Bulletproof Coffin: Disinterred #4

BULLETPROOF COFFIN: DISINTERRED

BULLETPROOFCOFFINDISINTERRED 

BCDEFILNOPRSTU

Bull Lee spouts loose nouns in Tennessee, condones lore for Bulletproof Coffin: Disinterred.

Fie on order!

Cut,

Cut,

Cut bold!

Plot is lone sore bone-prone flop-rusted dusted corpse on snot corpuscle bier rots. Pure ordered prose foul fools, ruins fun since bop-optic prose is snubbed.

Burn forced filters!

Cut.

Cut.

Cut.

Bop-optic color prose finds prophets!

Dual-dopes score profits, but strip, bind, pin, slit, slice burn, pound, club, bend, belt, rend, spin, stub, rip, bleed to stifle-snuff not-old optic tropes so to send flood of foul tides of bored bile soup snore stories.

So,

Scuttle double estates’ four color snore lore! Topple forlorn Stan Lee’s past epics, torpedo DC, side step spider titles, bust dull Robin’s dudes.

Instead distill pure bold pure color bop-optic lore. Riff on blood. Build better plots of unplots, ironic tells, don’t settle for bored sort or stupid tales. Undo dire duo! Let tepid stern bulletproof lust nurse flirt free in rubber corset until led to cloud bed to pounce for Bulletproof Coffin bounce! Undo blouse, bustle, robe, doublet, tie, tubes, bib, purse, belt, binds, ropes, to be free free free! Rouse plot fires! Bolster fine tonic fonts! Toss dice! Stir oddness!

Lift fists for Independents!   

Sin Bold!

Cut!

Cut!

Cut!

Listen.

Find Bulletproof Coffin! Pull Bulletproof Coffin. Opt for Bulletproof Coffin. Build odes to Bulletproof Coffin. Scour Bulletproof Coffin. Sift Bulletproof Coffin. Ponder Bulletproof Coffin. 

Bulletproof Coffin fine food for soul.

Spirit of Bull Lee slides out, but resides infinite in bulletproof coffin.

‘nuff said.

End

(but not end)

Skull Kickers #13

Despite a moniker of comic books, very few comics evoke laughs instead of grimaces.  When considering the comics I’m currently reading and the past reviews posted, a strong predilection for horror appears present, which is strange as I’ve never identified as a horror fan. I can’t watch horror movies (at least not anything made after 1968) without lots of bad dreams and haunting thoughts that populate all shadows and strangers with dreadful flesh rending and torturous human disassembling uses for a meat cleaver. So I wanted to write about a book that escaped horrific conventions, a comic comic book (although the books are there, and they are good; BPRD: The Pickens County Horror #2, Ragemoor #2, King Conan #4, along with Animal Man, Swamp Thing, and Frankenstein Agent of Shade, I’ve been reading them all).

So on the advice of the Canadians at the comic podcast Panel Culture, and a whim, I picked up Skull Kickers #13, which despite the title, most definitely refrains from horror.

On hindsight however, this issue hosts some horror elements, but still it raises more laughs than lashes. This book is funny. It is one of the few works that made me laugh aloud.

With the exception of A Prairie Home Companion Pretty Good Joke Book, and Oscar Wilde’s The Importance of Being Earnest, the grave diggers and Polonius from Hamlet, I can’t think of any works that have caused me to laugh aloud as much as Skull Kickers (maybe Cerebus…yes, I laughed whole concertos when reading Cerebus). Even the title caused all in my household to laugh when they heard I was reading a new comic entitled Skull Kickers, giggles never failed to  erupt. I’m not sure why, but apparently kicking skulls is funny.

Comics are well suited to humor with the combination of both words and images, and the placement of panels allows the creators to control time in and the progression of a reader’s attention and, to a degree, pace of reading, that is not available to the same degree in other mediums.  Jim Zub, Edwin Huang and Misty Coats harmonize these elements well.

This is the first issue of Skull Kickers that I’ve read, so I’m still learning the characters and the story line. Everything I know of the previous story arcs is what the golden, pointy eared, pixie haircut, laurel-wearing creature told me in the first two pages. As it said, “Trust me, it was quite entertaining.” I’m inclined to count this narrator among the reliable ones.

The basic plot of part one of "Six Shooter on the Seven Seas" is that a dwarf and human mercenary stow away on a ship crewed solely by female pirates. They’re discovered in the galley stealing food, and an elf named Kusia, a previous companion of the boys (I couldn’t find their names mentioned anywhere in the issue) sort of "rescues" them. The three join the crew and work the ship until the big bald human discovers some hatched green and purple egg in the hold that then encircles him with jagged tentacles (see, I told you there were elements of horror in the issue) and then the issue ends.

In and of itself, the plot's humor casts long roots. Shakespeare plopped Falstaff amongst women in their social sphere in The Merry Wives of Windsor for similar laughs that Zub and crew utilize. The real laughs though come from that same place where the devil lurks, in the details.

