Comics Review, March 16 2014

I have an ulterior motive in writing this post: the first five of you to read it will push my views over 5000, which makes me rather happy. That's kind of a milestone for me, and I appreciate your readership. Cheers, to you.

(I also need something to do while I sit around waiting for Saga vol.3)

Now, to comics. Personal budget cuts have been hard on my pull list, and I've basically cut DC and Marvel out of my life altogether at this point. Which sucks, really, because Jeff Lemire is still doing a wonderful job with Green Arrow; I got pretty pumped when Tockman made an appearance in the comics and the show (Arrow), in the same issue that Diggle first appears in the comic. It was, I think, a sign that DC is beginning to do with Green Arrow what Marvel has done with S.H.I.E.L.D., create a storyline and characters with a foot in each world, print and screen.

At this point there are four print titles that get me all hot under the collar when they show up each month: FBP and Hinterkind, both from Vertigo; and Velvet and Pretty Deadly, both Image titles. I've reviewed most of these already, but it's been a while and I want to quickly touch on what I'm liking about each series. I think I'll start with Velvet.

Velvet #4 cover by Steve Epting

I've gushed a bit about the artwork in this title, and Brubaker's treatment of such a beloved but under-used spy trope, the "Girl Friday". That was after the first issue; #4 came out this month, and it's only been getting better. Our heroine, Velvet Templeton, has shown herself to be resourceful, elegant, determined, scared, angry, and most recently dumbfounded by the intriguing mess she has become embroiled in. Brubaker's writing is, as ever, superb, and Steve Epting's art is tantalizing blend of flair and grit. The punches fly thick and fast, and the shadows are deepening. I'm not sure that it's Noir, at least not to the level that Criminal or Fatale were. You don't develop such a deep loathing and pity for Velvet as you might for the Lawless boys, but she's got flaws nonetheless. Brubaker is still keeping his characters grounded in a sort of wounded reality, something I think his readers have really connected with over the years, maybe even the thing that his readership has become founded on. Feel free to prove me wrong on that count. Either way, Ed's sticking to the dark and secretive stories we've come to love him for, and this book is a treat to get my hands on every month.

Pretty Deadly #4 cover by Emma Rios

Pretty Deadly's been getting some wicked great reviews, and who can disagree? It's a phenomenal series. It got off to a rough start with that whole debacle about the issue that was torn up somewhere down south, but the number of issues #1s sold was astonishing. I don't really know that I can say anything about this series better than John Parker already has.

Pretty Deadly is an Eastern myth incubated in a Western Womb; a story within a story within a story; a dark fairytale about bad men, worse women, and Deadface Ginny, the reaper of vengeance, the daughter of Death. Commence head-banging now.

Everything about the series just clicks for me. Emma Rios's style of illustration is visceral, energetic, the kind of non-polished immediateness I've been trying to achieve in some of my own work. The colours are spectacular; if you've ever been to the Painted Desert in Arizona, you know what I'm talking about. The story...well, reading it as someone who cut his teeth on Louis L'Amour paperbacks and has developed an abiding interest in all things mythology, not to mention Eastern (Islamic, specifically Persian) forms of narrative, has been an absolute joy. The mythic landscape DeConnick and Rios are creating gets more layered and complex with each issue. The frame-narrative form solidifies. New characters are introduced, and new spiritual elements are made apparent, which adds a deeper consequence to the actions of the story. You become invested in their world, and that is a sign of a well-crafted tale.

Hinterkind #6 cover by Greg Tocchini

On the topic of mythology, Ian Edgington's Hinterkind has been an interesting ride. I don't often put it in the list of favourite comics that I rattle off when people ask me what I'm reading, and then I remember how pumped I am to find it in my box once a month. I must be enjoying it or something. For a couple issues near the beginning I wasn't quite sure where it was going. The premise seemed a little hodgepodge, a bunch of scraps of ideas that we were allowed to glimpse out of context one at a time, with no notion of how they might fit together. This last issue, though, #6, solidified in a big way. Some pretty massive hints were dropped about what's in store for us, in a way only attempted assassinations and airships can do. I will say no more. If you're looking for a unique blend of post-apocalypse survival and Hellboy-esque re-imagined faerie civilization, then this may be the book for you. The art's a little rough, and the start's a little slow, but I have a hunch that there's some big story in the next couple issues. I for one am looking forward to it.

