the other mind…the box where the kitten still purrs and licks its paws and disregards the flask of poison. This book rouses inspiration and awe for science and scientists.

Ok, sure, readers won’t learn sound scientific principles, or accurate biographies of their favorite scientists, but conveying factual historically documented information is not the strength of fiction, of stories, of myth (whose Ancient Greek cognate μuθοσ can simply mean "story"), but myths, stories, fictions do inspire and shape the events and characters that will become history.

Issue four opens with a quote from Albert Einstein, “Imagination is more important than knowledge. For knowledge is limited, whereas imagination embraces the entire world, stimulating progress, giving birth to evolution.” These stories serve as crucibles for the imagination, the imagination that, “embraces the entire world” and stimulates progress, and gives birth to evolution.”

These stories rouse the curiosity and prompt one to go beyond what rests on the page. Was Von Braun really that callous, did Einstein have a drinking problem, could Oppenheimer possess multiple personalities, was Truman a Mason?

Such questions nag readers and fictional works replete with twisted facts have fired creativity in scientists and others alike. Issue three contains the quote (attributed to Feynman by the fictional Clavis Aurea) “What am I guilty of? An intimate familiarity with the necessity of fiction. Truth is my wife, but lies are my mistress.” Such “lies,” in the guise of fiction, contain truths that influence how people live their lives and the futures they pursue. The MP, in showing the raw power and potential, and sexier possibilities of science and engineering holds such possibility. According to interviews, it wasn’t amiss at the real Los Alamos to find copies of Astounding Science Fiction amidst those working on slicing atoms and assembling rockets, stories that kept minds and dreams in the stars and hands and eyes on calculations and bolts…another dual state of the mind.

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[1] Ftting enough, this mood may be captured by the words of the real Oppenheimer upon seeing the explosion of the first atomic bomb…the words he uttered before much more eloquent ones from the Bhagavad Gita, words from the engineer who spent years constructing a project…”It worked.” Then the more poetic, “Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds.” Oppenheimer, too, it seems possessed two minds and can relate to the sentiments of Sappho.

[2] The first issue contains the quote from (the fictional) Clavis Aurea’s The Recorded Fenyman

  “I was surrounded by those willing to sacrifice all of mankind if doing so achieved their goals. Evil deeds by evil men that only I could prevent. Mourn then the passing of the world. For when the time came, I could find no good in myself, only mischief.”

[3] As  Matt Kaplan writes on page 4 of his book Medusa’s Gaze and Vampire’s Bite: The Science of Monsters

[4] Von Braun in issue seven works at creating an agency of scientists free from all government control.
Gratitude equivalent to the half-life of Harry Daghlian goes forth to my rocket-scientist cousin for loaning me his collection of MP to read during break. May you always remain beyond the clutches of Von Braun's robotic arm. 

FF #2

Fantastic Finger-Flippin’ Good Fun

The hesitant endorsements of the initial issue of FF metamorphosed into strong confirmations with the installment. Why read comic books recurs as a query from others as well as myself with common frequency; FF #2 contains a partial answer to this question.

While different comics are read for different reasons, an aura of serious whimsical super-hero fantasy remains a realm that comic books handle better than the medium of the novel, poems, films, or television shows. FF #2 provides laughs and superhero antics that shape lips into smiles instead of sneers all while continuing an intriguing story without taking itself too seriously. It offers a fun escape that blends fantasy and laughs to relax the reader yet still excite the imagination.

Kids in comics, while more are needed, can dull a tale when handled ineptly and crash a plot faster than Icarus’s plummet. Yet in FF#2, kids know their place, or rather Fraction knows where to place the kids, and Allred how to draw them. On page two, the Mole children Mik, Korr, Turg, and Tong become the first to realize for sure (and which every reader and character in the comic [with the exception of Scott Lang] also knew) that the Fantastic Four aren’t coming back in forecasted four minutes. Perceptive, and unhesitatingly voicing the obvious, the simple “uh-oh” from Turg wilts the antennas of hope on Ant-Man’s helmet.