The combination of images and words harmonize not for the sublime but for laughter. The following trio of scenes brought forth the greatest laughs. In describing these scenes elucidation of the humor-giving elements is the goal, not the the defenstration of merriment--this review focuses on the funny, not the fear. The second page of the story stacks three panels, bereft of words but funny nonetheless, and shows the two mercenaries climbing over the railing onto the ship's deck amidst darkness. The human is aboard, and the dwarf is shown reaching for the rail, but he can’t quite make it, so his buddy hoists him by the scruff of the neck over the  rail. This image of a tough battle hardened  and fierce (or so I imagine) dwarf handled like a new born kitten can't help but amuse by its juxtaposition. The frown on the human’s face shows some annoyance and bother, or maybe a dislike of kittens?  The first two panels on this show the human boarding the ship, and the third panel has him reaching for the extended arm of the dwarf, all of which function as a set up and pause to the dwarf getting lifted aboard. This timing gives the scene its edge of humor and dulls any aspects of little people derision that could have been gleaned from the human picking up the dwarf. The timing, those first two panels and the camaraderie and respect the dwarf and human share make the page funny rather than offensive.

Alas, as was of course inevitable, the men are discovered aboard the ship stealing food. When the captain of the ship asks what is going on, all the crew present point to the two stowaways and shout “MEN!” In this bottom third of the page, the tiny period-dot eyes and the tilted-back angles of the bodies of the two Y-chromosome carriers, a floating loaf of bread, and the arced eyebrow of the dwarf, along with his tilted mustache lay the foundation of  the humor with their shocked looks. The funniness builds in the next panel where the two characters, their eyes transformed from periods to em-dashes, look at one another in silence trying to figure out how to get out of this seemingly impossible situation, and the third panel snaps the humor by having the dwarf speak with a cheerily wide-opened mouth, em-dash eyes, leveled eyebrows, and his head at a slight 5 degree angle as he says, “Actually, I’m a dwarven Lady, M’dears. I’m on yer…eh, team, as it were.” His companion has his face in his hand and gives an exasperated “uh…”. The timing, the images, and the sheer exaggeration and unexpected answer from the dwarf combine to bring the laughs. The absence of rotting corpses and crazed possessed monsters also brings a degree of levity to the scene as well.

This escape attempt by the dwarf leads to a question-and-answer volley with one of the pirate’s crew who shouts back, "He’s lying! He’s got a beard!” to which the dwarf responds “Dwarf lasses got beards! There’s songs ‘bout it and an everythin’!” Again, the dashed eyes, the angled eyebrows, the open mouth with teeth clenched together give the dwarf a look of triumph, as if he really believes he can possibly pull off this charade. The next panel has the woman pirate with her hand opened, ready to grab something as she shouts “Prove it!” The dwarf, his eyes back to periods, his eyebrows having curving arcs and mouth closed responds with “Errr…Aw, crap…" and then the fight ensues. A food fight.

The friendly northern Panel Culturists pointed out the creative and amusing use of verbifying nouns and then using them as adjectives  in the fight scenes “ham hocked!” gives the sound of a woman getting hit in the face with, well, a ham hock. “Baguetteified!” does the same with bread and “Classic!” is the sound a pie makes when it hits a dwarf in the face. “Wienerwalloped! grants onamotapeia to sausage links, and “Juicy” sounds an orange.

Of course the men are captured and put to work, which leads to the next amusing scene as the two guys are change into their sea clothes. After the dwarf has dunked his head in dirty laundry water and shook out the wet, the human washes his face with a towel which draws a comment from the tousled-hair dwarf, “Er. You’re getting’ weirder too. What happened to yer flippin’ eyebrows?" Again the dwarf has period eyes and his head is at an angle (I never knew how funny angles could be) Rubbing his head the mercenary human responds “Oh yeah, that. Do we got a mirror down here? I gotta draw ‘em in again with charcoal.”

The dwarf: “No mirror. You…uh…shave ‘em?

Human: “No. They’re gone. Been gone for a while. Long story. Just drop it.

Dwarf: “Okaaaaay… Like I said, Everyone’s crazy.”

Again, the tilting heads, the characters with their backs turned to one another, the dwarf’s crazy hair, and the wave in the a’s of the dwarf’s “okaaaaay” cultivate a humor of that couldn’t unachievable by only words, or images alone.

The last panel I’ll mention is again at the dwarf’s expense. Upon hauling in a large cache of fish, the dwarf hunches down, hands on his head, beneath the open net that will dump fish on his head. And there it is. A fine change from superheroes, crime and horror comics. Swashbuckling with silliness.

While I’m not set to abandon my other books, or admit to being a horror fan, the light tone and tight construction of Skull Kickers #13 offer welcome variations from rampaging demon animals, possessed castles, mad sorcerers, and Animal Man’s mother-in-law. The humorous antics of Skull Kickers moved me to add this title to my pull of monthly comics. I'm pleased to clambor aboard this story arc and expose my skull to its kicking.

Conan the Barbarian: Queen of the Black Coast #3

Desire Burrows Beyond Beneath the Belt

Response to Conan: Queen of the Black Coast #3

“On the surface of it, the lover wants the beloved. This, of course, is not really the case.” – Anne Carson in Eros: The Bittersweet

Desire is complicated. Sex complicates it further. Sailing, swashbuckling and piracy further add to the complexity. Poor young Conan treads threatening waters by combining all these elements which threaten to envelope and overwhelm him without warning, and his inexperience better serves as a diving belt.