FBP #5 cover by Nathan Fox

And finally, FBP, formerly Collider for those of you out of the loop (there's a physics joke in there somewhere...). This title is hands-down my monthly favourite, a colourful, sharp, unpredictable romp through the ins and outs of life in the Federal Bureau of Physics. It's so good that I keep thinking it's an Image title (I'm so unimpressed with DC these days that, when something good comes out, I assume they weren't responsible for it. I have to start cutting Vertigo some slack). I couldn't pick my favourite bit of this title if I wanted to. Oliver's writing is dry, smart, and funny; Rodriguez's art is the perfect pairing. Not to mention that I get a new Nathan Fox cover to drool over every month (a good reason to keep your comics in plastic, folks), though he did change up his style a bit on this last one. I'm still trying to figure out what I think of it. New story arc, though, starting in issue #8, so maybe it's just a matter of him creating a way of visually identifying a chapter. I'd be okay with that.

There's nothing I love reading right now more than this comic. They've done a great job of pacing the story, sprinkling each issue with hints of mysterious family tragedy and high-level corporate conspiracy. There's a lot that can go wrong when you privatize control over the fabric of reality. They dropped a Plato's Cave reference in this last issue, and I sort of shook my head and kept reading. The Cave was cool the first time I heard about it, but it gets a little worn out the more sci-fi you encounter. It looks like FBP might redeem itself in its use, primarily because at this point I have no idea where Oliver is taking us with it. This is the unpredictability I mentioned earlier; there are no rules in the world Oliver has created, or rather, what rules there were are fundamentally breaking down. Nothing is stable. Every issue is capable of pulling you in and showing you something you never saw coming, no matter how much you thought you had it figured out. It leaves you wanting more. It leaves me with the insatiable urge to go shoot pool...

A Little Sword & Sorcery

There's a peculiar joy in creating a fictional character from scratch, coming to terms with their personality, their quirks and foibles, the things in their past that define who and why they have evolved. More than that, there is a joy in becoming that character, discovering how this person you've crafted holds up within a plot. And that is the magic of Dungeons & Dragons. Organic storytelling, role-playing, an immersive and interactive narrative that brings with a camaraderie unique to gamers. And if you're lucky, the gamers bring with them beer and pizza.

I've never used this blog as a platform for creative writing before, but why not? I use it for everything else, and You People keep reading it. Allow me to introduce you to Damian Jakobi of The Aundairian Dragoons, a soldier, a scholar, and a lover of good, dark Stout (like myself).

(Unashamed references have been made to Indiana Jones, Daniel Jackson, and Captain Diego Alatriste y Tenorio.)

It was a long war.

Granted, Damian Jakobi only had to fight through the last few bloody years of it, but it was enough. They were the frontliners, scouts, paving the way to war for The Knights Arcane. Never had there been a more thrilling time to be young and dangerous, trained in secret arts of alchemy and steeped in a nationalism born of war. Light and fast, mounted on the best horses House Vadalis had to offer the war effort, a group of young men hand-picked from The Academy for wits as quick as their blades.

They were fearless, to a man. At the head of their column rode Hardan D’Tharashk, a stoic young noble schooled in scout-craft by the best of his House. Not all of them were noble-born. Jakobi’s father had been a tailor before Fairhaven was set ablaze. Diego the Miller’s Son was the fastest rapier Damian ever knew. They dubbed Damian “Jack”, on account of his name and his reputation as a Jack-of-all-Trades. If one could be taught to be canny, then Jack was a masterclass in it. He had quick fingers from a childhood perched on a stool in his father’s shop; hadn’t dropped a stitch since he was six. Jack’s mother was housekeep to a librarian at the University; she used to bring him back books discarded from the collections, tattered pamphlets full of obscure legal history, or maps with legends in languages none of them could recognize. Jack drank it all in. He loved secrets, knowing things that others would be envious of if they knew he knew, but they never would, and that made it all the sweeter.

But his love of secrets landed Jack on the frontlines of a war he wished he’d never known, and when it was over he did his best to leave it all behind him. He returned to Fairhaven where he dove back into his studies with a voracious thirst to understand the world he’d seen torn apart. The Last War had been cataclysmic, but it was not the End. History, he felt, would have the last word yet, and when it did it those who held The Past would hold The Future.