Page three contains the moment that confirmed my continued pulling of this issue. A six panel page shows the media reaction to the FF taking over for the Fantastic Four. Panel three depicts Onome reading a newspaper and querying “What is an ex-con?” to Scott Lang as he’s walking across the floor in the background eating cereal. Panel four gives a close up of Lang, helmet off, munching cereal attempting to explain his criminal past to a child. The halting speech; the puffed cheek full of cereal; the tousled hair; the desperate, tired, and conflicted expression of Scott Lang (wanting to be honest and not honest simultaneously) remains a great melding of art and text. The panel captures a true moment of an adult trying to explain a complex and unpleasant idea to a child, while simultaneously dealing with larger world issues. The balance between serious, true, and amusing moments, and super-heroics coalesce on this page, and Fraction and Allred maintain the precarious balance throughout the entire issue. 

Pairing adults unused to dealing with children forever promises a reservoir of laughs (unless you’re the adult). Page seven has She-Hulk giving a law lecture to children. A touching character-defining moment of Darla with Leech and Artie Maddicks follows.

Mole-Man’s attack (just like in Fantastic Four #1) provides some Marvel comics continuity, or at least a reverential homage to Kirby and Lee and we get to  see the FF in action for the first time in the series, complete with fisticuffs and witty banter (“This was supposed to be my day off!” the giant green monster says (the editor kindly translates the “NYARGH*” for readers who haven’t kept their studies of Gigantes) while having Ant-Man knock about in his eye socket and getting strangled by Medusa in a negligee. The only other place (I imagine) one can find such combinations are in magazines better left hidden under the mattress.

All these antics conclude with a genre-demanding cliff hanger ending…some dark form of Johnny Storm flying through a space warp declaring “The Fantastic Four are DEAD! And no one can ever go through that gateway again…”

Fraction and Allred created and delivered a fun comic, a welcome edition to a host of books that are good in a different way (more serious, more experimental, more satirical ) than FF, but FF#2 generates and holds and offers an amusing light-hearted competent romp through the world of super- heroics.

Conan the Barbarian #11: The Death Part 2

Conan the Barbarian #11

The Death: Part 2

Script: Brian Wood

Art: Declan Shalvey

Colors: Dave Stewart

Letters: Richard Starkings & Comicraft

The story so far: Controlling an enriching oceanic campaign of plunder ad terror, Bêlit and Conan enjoy a piratical life with their crew aboard the Tigress. Their reputation conveys such power that the mere sight of the Tigress causes other ships to instantly surrender and transfer their cargo to the raiders. A prisoner secured by the Tigress spreads a life-sapping fever amongst the crew. All aboard the Tigress suffer, with the exception of Conan. In issue 11, Conan attempts to find a healer for the crew, experiences a dream vision, and wrestles with the moral choice of whether he should abandon Bêlit.

Barbarian Ethics

Conan has always been a love ‘em and leave ‘em type of guy. A profession of “sword-wielding barbarian mercenary/adventurer” lifestyle doesn’t offer much stability or  promise for an exclusive and devoted domestic life. Conan never pretends otherwise, and at least from the Conan stories I’ve read, his paramours understand the situation and willing lock arms around the barbarian.

Bêlit changes the situation.

While Dave Stewart’s need for blood-red ink remains minimal (which is good since Luther Strode has returned to the shelves and Tradd Moore will monopolize the crimson solution for each page of each issue…) yet Conan’s ethical battle proves greater and far more interesting than any physical foes he’s faced so far in Brian Wood’s manipulation of the barbarian’s tale.