Still, Conan descends into dark deep water, “I’ll sail with you,” he tells Bêit, and he suppresses his desire and acclimates himself to the crew and ship. Conan sets about a sailor’s work, but still waters run deep and his desire for Bêlit the creative team has been building for the last two issues continues placing Conan and Bêlit on the verge of getting it on.

And they do, but as Carson notes, it’s not really the case that the lover wants the beloved.

In literature, hopefully unlike in life, sex is never about sex, but symbolic of something else; Carson’s quote recognizes this point, “On the surface of it, the lover wants the beloved. This, of course, is not really the case.” Conan and Bêlit’s coupling reads as a new life, a fresh beginning exposed to unfathomed and unfulfilled fates. 

Power and control through sex remain absent aboard the Tigress. Bêlit tells Conan “…we become as one.” A unity and equilibrium between Conan and Bêlit continues through this issue, just as it has flowed through the first two issues. Issue three opens with three pages of Bêlit imagining Conan’s life in Cimmeria, a parallel episode of Conan’s imaginings of Bêlit in issue one. Bêlit thinks “She knew she had found her lover.” The choice of her companion rested solely with the pirate queen, her selection avoided influence from concerns about society, class, family, or her crew. The decision to ask Conan “So, answer me Cimmerian, will you take me?” originated solely from Bêlit’s desire.

Conan diplomatically dodges this question by answering “I’ll sail with you.” Standing aboard Bêlit’s ship, surrounded by her crew, Conan’s position appears disadvantageous. Yet a balance of power returns when Conan’s pose at the top of page four is examined. He stands proud, sword in hand, while an unarmed Bêlit leans against him. This panel has a balance both in design and symbolism. Page five (the second panel) has Conan to the far right of the panel and the panel below places Bêlit to the far left. More metaphorical design symmetry occurs in the final two panels that show Bêlit facing the audience in one and another panel Conan faces the reader. The equity of these characters echo their placement on the page.

So if this sex is a symbolic sex of fresh starts, how is this scene sexually symbolic of freedom? Upon seeing Bêlit in a cabin of the ship, the narrator notes, “Conan’s desire swept all else away,” but this desire wasn’t solely for Bêlit. The narrator continues to notes in Conan’s thought block that his desire also includes his want for the quest, sailing the sea with Bêlit, and freedom from land and law. The narrator tells us Conan “caught a glimpse of his future with this Queen of the Black of the Coast.” Conan desires Bêlit, but also freedom, endless possibility, a new self, a better self. A new version of Conan is born in Bêlit’s arms, his younger immature land-locked self has died. The narration states: “The usage of creation and the urge of death are one and the same.” A fresh identity roiling with freedom awaits Conan. Finer words on identity ponderings reside at http://interestedinsophisticatedfun.blogspot.com/. Read them now!

After this lay, what happens to desire after desire has been quenched?

Conan doesn’t know, but the shaman aboard Bêlit’s ship knows how to find out. With a new life, which includes Bêlit, Conan drinks the seer’s concoction and reveals the futures to which he will sail to upon waves of his new incubating desires. But why go to the seer? Tracing trajectories of actions and prognosticating on the potential possibilities with the confines of an experienced and known life remains tricky at the best of times. Yet social standards and laws serve as predictors of the future for what will happen if an individual acts in a specified manner. If one kills a magistrate and steals his horse in Argos, the guard attempt to capture and prosecute the perpetrator. In civilized settings, at least in a small sense, the future becomes a known quantity, a basis of stability setting rhythmic standards of sedentary lives.

Upon the sea, however, stability washes away, especially for Conan whose sailing legs have yet to ascertain the subtlety of standing atop waves.

While freedom, endless possibilities, and fresh beginnings excite, they also carry unsettling consternation; perhaps not fear, but a close cousin that wonders what will happen, a part that yearns to banish ignorance of the future and at least know in some small way what will result from such a bold choice. Since Conan lacks the experience in matters of the sea and this fresh affection shared by him and Bêlit, he needs divine help. Conan bypasses Crom, always indifferent to the fate of his followers, and seeks the seer to serve as an intermediary to Fate. The seer drink unlocks the future that Conan lacks the foresight and experience to predict (it also serves as a fine technique for the creative team to let readers know of upcoming events in the storyline). Conan’s visions provide some stability for his new life, and even if the five future scenes seem sinister, the barbarian at least has some hint of what’s coming.  And by Crom, what more could a barbarian, or his followers, ask of The Queen of the Black Coast as they sail into the future?

Swamp Thing #8: Nothing Too Much

μηδὲν ἄγαν

Solon, the poet and law reformer of Athens, is credited with stating μηδὲν ἄγαν , nothing too much, or nothing in excess. Emerging from a transformative pod, Alec Holland merges human and monster into a new hybrid Swamp Thing. Usually hybrids arouse discomfort, fear, and make a poor for a party guest…unless you’re partying in a desert for the fate of humanity, then a hybrid is a good guest—especially if it’s the new Swamp Thing.

This Swamp Thing human-monster synthesis is something new among monsters. Swamp Thing isn’t a complete monster, it still retains human hopes, memories, and love, nor is it a full human, it’s able to morph its body, fly, and the internal anatomy is more vegetive than meat. This synthesis combines the best of human and monster and generates the core strength of Swamp Thing. Metamorphosis synthesizes strength.