The post-war years drifted by. Jack found himself Head of Archaeological Endeavours at The Univerity of Wynarn, making frequent trips to study giant ruins in Xen’Drik or to the edges of the Mournland, riding the edges of the fog-bound plains in search of…answers. But the larger part of his life was teaching, standing in oak-paneled rooms to pontificate on the mysteries of the past. Hardan would show up at the end of the day with some newly formulated quip about how academic life was making Jack go soft, and then they’d go in search of beer. Hardan would bitch about the Fairhaven Watch salary, and Jack would explain some new development in Warforged psychology, each talking while the other had his mug to his face. To an outsider they made a strange pair, the Watchman and the Scholar, until the lamps started burning low and the seventh round was toasted with a quiet clink to the glory days, and they started telling stories. And then it all made sense.

And so, when Hardan came around one day with nothing to say about the rust building up on Jack’s rapier hilt, and when after two rounds Hardan pulled out a roll of parchment stamped with the seal of The Wayfinder Foundation and tossed it across the table, Jack didn’t really think twice. This was the Orb of Merrix, Merrix D’Cannith, and it was about time for a sabbatical…wasn’t it? “You could surely use the brains.”, Jack said. So it was settled.

Xen’Drik.


This character was created to fit the Eberron setting for D&D; if you're at all interested I encourage you dig further into the history and cultures of Eberron. It's a glorious Sword & Sorcery stew of wars, dragons, gods, and heroes ranging from Epic Romance to Fantasy Noir.

http://eberron.wikia.com/wiki/Eberron

The Banner Saga - Remembering the Meaning of Epic

I am, possibly, the slowest gamer I know. So when I say that I'm 6 hours into Stoic Studio's The Banner Saga it's implied that I've been taking my sweet time. Because this isn't a game you can rush through. This game is a tale, a myth, an epic in the truest sense of the word.

And above all else, it is beautiful.

There was a really excellent review written by Chris Suellentrop for the New York Times last week that drops names and gives production stat for this game. I recommend you read it. Chris sums up the game nicely when he says,

...the story is well plotted and set in an original world with a deep mythology and history, even if it approaches boilerplate high fantasy: The gods are dead. The sun is frozen. War has returned. The end of the world is nigh.

Why, Chris, you say "high fantasy" like it's a bad thing! That is precisely why I am going to gush all over this game; it feels like a true medieval epic brought to life. I've been looking for a game like this for some time. Way back in 2013 (practically ancient history), I played King Arthur: The Roleplaying Wargame for a couple months, and boy was it fun. For fans of Mary Stewart's Arthurian fiction, the game is full of pleasantly familiar places, people, and tropes. After a while, though, it felt a little forced. I lost interest in the story, because there wasn't really a story. I was undertaking a long series of disconnected quests with no real investment. I didn't know who my knights really were beyond their stat bonuses and magical powers; there was no real dialogue, very little you could say in character to change the story. So while the game was both challenging and very, very pretty I felt that it was squandering a lot of narrative potential. And I stopped playing.

The Banner Saga caught my eye on Steam the other day, as I perused lists of games that I really don't have time to be playing. It was the art that jumped out at me, not the glossy digital airbrushing makes up most video game art but crisp cartoon lines and vibrant colour, like the love child of Disney and Arthur Rackham. Actually, very similar to the work Fiona Staples is doing for (ironically) Saga with Brian K. Vaughan's. I was wonderstruck, and hesitant, fully prepared to be let down by shoddy game graphics and shallow gameplay after such a wondrous initial image. But it never happened.

Having only recently read Stephen R. Donaldson's essay on the nature of Epic Fantasy (recommended reading by Nobody Important), the sudden discovery of a story on this scale was a brilliant surprise. Donaldson writes of The Epic in the following manner:

...what makes something "epic?" Length, of course. But nothing in literature is that simple. An epic is not "epic" merely because it is longer than anything else. As Marx observed, "Differences in degree become differences in kind." An epic is "epic" because it deals explicitly with the largest and most important
questions of humankind: what is the meaning of life? why are we here? who is God and what is She doing? what is the religious and/or moral order of the universe? In fact, back in the days when epics were more commonly written, their acknowledged purpose was to tackle such questions. The "epic" was the highest form of literature, and was expected to say the highest things.
In effect, epics articulated the best religious and cultural, the best social and psychological self-perceptions of their times: they recorded the way humankind looked at itself.
It's interesting that throughout English literary history no writer has been able to write an enduring "epic" without using the metaphor of magic and the techniques of personification. Apparently, to be "epic" a work must not only be long and profound; it must almost be fantasy.
The reason for this is simple. Throughout English literary history, the writers of "epics" have wanted either to say something transcendent about what it means to be human, or to say something about the nature of transcendence itself. The tools and resources of fantasy were formed for just those subjects.