Fever flaunts the question of whether Conan should jettison Bêlit or remain by her side and accept whatever consequences this attachment churns forth. Normally, such a situation would carry a simple answer if some formal ceremony of bonding was present (“in sickness and in health” for “richer or poorer” and so forth) yet, Wood makes Conan’s choice more complex by never having Conan and Bêlit formally and ceremoniously setting forth the conditions of their relationship, and Bêlit states (after saving Conan from a tavern tussle by her mere appearance)

“Conan, my love…carry me back to the ship, back to my Tigress. Make me my tea, and put me to bed. And then you should go.” Bêlit clarifies when Conan asks if he should return to the healer, “No. Go. Leave, leave us. This is a dead end for you. By morning we will all be dead, no doubt.”

Conan’s initial responds by accusing Bêlit of fever madness and exclaims “I cannot. I won’t. I won’t!”

But he can.

Bêlit’s words spiral into Conan’s conscience where he ponders the validity of her predicted demise and command to go, to leave. He struggles with his choice, a choice not based on duty, or obligation, but what seems a pure choice revelatory of Conan’s character and his values and ideals and the man he is and will be.

If ever a Socratic dialogue could take place within a Conan comic, this moment seems an appropriate place to debate and churn the mind for the meaning of “love” and “commitment,” “devotion,” “freedom.”

Robert E. Howard frequently used Conan (as well as other characters) to examine the dark side of civilization and contrast it with a natural state of existence that remains superior to civilization.

This natural state versus civilization works with Conan’s current choice.  When considering whether to return to the Tigress and her ill captain and crew, Conan thinks “What of his promise to Bêlit? For whatever reason, he cannot recall ever making any.” A promise, some vow, some ritual, would obligate Conan and have him shackled to duty to return to Bêlit. Such a move, a binding of words, contains the stain of civilization; a human-crafted device to clarify a desired course of action, a set of choices made in advance. When thinking at night while overlooking the harbor where the Tigress rests at anchor, Conan continues to consider his relation to Bêlit, “Theirs was—is—a romance very much about the present, the simple pleasure of the day to day.” While reveling in each moment, Conan and Bêlit’s romance supersedes a mere groin-grinding dalliance. The first issue makes clear some powerful and unknown might has united Conan and Bêlit.

Neither can clarify the reason for their unification, but neither denies the connection. Some power of nature (always powerful and unknowable despite the best attempts of meteorologists) has united these two humans. Issue five revealed Conan’s prison-bound contemplations of Bêlit’s care and commitment for him (It’s interesting Wood keeps Conan’s mind away from this “debt”;  it certainly makes Conan’s moral conundrum far more fascinating). Conan stands at a threshold as difficult and influential as any hero has faced. The issue ends with Conan stating “I could run. I could be free of all of this. I could have a long life and see the world. It is what Bêlit asked of me. And who am I to refuse a Queen?”

Alas, readers are left to ponder whether the great melancholy expression adorning Conan’s face sprouts from his abandoning Bêlit or from his distaste at returning to the fever-filled hull of the Tigress. Wood masterfully has framed this situation in such a way that the reader’s interpretation of Conan’s expression reveals just as much (probably more) about the reader as it reveals about Conan.

FF #1

Foundation Flip for for Marvel's Fantastic First Family 

First-time formal introductions rarely generate thrilling moments, even amongst superheroes. FF #1 begins with talking kids, kids that have no immediate clear reason for filling six panels (although the final panel provides the rationale). The comic then paces the reader through each member of the Fantastic Four choosing his and her replacement for their proposed four-minute journey. Each recruitment scene separates with another interview with kids of the Future Foundation.

That’s it.

No villains.

No revealing character developments.

Limited tension in Ant-Man’s reluctance (his obliging answer already known from Marvel’s hype).

The plot exudes the feel of substituting values for the variables in the equation and then calculating the formula…“plug and chug” as the mathematicians say. 

Certainly Matt Fraction’s competence as a writer exceeds question  (his composition on Defender’s #1 still stands as a favorite (for me) first issue of all time), but the purpose for this mild introduction is elusive…for now. Two factors make the second issue worth pulling.

1. Faith. The bane of loving comics and reading monthly installments… “maybe the next issue will be better….”
2. Allreds.