When flying into battle, Holland-Thing thinks in mint-green thought box: “I am a man. I’m Alec Holland….But I feel my new body, too. This second me….It’s like living in a haunted body. I’m still me, still Alec, but I feel what it feels, too.” These thoughts inform readers of the duality of Swamp Thing as it adjusts to its new body, and it also fits with the organic theme of the book. Alec Holland has evolved into something new. The words of the Council of Trees to Alec Holland echo from issue 7, “You will never be human again.” Alec Holland has evolved into something post human…with really cool looking wings.

This organic factor seeps into the structure of the book with the panel design. Once we shuffle from the destruction in the desert, the panel divisions grow and tilt into wild borders. Readers will not find a straight line or right angle anywhere in the second half of the book. Like the fluid division of the panels, the synthesized Swamp Thing alters its body, able to grow a shield and giant wooden claw to swoop away the backward-looking meat things the Rot pits against the Green’s avatar. The transformative hero doesn’t keep one form too much. It changes as the need arises and adapts and moves with such adroitness that it battles through seven pages of the Rot’s henchmen without ruffling a leaf on its wing. Swamp Things advance, and shape shifting cease when it encounter Abigail Arcane’s new look.

The champion of the Rot, Alec’s old girlfriend Abigail Arcane, is transformed into a giant chitinous armored form with extended obtuse-angled teeth and disproportionate limbs, neck, and claws. This altered form of Arcane is a pure monster. The emotions, the human cares, concerns, memories, and values were shucked in the cocoon along with her human skin and hair, at least in this issue. She hisses, states “Alec needs to die!” and punches her claws through Swamp Thing’s torso. This action is not a humane way to treat present or past lovers.

The distinction between the champions of the Green and Rot is shown at the top of the second-to-last page.  Swamp Thing’s head juxtaposed with the head of Rot beast. Swamp Thing’s downward tilting eyes, the humanoid face, the spoken name “Abby.” The human aspects of the post-human Alec render themselves clearly in this panel. The monstrous nature of the dark Rot with green circular eyes, those long teeth that Snyder and Paquette exhumed from the depths some atavistic nightmare remain devoid of all humaneness. Yet Swamp Thing’s care for Abby not only remains, but still motivates this swamp-human synthesis. In issue 7, Alec Holland told the Council of Trees “—what we [humans] offer you isn’t power or strength. It’s restraint….Because it was your respect for prized human qualities that made you great. Your compassion and empathy and prudence.” All these prized traits of humanity come through the look on Swamp Thing’s face in this panel. It reigns in violence from any excesses.

The threshing of Swamp Thing at the end of issue 8 won’t end Swamp Thing (this is a comic book after all), but it does bring to question if the humanity of Abby Arcane remains cached somewhere beneath the armored form or whether it was exuded and abandoned amongst the fragmented discards of the chrysalis of her past human body. Whether Abby’s persona remains or not, it was the restraint and hope Swamp Thing exercised that provides the opportunity for its recovery. After all, like plants, even rot transforms its state.

Comics in the Classroom: Professor Hetal Thaker

The novel, upon its conception sometime in the mid to late 1700's (critics argue endlessly over the exact date), received disdain and rejection and accusations as a worthless and socially damaging collection of amorous dalliances and irresponsible wild adventures. The Fredric Werthams of the day denigrated the medium and chastised readers for wasting their time. And yet the novel endured and prospered and became an integral part of reading and education. Comics too have made it into the classroom for educated analysis. Comics in the Classroom will post intermittently and showcase a comic and the way the teacher uses the work in her or his classroom. The first guest is Professor Hetal Thaker who teaches at a Pennsylvania community college and uses Lynda Barry's "Two Questions" for her English composition one course. Enjoy.

Professor Hetal Thaker: Using Lynda Barry’s “Two Questions” for English Composition 1

The Low-frequency Listener: Why did you choose “Two Questions” over other comics?  What unique traits does “Two Questions” have to have offer readers?

Professor Hetal Thaker: “Two Questions” was the work anthologized in the text assigned for the class. Lynda Barry is awesome! This work is all about writing and the creative process and it is very process oriented, which makes it apt to use for a composition course. Barry is a well respected graphic artist.

L-fL: What other comics did you consider teaching?

PHT: I’ve definitely considered using other comics; it’s just a matter of the class situation and when the comic would be appropriate to the course.  I’ve considered using Alison Bechdel’s Fun Home, American Born Chinese by Gene Luen Yang, Goodbye Chunky Rice by Craig Thompson along with his other work Blankets, and Art Spiegelman’s Maus.

L-fL: What do students gain from reading “Two Questions”?

PHT: Most of these works that I’m drawn to are memoirs, and they use the same techniques as plain prose to convey the story, plus graphic elements are included.  Also comics have a unique  handling of the point of view that regular prose does not. It helps bring consideration of the point of view to the students’ attention.