The game reads like it was plucked straight out of the pages of Heaney's Beowulf or the Volsungsaga. It is epic in the way The Lord of the Rings is epic, a story of warriors and kings and people fighting for survival in a world of truly mythic proportions. And yes, I say "reads" very deliberately; the voice acting is minimal and the script elaborate, leaving you to play out the dialogue in your head (or, in my case, in terrible Scandinavian accents when nobody else is home). You play through parallel stories in alternating chapters, as the leaders of two ragtag clans made up of Viking-like Humans and horned giants called Varl. The two races live under a tenuous alliance born of necessity in the forge of war, when the gods were killed, and the world was ravaged by the colossal and ferocious Dredge. That war ended years ago, but now a new crisis has arisen: the Sun is frozen. It hangs, motionless, in the sky, leaving the northern lands in a bleak perpetual daylight. Alliances must be maintained, but in this time of forced diplomacy the Dredge have returned. The clans find themselves on the move, though for different reasons. You must become a leader willing to make the hard choices to save your people...or you will die.

The creators of this game have created a living, breathing world with an elaborate history. From the beginning of the game you have access to the map of Ubin, the clan chronicler, depicting a vast world stretching hundreds of miles in all directions. Clicking place names brings up a window briefly detailing the role each landmark played in shaping the history of this brutal land. Now, this is no open-world RPG. Your movements are scripted, the path you must walk already planned for you. You're being railroaded, in short. Your input comes in the form of the decisions you must make along the way. Travel is no small matter; collect what resources you can, stay on the move, keep an eye on the size of your caravan as starvation threatens your clansmen and raiding monsters descend from the hills on the slow and weak. At one point I had to sacrifice a wagon full of treasure to save the life of one of my dearest warriors. It was costly, but Gunnulf is still with us. Thank the gods...no, wait, they're dead. Never mind.

The thing that jumps out of Donaldson's description (above) at me is the idea that "[Epics] recorded the way humankind looked at itself". In that regard, writing a fictional epic seems a little divorced from the whole concept, and I love the way The Banner Saga addresses that. The banners referenced in the title are long, trailing swathes of fabric that writhe in the wind as you watch your caravan trundle across the northern hills. Upon them are embroidered the running history of your people, with a section for each family's lineage. Members of the family (admittedly usually the women) learn to master the art of embroidery, for it is their responsibility to keep the story of their blood alive. There is talk of The Menders, arcane weavers of history, and an enchanted banner in the King's city that records events upon itself. This is a story about Stories of the most sacred kind, the stories that cultures tell of themselves, that form the foundations of their identity. The standard bearers in the armies of old were skilled warriors, tasked with defending the colours at all costs and until the bitter end. The 2011 film The Eagle expounded upon the weight of a soldier's honour tied to the symbol he fought for; the 2001 film The Last Castle with Robert Redford did much the same. The Banner Saga instills you with that respect for the symbol of your people. So I find myself fighting desperately to keep my clan alive, knowing that if they fall to the Dredge and the banner is lost it will mean the end of their history.

One last note on character development. I am impressed, because the women in this game are phenomenal. If there's one term I'm sick of hearing, it's "strong female character". Thankfully I'm not alone; this gem of an article was written back in August with the sub-header "Sherlock Holmes gets to be brilliant, solitary, abrasive, Bohemian, whimsical, brave, sad, manipulative, neurotic, vain, untidy, fastidious, artistic, courteous, rude, a polymath genius. Female characters get to be Strong." (Sophia McDougall). Damn right. So when I found myself in the middle of this conversation with Oddleif, the chieftain's wife, I literally fist-pumped and yelled for joy. We'd just come out the wrong end of a brutal skirmish to discover her husband lying dead in a cart, and this is what she had to say:

People tell me I'm a "strong woman". It's funny, my father named me Oddleif before I was even born. He wanted a boy so badly. Strong woman. What does that even mean? If I feel nothing about my husband dying people think I'm strong. If I cry because my insides feel life they're on fire I'm weak. Why does that feel so backwards?

To whoever scripted that bit of dialogue: someday I will find you, and I will hug you. I've also had a character refuse to auto-attack in combat because she decided through a conversation I had with her that she didn't want to kill Humans or Varl. It was a shock, and a welcome realization that this game means business when it come to knowing who your characters are.

Needless to say, The Banner Saga tells a beautiful tale. It's slow, quiet, contemplative at times and emotionally desperate at others. It's immersive in its scale and intricacy. Above all else, it is epic.