Previous replacements for the Fantastic Four 

Mike Allred drawing this new weird team of FF has earned my subscription to this issue. Allred’s running lines for Medusa’s hair, the Kirby-esque Thing[1], and Ant-Man’s costume and  helmet that might be found in the fetish section of a dentist’s supply catalogue straddle the edge of cartoony and realism…a perfect tension to maintain for this FF book (which, despite the slow story, DOES clearly contain a goofy mood). Allred’s style harmonizes with this book, and I hope he stays on art duties for the full four minutes the Fantastic Four uses to walk down their inter-dimensional hallway. I also hope Marvel hires Shakey Kane and David Hine to fill in when Fraction and Allred need a break and to take over at the end of Fraction and Allred’s run…then Marvel universe really WOULD never be the same….

Laura Allred’s eyes are beautiful. Rarely, if ever, has the eye color of a character stood out, but in this issue of FF, the eyes consistently snag attention for an engaging factor of the art. Val and Franklin Richards have blue eyes as does Sue Richards, Mister Fantastic has brown eyes, Ant-Man blue, Medusa, green, Bently-23 brown, Crystal the Inhuman green, She-Hulk green (of course), Darla Deering brown, Johnny Storm hazel, The ever-lovin’ Blue-eyed Thing has…oh…you know…. These small dots of color animate faces far more than what seems possible and conveys a dynamic dynamism to make stunning art that much more stunning.

The first issue’s final page ends with Scott Lang asking:

“What is the FF? What does it mean to you, the young minds that make up the program?”

A good question, and one that kept echoing through my multiple readings and browsings of this issue. As for the bright future engineered by Allred and Fraction…let’s hold hope and keep a pair shades close by for the a possible future so bright.

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[1] Sorry Silva, while I know you (and many others) like the look of Allred’s She-Hulk, I just imagine a balloon animals every time she appears on the page with her bulbous muscles…and her shoulders (and breasts) keep changing size…it must make buying properly fitting shirts the height of frustration for She-Hulk…no wonder she gets so angry….).

Conan the Barbarian #10:The Death

Navigating love from infatuation to a mature devotion reveals itself trickier than plundering the port-side docks of Argos.

Conan the Barbarian issue 10 begins a new story arc beneath the pen (or keyboard, depending on how the author composes) and kinder arms than Crom’s welcome the artwork of Declan Shalvey. This story, entitled "The Death," takes place after Bêlit and Conan’s return from Cimmeria. A terse overview is provided of life aboard ship, a deck party is thrown, an oracle consulted, fornication transpires, a ship with a lone sailor spotted, and the issue ends with the aforementioned lone sailor dead and bloody upon the deck of his ship. Despite slaughter, pirating, and sailing, all tehse factors seem McGuffins to stronger pulse of the story, an exploration of the evolving love between Conan and Bêlit. Issue #5 exposed readers to the concerns and worry of Conan with his regards to Bêlit. Now, issue #10 lets readers peek upon Bêlit’s concerns regarding Conan.

“Devotion” is the first word the narrator casts to the reader. A concept explored, at least in some part…or actively ignored, by those even brushing love marginally. At the outskirts of ennui Bêlit gives a partial response upon her devotion to the sea and Conan: “N’Yaga, I am bored. And, I fear Conan grows restless.” This prompt, this unappreciated contentment, leads Bêlit to consult the counsel of whatever forces N’Yaga congresses, and churns up The Death.

Bêlit’s boredom involves a reputation so fierce that most ships, spying the Tigress, surrender without a fight. She has a fit sailing vessel, a loyal crew, a strong and sympathetic lover, and she’s not in Cimmeria (always a cause for joy), but atop the waves of tropical climates. In a certain aspect she has a piratical life of piratical heaven, perfection. But anyone who has ever read Book 3 of Paradise Lost, knows that perfection, heaven, is rather dull, and starts longing for a return to the flames that cast darkness and the fiery revolutionary defiant liberty-laden speeches of Satan in Book 2. Bêlit, like Milton (if Blake is to be believed) is also of the Devil’s party. Boredom burgeons her longing for strife, conflict, for something interesting to happen.