L-fL: What activities and or assignments do you use for “Two Questions”

PHT: The students read it and we discuss it as a class. I use it as a preparation for the narrative essay where students are assigned to write about something influential in their lives. I usually use this assignment as a mini assignment. We discuss whether graphic literature should be considered literature. Students compose a short writing on graphic literature as a credible literary form. Sometimes I use “The Sanctuary of School” by Lynda Barry with “Two Questions” and these two texts work together well.

L-fL: What are some common reactions/responses do students have towards looking at a comic in a critical way?

PHT: Some students really get into it, while others are put off by how much is going on upon the page. This usually leads to a discussion of how to read the comic. Is it read left to right? Top to bottom? Through these questions it becomes a lot easier to consider and investigate the process of writing. 

Lf-L: Did you receive any resistance from students, other professors, or administration in using a comic book in the class room?

PHT: No.

Graphic literature is not something that needs to be justified; my assumption is that graphic literature is worthwhile. Initially I had no idea about graphic literature. I was doing research for my mentor in graduate school on experimental web-based prose and experimental literature. My professor recommended Fun Home, Persepolis and I was intrigued at how Persepolis was required reading at West Point. All of this was so brand new and exciting.

 

A Frightful Trinity

                               

Fear, in English, hatches from the Old Saxon vār meaning “ambush”.

Fear orchestrates its ambush on the first pages of these three comics, and strategically orients the story to re-assault readers. 

The Darkness 101, Ragemoor 1 and  The Bulletproof Coffin: Disinterred 3 provide a host of frightful images  needing awful adjectives. A reader's willing suspension of disbelief remains necessary to experience the within these pages, and the creative teams of these books arrange elements to craft a fearful atmosphere to ambush readers with a state of dread.

Fear in fiction starts with establishing an appropriate setting. The Darkness opens with a prelude drawn by John Tyler Christopher and scripted by Ron Marz that shows a full page of Jackie Estacado standing amongst the light of a lone bulb. Tentacled creatures writhe within the shadows. Estacado holds a dead bulb in his right hand, partially in the darkness, partially in the light, but his lower left leg and foot exposed fully to the light is india-ink black. This coloration hints that direct light reveals the true nature of the character: dark. The dialogue starts the story with a question, “Awake now? That’s good. We need to talk.” A question, signifying an unknown element…and plenty texts extol the fear associated with the unknown.  An ominous portent follows the question: “We need to talk.” This assertion embodies an ambush of misfortune that can only end in pain and suffering, especially when spoken by a man half concealed in darkness with multiple–eyed and tentacled beasts filling the shadows.

David Hine and Jeremy Haun’s beginning of the main story in The Darkness depict Estacado’s arrival at home and the cheerful eager greeting by his daughter and his contented thoughts are juxtaposed with the first words voiced to him by his “perfect wife”: “Don’t touch me you bastard! What did you do? Tell me Jackie, what did you fucking do?!”Such terrible questions rarely have comforting answers.The setting for terrible events is established. 

Ragemoor sets the mood with a full splash page showing the castle high atop a seaside cliff. Man-made structure blends with the natural craggy coast with rocks that suggest skulls and hanging vines that suggest dripping blood. The text of "Fortress, sentinel, guardian, prison" inform readers that the castle that initially seems to defend, ultimately entraps. Amubshed. Long-faced Herbert warns, “You should not have come.” His direct gaze resigns the impending evil and danger Herbert knows will transpire. He doesn't bother telling listeners to leave. The ambush has been begun.

In Bulletproof Coffin:Disinterred, Hine and Kane give a three panel spread blending two different realities (heroes and a disturbed boy manipulating dolls of heroes), and the final panel having a doll of the Coffin Fly aiming his laser pistol at the reader and “FZZZZAAASSSSHHH!!!”

What is real? Who cares? Watching kids act in such a manner is creepy. Reality is unimportant; fear's ambush continues. The opening two panels each depict open graves that contain none of the playfulness or reflection of graves in Hamlet. Rather the graves on Hine and Kane's page, despite the bright colors, have firm links with the domiciles from the denizens of  Night of the Living Dead.
After setting and springing the fear-filled ambushes within the story, each book closes with promises of future frights. This structure of frightful prelude, the fearful thing revealed, and promise of more fear to come, add to the fright of the larger storyline as readers anticipate what may come. Hine and Haun close with a distilled being of the Darkness manifested as a loving parent to an adoring child.  An unsuspecting Hope Estacado eagerly and unwittingly approaches this embodied evil who leers with a Charles-Manson smile and says “My child.” Happy endings to such a set up remain difficult to conceive. The ambush resets for issue two.

Hine and Kane close issue 3 of The Bulletproof Coffin: Disinterred with a child hiding in bed with a lighter.  The potential horrors of this situation haunt the mind, and the haunting possibilities become more dire when the globe full of gun powder and the child's reality altering powers get recalled. An ambush awaiting a future issue. Castle Ragemoor, after killing two guests, sits firmly on its foundations unharmed. Its pagan rage momentarily quenched, it waits for its next attack. The structure of the tales of these three books ride a plot wave of fear, and comics possess and unending swell of horror to deliver; fearful ambushes waiting to break on readers month after month and issue after issue.                                                                                    

Conan the Barbarian: Queen of the Black Coast #2

The ending of Conan the Barbarian: Queen of the Black Coast issue 2 sets up a great beginning. After a skirmish at sea, desire grows hotter between Bêlit and Conan. Nothing in this issue exposes the mutual attraction and repulsion of Bêlit and Conan as exquisitely as the last page. The issue culminates in the final words of Bêlit: “Make me your queen.”