“And, I fear Conan grows restless.”

While longing for action, Bêlit also still longs for Conan and tries, inaccurately, to read the mind of her lover (how many of us, oh dear readers, have acted in a similar manner?). It’s not only her boredom she fears, but Conan’s boredom as well. Why would Bêlit, who has been so strong and confident and fatalistic ever since she first appeared, suddenly begin to concern herself with such the restlessness of Conan? And if so, why wouldn’t she just ask Conan if he is restless? Such straightforward questions doesn’t always provide truthful answers, whether from deceit or a fear of harming feelings. The narrator notes “Bêlit’s fears were largely unfounded. Conan the Cimmerian was a happy man. The novelty of a seafarer’s life had not left him, and neither had the repetition—both of action and of diet—worn him down.”

Bêlit, as she has been for most of the story arc, is a ship’s length ahead of Conan. Novelty turns to familiarity, and a diet, no matter how tasty, eventually becomes ashen. Bêlit knows what is coming Conan, for she herself has reached it, and she seeks to push beyond that place where all of one’s dreams have come true. For while seductive, Bêlit knows that such stasis slays one’s soul.

Thus The Death is stirred.

The Death.

Perhaps Wood’s story isn’t just applicable to human love, but the love readers possess for Conan tales. How many times can one read an adaptation of a REH story before becoming bored? How many extrapolations can one read about a reaver, a slayer full of gigantic mirth and gigantic melancholy before becoming restless? Why does almost every interpretation of Conan seem the same as each previous interpretation?

The Death?

In his series, Wood seems to be attempting to give readers some different focus on Conan (certainly Wood isn’t unique in this attempt). Conan, like his franchise, is strong, and primal and can carry multiple interpretation and variations and contradiction is his legends. And what if the Conan continuity should contradict itself? Very well then, it contradicts itself. And still, the character survives.

Bêlit and Conan face a new challenge, one unwelcome, even though sought. It is a challenge of plague and trust and command and survival. It will grow and strengthen their relation, give them another plateau from which to launch their love to a different place in order to preserve it. As for the ultimate success of this series...well, readers are encouraged to consult the seer N'Yaga....

Double Creature Feature

Prophet #30 and the 2012 Swamp Thing Annual conclude October's single comic-book page examination. From a month of focusing on a page per review, the largest realization turned out to be how color functioned to move the eye through the left-to-right reading pattern. In the two books under examination this week, red continues this tradition and ushers the eye from panel to panel.

Prophet #30, has a dark palette splashed with an arresting swatch of red. While unsure of the actual division of labor, story credits go to Brandon Graham with Iannis Milonogiannis and Simon Roy; art credits go to Giannis Milonogiannis and Brandon Graham; and color credits go to Joseph Bergin III, Giannis Milonogiannis and Brandon Graham.

The page is divided into three rectangular panels, the first two of equal size and the third of equal height, but the right wall of the rectangle stretches to the edge of the page. Each of the three larger panels contains smaller rectangular insets. The insets of the first two panels hover near the right margin of the page (with the first inset having a barb that snags the reader’s eye from the swimming Kakcrik and yanks it to the right of the panel). The next two insets (in the second panel) are stacked on top of one another, with the lower one skewed to the right, like a stair for the eye to descend to the third rectangle of panel three. The third panel’s inset is perched on the top left and breaks into the left margin, balancing out the break of its parent panel breaking the right margin. The inset in the third panel is the first of three steps; two text boxes complete the leading of the eye to the bottom of the page. The inset panels, although small and shifty, help guide the eye from the top to the bottom and contain enough variation in placement and shape to contribute to the narrative’s advancement. 

The crimson head of Rein-East commands primary attention for this page. The red is softly muted by the illuminated tan background, (ironic that the interior of the Kakcrik serves as the brightest environment on the page) and the slices of red on the back of Rein-East’s hands along with a maroon eye stone move the eye from left to right and down. This bright panel snuggles between the two darker panels, which maintains the page’s balance, as well as giving a dramatic introduction of the orphan assassin Rein-East.

The second, but by no means lesser creature, of our double feature is page 15 of the 2012 Swamp Thing Annual written by Scott Snyder and Scott Tuft, art by Becky Cloonan, framing sequences by Andy Belanger (pencils) and Karl Kerschl (inks) while Tony Avina colored the pages. 

Page 15 holds three rectangular panels set atop the background showing Alec Holland introducing himself to Abigail Arcane, with each of their respective avatars (the green and the rot) showing in the background…a vine meets bone motif that is woven into the panel. Red, as in Prophet #30, guides the eye in a right-to-left crescent by the red of Abigail’s shirt that appears in the first and second panel and the bottom half of the page. 

In this coming together of opposites, Cloonan always keeps Alec Holland on the left and Abigail Arcane on the right (I don’t believe this placement involves any kind of political commentary) for the whole page. And while the page is balanced, nothing is perfectly centered, which causes the eye to never stall or become lodged in a rut or dead zone. 

In the first panel Alec stands to the far left, and Abigail stands just to the right of center. Panel two has Alec in the foreground and Abigail in the background. Panel three has Alec’s hand lower with Abigail’s hand raised. Not only does Cloonan keep the contents of panels from perfectly centered, but she keeps shifting the focus as well, zooming in and out.

The bottom section of the page synthesizes the top three panels. Here, Alec and Abigail are shaking hands (with nothing resting firmly on the pages central vertical axis). Alec’s hand remains closer to his waist, while Abigail’s arm is stretched out further. The demarcation line in the skull's nose cavity where vine meets bone is to the right of Alec and Abigail’s entwined hands. In the lowest section of the page, the hands of vines and bones grasp one another, but they’re to the right of Abigail and Alec’s hands in the panel above. The page balances well as the panels have been woven together resulting in finely designed and active comic book page. 

Batwoman #13

Labyrinthine Page

JH Williams III grants readers the perspective of gods, or at least a Dungeon Master peering at a fine pre-made dungeon map.The October comic book page focus turns its gaze on Batwoman 13

Pages four and five of Batwoman 13 contain a two-page spread depicting Batwoman and Wonder Woman traversing a labyrinth prison (Batwoman calls it “An Amazonian Arkham Asylum) for monsters and murderers guarded by the Amazons. The two DC heroes walk through the tunnels splashed with blood, corpses, and some fine decorative art. These two pages calmly escalate the tension before a minotaur and Nyx (goddess of night in the personification of a giant millipede) attack and the heroines.

The perspective of the labyrinth walls surely would make Raphael, Leonardo, Donatello, or even Michelangelo (the Renaissance artists, not the Turtles) stare with wonder. The maze radiates from a central cone (the inside filled with chests of gold, armor, and I’m sure what looks like a +3 vorpal blade) and contains twists, sharp angles, and each block of stone. Not only are the perspective walls included, but also Wonder Woman and Batwoman are drawn from various angles (yet always viewed from above) of their progress through the labyrinth. The corpses of monsters and Amazonian guards slump in the various postures of their death and add to the visual perspective variety.

The extended two-page labyrinth with its turns molds tension for the reader because of its complexity. At first glance, the pages' composition resists precise determining (although this confusion swiftly resolves itself) and all the sharp turns and isolated features evoke a horror-movie dread.