What to make of this final line from Bêlit? Does it diminish her autonomy? Does it rob her power? No, desire is Bêlit’s impetus. Few works capture the workings and effects of desire, Eros, as well as Sappho’s work:

Ἔρος δ' ἐτίναξέ μοι
φρένας, ὠς ἄνεμος κὰτ ὄρος δρύσιν ἐμπέτων.

And Eros quivers my core

like harp strings,

As a wind down a mountain,

Falling on oak trees.

(fragment 47, Campbell, my translation)

"Make me your queen." One simple imperative. No doubt or hesitancy flutters about this command. It is not offered as an  argument or a point of debate; there are no expectations for rebuttals, questions, or examinations of multiple experts. No. It is a simple straight independent clause that manifests a reality by its mere utterance. Why this immediate willingness for Belit to voice such an order to a man, a young one at that, whom she’s never met and who has just killed many of her crew?

Eros moves quickly, like a mountain wind, and has no interest in debate or other plans of an individual. When Eros arrives, it commands, and moves and shakes the heart and soul of an individual; Eros plays their wants and actions like a master musician commanding her instrument. There’s no possibility to resist—there’s no desire to resist. Bêlit is being played by a god.

A god who moves swiftly and strikes hard, having gathered strength by racing down a mountain, mount Olympus perhaps, and falling upon (drenching with sexual connotations) oak trees, strong mighty columns of wood (let your mind work dirty on this one too). Bêlit utters her command to Conan after such a short interval of interaction because Eros works fast.

“Make me your queen.”

Cloonan renders this shock exquisitely in Conan’s eyes, parted wide with surprise, his head angled on his neck, as if pulling back from Belit. Despite the sword in his hand, and taut muscles, this last panel makes clear that Conan is not the one calling the shots. He too has been quivered by wind from down a mountain.

This tension between Conan and Bêlit, and the way Cloonan and Wood handle the interaction, is one of the great pleasures of reading this comic. Difficulty exists balancing two willful characters prone to murderous rages and extreme violence, bringing these two together, in a believable fashion, and in a way that doesn’t weaken the power of either character had to keep Cloonan and Wood awake at night pondering the best way to pull off such a feat, but, it worked.

In the second to last panel Bêlit states “I am Bêlit.” an assertion of her own identity and existence. A statement of force, yet, her body is arched towards Conan, arms to her side, breasts pushed forward head tilted back to look up at Conan. Her body carriage of submission counters the power and command of her spoken words. Likewise Conan’s stance reveals his hesitancy, Cloonan draws him rigid and slightly tilted back from Bêlit; yet he’s not powerless, he has a notched and bloody sword in his hand (and after slaying about 16 members of her crew), this balance of vulnerability and strength exuded by each character toward one another is masterfully handled, and prevents the book and the characters from falling into something very very cheesy.

In the last panel on the last page, the two finally meet one another with a full on direct frontal view, after each character has explicitly stated who they are:

“My name is Conan. I am a Cimmerian.”

“I am Bêlit. Make me your queen.”

The cores of two individuals have been quivered.

Frankenstein Agent of S.H.A.D.E. #7

Mary Shelley, in Switzerland during a cold dreary summer that didn't exist in 1816, took up a prompt by Lord Byron to create a horrific tale. And so Frakenstein's monster was born, a birth that originated in some friends gathered together looking for a way to pass the time after having read some ghost stories. Frankenstein Agent of S.H.A.D.E. cultures the dark delightful impetus that lead to Mary Shelly's Prometheus.

Frankenstein Agent of  S.H.A.D.E. issue 7 contains the story of Frankenstein (combining the intellect of Mary Shelley’s Romantic hero and the good looks of Boris Karloff) and his monster companions battling a coup of S.H.A.D.E. headquarters and lead by “failed” scientific creations. While re-reading issue 7, three words stood out that capture the multiple appealing facets of this book. for Frankenstein

1. Familiar: "Who is she? She seems familiar." A discarded scientific monster asks of its creator.
2. Gateway: S.H.A.D.E.Net, open the gateway." Frankenstein demands of a locked door.
3. Pleasure: "Hrrn...with extreme pleasure, Father." Frankenstein responds to his boss regarding the elimination, with extreme prefudice, of the rebel humanids.

Familiar:

Humanity inherited the Frankenstein monster. Mary Shelley's monster rests as a familiar touchstone where a reader already has the basic knowledge of the tale. Some details may vary, but the core elements (manufactured life, severe parenting issues, social misfit, tall, dark, and ugly) are present and provide some known orientation for any Frankenstein story. J.G. Jones's cover to issue 7 hearkens to the airbrushed colors of the 1931 movie poster. Behind this cover, Jeff Lemire, Alberto Ponticelli, and Walden Wong work fit the familiar Frankenstein features to great effect. Frankenstein sports beloved neck bolts, green flesh, and a skein of sutures unwound upon his skin. Frankenstein even has a bride, Lady Frankenstein, albeit an estranged one, that shares the shade of his skin but with fewer stitches; she's also relaxed her hairstyle from one worn by Elsa Lanchester in 1935. Frankenstein even meets some friends also familiar to general audiences for at least 50 years (Griffith, The Wolfman (1941); Velcoro, Dracula (1931); Nina, The Creature from the Black Lagoon (1954); Khalis, The Mummy (1932). All familiar fiends.