For still images on a two-dimensional page, these pictures move. Williams III divides the two pages into five panels with four bold white lines spanning from top to bottom. The three central panels occupy equal width, while the two end panels have dieted. The pages have no borders. The five panels bring to mind ecclesiastical triptychs (pentychs in this instance?) depicting various Biblical narrative scenes. Reading left to right, top to bottom, the narrative moves forward with Wonder Woman and Batwoman as well as the reader’s eye. Not only does the eye move from left to right (in that ingrained English language reading pattern) it also bounces up and down. In the first panel (on the far left) the word balloons hover at about mid-height, the second panel has the stark white of the word balloons ascend to the top of the panel. The red of Batwoman’s costume, Wonder Woman’s costume, and the splashes of blood hoist the eye upward. The second panel has the red at the panel's top balanced with the red thought boxes from Batwoman near the bottom. The second thought box (also red) slides the reader into the third panel. And the pattern continues, up and down. This movement between the highs and lows of the panels adds to the tension and anxiety of layered by the labyrinth. The shifting up and down to such extremes (high and low on the page) disorients, like when someone turns the radio’s volume knob from silent to very loud in rapid succession. To add to the anxiety, the red, pools of spilled blood pull the reader’s eyes through the page as well, and the red matches the same shades of Batwoman’s hair and costume. That Batoman (and Wonder Woman too on her Amazonian chemise) wear the same color as blood is creepy and unnerving…a perfect set of feelings for walking through an Amazonian prison labyrinth filled with the dead bodies of Amazon guards and monster inmates.

In addition to Wonder Woman and Batwoman, and the corridors of the labyrinth, JH Willimas III further generates a feeling of movement with the dead. The slain monsters are known figures from mythology, and seeing them dead reminds one (well, me at any  rate) of watching the first 10 minutes of Transformers the Movie as a kid, where all the Transformers I’d come to know through daily cartoon devotionals died in the opening battle sequence.

The first monster looks to be some kind of armored boar (?) with spears protruding from its back and skull. Two Amazons (one hacked in half and having its arm severed) fill the hallway and one slumps in a corner. The third panel (subtly, I missed it the first two reads through the comic) shows a dead millipede, a servant of Nyx that come to overpower the two heroines later in this issue, along with a dead female corpse that looks like it could be Eddie’s sister. The bottom of the third panel has a dead harpy (or some femme fatale version of Icarus) while the top portion has a giant-faced crab monster and more dead Amazons (there are a lot of dead Amazons). Panel four gives the reader at least five demon corpses, a large crab, some skeleton warriors, and more dead Amazons (one with a severed head. The top of the fifth panel shows a dead giant cyclops and the center of the fifth panel has the shadow of a minotaur that falls upon the heroines on the next page. The dead are visible, but due to their subdued coloring and slouched and prone postures, they are easy to overlook when initially viewing the page, yet their presence unnerves and adds to the tension while simultaneously unifying the page and advancing the reader’s gaze.

JH Williams III leaves the reader with a final grisly image (which also happens to distract from the shadow of the minotaur {all these distractions and from the subtleties in the art add to the anxiety too…a reader could start to feel like she is missing something, overlooking some mosaic on the wall, or colored tile work on the stairs…and then suddenly have to start studying the pages in detail…} by drawing the eye to a dead and decaying body of an Amazon wither intestines hanging from her side and hanging inverted, head down, on some stone terrace of the labyrinthine prison.

Williams III builds the tension in these two pages where nothing physical happens (beyond Wonder Woman and Batwoman walking down a twisty hallway), yet still the pages suggest action past and future while being visually dynamic and moving the reader’s eye, stoking anticipation for the future encounters. A deft weaving of tension, curiosity and wonder snares the reader by knitting the need to know with the terror of discovering what awaits beyond a bend of the labyrinth.

Conan the Barbarian #9: Border Fury Part 3

Doppelganger

While this issue doesn’t have ghosts, vampires, werewolves or (thank Crom) zombies, a doppelganger does lurk in the theoretical frames. D&Ders know, few creatures can wreak havoc in the lower levels of a dungeon crawl worse than a doppelganger. No need to worry though (unless you are reading this review in a dungeon’s sub levels…in which case you’re probably on the wrong blog…), this beast confines itself to the metaphorical (mostly).