Gateway:
Lemire and Pontniceli take the familiar monster archetypes and move them through a gateway to meet the 21st century reader. Nanotechnology exists side-by-side with Frankenstein's flintlock pistol and broadsword. These magical creatures are essential to the operation of this high-tech world. Each character, while still representative of a tradition, has been brought by Lemire through some creative temporal gateway to become relevant and adapted for 21st century readers.

So what?

Pleasure!
This  book is a sheer delight to read! The storyline dazzles, dances, and brawls across the pages, a fitting progression for a host of magic science monsters. Frankenstein and his motley crue take on a rebellion of humanid slaves who have a life span of only 24 hours.  As if this isn't enough, issue 8 promises a scuffle with the spawn of Frankenstein (read Son of Frankenstein (1939)).

Amidst battling humanids, Velcoro and Griffith retreat to retrieve some weapons. Griffith asks the vampire who wears an aviator's cap and wearing yellow and black checkered arm warmers how he obtained the code for the weapons' room. The winged fiend replies "Won it off one of the science nerds in a poker game last week."  Lady Frankenstein, after shooting a gooey "science fair reject" comments "God, I'll never get this stuff out of my hair." Grim monster humor akin to the above lines augment the pleasure of an already pleasurable book.

The hyperbolic science in the stories delivers a sublime sheen with each issue. Frankenstein Agent of S.H.A.D.E. continues the distillation of a fiction that started amongst friends in Switzerland during the year without a summer, and it still spirits the imagination with wild ideas as only a horror-science-superhero comic book can.Just as the wolfman Griffith Warren (of Zevon fame?) expressed upon seeing the plethora of weapons within S.H.A.D.E.'s Secret Armory X, "I'm in heaven."

Wolves: Becky Cloonan

Past Tense Present

δαιμονίη, τί με ταῦτα λιλαίεαι ἠπεροπεύειν;

“Goddess, why do you long to deceive me with these things?"

Helen to Aphrodite in book three, line 399of the Iliad, my translation.

The past is always present in Becky Cloonan’s Wolves; all the verbs are in the present tense, with the exception of only three cases of the past tense and just one of the future tense. Verbs are the heart of a sentence, and in Wolves, verbs sluice the content and form of the tale into an eternal present where love unceasingly exists and fundamentally transforms a man.

The structure of Wolves is symmetrical—the story opens in the present of the unnamed main character, moves to the near-past (the hunt), then moves to the further-past (passion/prelude to the hunt), then back to the near-past (wolf fight and banishment) and finally a return to the present time when which the story began. These time shifts free the plot from temporal-enslavement; it also stretches suspense by causing the reader to wonder how the unnamed into such a savage state?

 

What can cause such flagrant regression?

Love. Even memories of a lost love.

The present of the unnamed is dirty, dark, lonely and exposed—his past exiled him not only from society, but humanity as well. The nudity, the eating of uncooked meat, and the hunched posture of the character conveys a defeat, a fatigued beast forever hunted. The present is brutal, but for the unnamed the remembrance of the things past that brought him to this state wounds more than his primitive existence.

These temporal transitions are one of the many deft moves Cloonan utilizes in this story.  Not only does love pulse through the story, but the beloved (The king’s wife? Daughter? Mistress? Sister?...it’s difficult to say for sure…as in life, love in this story is a powerful anonymous enigma) moves the story through time. The negative space in the panel when the woman first appears (and in all subsequent human appearances) has a background of hatch lines—that serve not only to highlight and contrast her skin and hair, but also conveys temporal shifting. The verb tense, however, remains in the present, keeping these memories current for the nameless hunted atavistic main character depicted on the opening page of the story.

 And the verbs, grammatically sexy, are employed to full effect to make this remembered love immediate. “You are cursed,” are the first words thought by the unnamed. The sentence is in the passive voice, the unnamed is acted upon…he is the hunted rather than the hunter. Cursed by whom or what? The King? Fate? Love? Again, Cloonan molds ambiguity to sharpen the power of the tale and to allows it to extend to any universal time and place. 

On page eight, the past tense appears as the unnamed hunter slumped, holding his head, alone thinks about the further-past: “I tried to reassure her. I said, ‘Who else would the king send?’”. The anguish and loneliness Cloonan conjures in this scene with the solid black background, a wispy shade of grey to contrast the character and the bush has the look of flames (both passion, memories, and doubt burning and consuming the main character). The next panel gives an uncomfortable close up, with wide scared eyes and sweat beads that seem pushed out of pores by fear. The unnamed hunter thinks “She’s not wrong. What I do is dangerous…but what we did was practically suicidal.”

The use of the past tense in the active voice suggests that the unnamed, and one would surmise his beloved too, knew the full danger of their passion, and yet much like Helen, the characters continued in their action, unable, or unwilling, to resist. They act on the choice, but the consequences of the choice act on them. It is with the effect of the these consequences that the sole use of the future tense is used. The unnamed upon approaching the king thinks "And now there will be no lenience..." In Wolves love is dire in the past, present, and future. 

“Take your reward, hunter, and go. You can never return to this place. You are cursed.” The king speaks these commands to the unnamed (as he remembers the near-past). And the reward? Even though coins are shown, they're never retrieved or carried. The love that coins can buy doesn’t wreck souls to the degree shown on the opening pages. What does the king mean by "this place”? The throne room? The castle? Civilization? Humanity? The state of love? Again Cloonan’s resistance to clarify bolsters the mythic eternal implications of this story. All these meanings are contained in the king’s words, and the character leaves the king, the castle, civilization. The unnamed thinks “But the curse was already in my breast. It blackens and consumes. Its corrosion transforms me. Where once was a hunter now lies a wolf. Haunted by my past…hunted by my memories” It is a chilling end. What is the curse? An absence of the beloved? A constant present memory of the lost beloved? Lycanthrope? The only answers Cloonan offers are memories. The memories of the nameless hunter-now-hunted’s lost love have transformed him from man to a beast. This pain of the eternally-present past erode his humanity and his ill-fated love makes him akin to the words Helen utters to Love: 

ἔχω δ᾽ ἄχε᾽ ἄκριτα θυμῷ. 

("And I hold in my heart unceasing lament." from Iliad Book 3 line 412, my translation. )

Buy your copy of Wolves at Becky Cloonan's website http://beckycloonan.bigcartel.com/! Buy extra copies and give them to friends and strangers! 

Bulletproof Coffin:Disinterred #2

 

I hate and I love. And if you ask how

I can do both, I couldn’t say; but

I felt it, and it shivers me.

            by Catullus

Translated by Charles Martin

Upon finishing the second issue of Kane and Hine’s Bulletproof Coffin: Disinterred #2, I too “feel it, and it shivers me.”

Kane and Hine set up irreconcilable factors in “Tales From The Haunted Jazz Club.” Three short tales haunt this single issue, and the tales are said to be true (but of course they’re not…at  least one really hopes they’re not) and yet “The Hands of  Clay” “Fixing Suzie” and “Hairy Inside” are…they’re…they’re just…weird. Lovers killing their beloveds, harmless statues evoking harm, a bald woman with a fear of hair wearing a hair jacket, superheroes and their secret identities, a beatnik dating a guy from tech school, all these factors, and other elements both disturb by their oppositions and yet at the same time intrigue.

 As for how the tales “can do both, I couldn’t say.” Hine and Kane manipulate the basic opposition in comics themselves, texts and words. They use this opposition to tell great stories that speak ineffable sensations without being preachy or pretentious but rather serious and simultaneously silly. These tales also give an answer to Catullus’s question of how someone can reconcile two opposite feelings. As a reader “I feel it and it shivers me.”

Kane and Hine create a nostalgic feel of Golden age comics (think EC’s Tales from the Crypt, and Lee and Kirby’s Fantastic Four) and yet combine this past style with a 21^st century sensibility and style. I don’t know how, exactly, but the story and art doesn’t feel like an imitation, but an application and rearrangement of those earlier elements. Like the Golden Nugget publications themselves, the work is illusively allusive.

The contrast of the colors mirrors the paradoxes in the stories. After the interior cover page (we’re reading a comic within a comic) we have Edgar Landru introducing the first tale amidst a two-tone red background with hovering green quarter and eighth notes in the air. Red and green are contrasting colors…two opposed elements that somehow unify the story and set the tone for readers. The same with Landru himself, zombie-pale skin in a black suit.  Certainly the use of contrasting colors is no earth shattering move, and it doesn’t occur in every panel on every page in the book, but this color-contrast motif strikes the reader hard with the way fields of a solid color are used. No gradated changes appear, if Kane wants a shift in color you’ll be able to find a hostile border dividing the two tones (which won’t always be a black line), these colors combine like two clashing pendulums forever swinging their arcs into each other. And yet it creates a captivating effect for the entire issue, “I feel it, and it shivers me.”

 

These oppositions, while giving tension and a strong dose of the outré to the tales, go beyond merely setting up and pointing out oppositions. These opposing elements collapse into one another through the monstrous. Only something terrible (a something so disturbing it causes Jackson J. Jackson to mentally block it out. Once consciously remembered, J.J.J. suffers physical illness) can reconcile through paradoxes. 

In “Hands of Clay,” a wife’s complete (and erroneous) belief in her doctor husband’s abilities against the doctor’s own doubt and limitations concludes with an operation the doctor describes as “my awful work.” In “Fixing Suzi” a romance between a beatnik and a tech school student results in a stutter repaired by brain surgery. And “Hairy Inside” has two lovers who appear to have the same dislike of hair, until an ill-purchased idol causes one to search for a single hair of difference, and elaborate on this one difference and after a lot of stabbing, state “I’m here to warn you that there are monsters out there.” These stories offer the horrible as a solution to these warring feelings.  Shake your conventions and expectations up. Buy and read issue two.

I’m eagerly awaiting it and dreading it. I want to read about voodoo love, and I want to turn away, and if you ask how I can do both, I don’t know, but I trust the storytelling of Kane and Hine, and know it will shiver me.