Continuing October’s focus of a single comic-book page for each review, this week (from last week’s release) highlights page 19 of Conan the Barbarian, written by Brian Wood, drawn by Vasilis Lolos, and colored by Dave Stewart. This issue concludes Conan and Bêlit’s tracking of a mad reaver (a childhood friend of Conan named Maeldun) who razes villages throughout Cimmeria while using Conan’s name. The young couple catches up with him, kills him, and (happily) leaves Cimmeria.

Page 19 has the conclusion of the final confrontation with Conan and Maeldun in a six-panel page. The page has a balanced division and an apt composition emphasizes the doppelganger aspect of the two boyhood friends’ final fight.

Dividing the page in two vertically, the top half occupies the majority of the page by slightly more than half. In this top section, three panels demarcate the space. On the left, two equal size rectangles are stacked and the right side of the panel (its width less than the two squatter rectangles) a taller rectangle fills the space and spills beyond the border right to the very edge of the page.

The swords guide the eye through this paneled trinity. The top left panel has Maeldun and Conan crossing swords and facing off (also serving a reminder to the reader of the link between the two in that they are the same height and share similar looks). The pale tan of the background color makes the white (with very very light grey shadows) of the sword blades all the more prominent that takes the reader’s eye to the panel below, where a darker yellow, almost burnished golden, background resides. The color helps unite the panels, yet still keeps each one distinct…just like Conan and Maeldun.

The two combatants maintain their left/right orientation of the previous panel, but Lolos rotates them at an angle, placing Conan’s backside closer to the reader and Maeldun further away. This angling of the characters adds to the dynamism of the speed lines and also starts the reader’s eye moving to the right to take in the tall rectangular final panel on this top part of the page…the panel where Conan guts Maeldun.

In this panel, Conan’s sword acts the magnet to the reader’s eye. The gaze travels along the edge of blade, pulled faster by the light off-white chiton worn by Conan and the black armor protecting (albeit not very well on this page) Maeldun. Arterial red fills the background, serving both to highlight the killing blow, but also to highlight the off-white blade of Conan’s sword that balances the panel and unifies it to the two rectangular panels to the left through the similar color of the sword blades and Conan’s sword maintaining the same angle in both panel one and panel three.

Red draws the eye and connects panel three to four. The loud crimson background in three echoes the thin lines of blood that seep beneath Maeldun’s armored forearms in a stark white background. The balance on the lower half of the page reverses the top part. The tall rectangle is on the left, and the two wider rectangles are stacked on the right. The white central border orients to the left of the page’s vertical axis, where as the center border on the top of the page is to the right of center (this is starting to sound like a political analysis). Yet the two asymptotic lines balance out the page.

The fifth panel has the dark gray of Maeldun’s helmet at the top left of the rectangle, which pulls the reader’s eye up from the white negative space of panel four, showing the reader the dying anguished face of Maeldun. His face tilts to the right giving a ¾ view. The head angle slants at a similar angle to the horizon line of the hill in the sixth panel. The eye falls from panel five, slides along the slope of the hill, hits the word balloon. A triangle forms of two heads (still attached to the bodies) of Maeldun’s cronies and lines can be traced to the apex of a triangle, the curled corpse of Maeldun. Conan stands with his arms extended, showing triumph, but also balancing out the panel as the counterweight to the tan of the narrator’s box.

The snowy white background lifts the reader’s eyes to the top half of the page with white on the swords blades in panels one and three; this coloring keeps the page unified and the eye moving and active during this final fight scene. This page design with its two balanced, yet distinct, sections mirrors the one-on-one fight between two similar characters and emphasizes the dual theme (Conan & Maeldun, Conan & Bêlit, civilization & wilderness, land & sea, etc.) that seems prevalent in this series. Don’t worry though, the doppelganger was the one on the left…who is dead physically if not metaphorically.