Transmetropolitan

Transmetropolitan is a wonderful series, a real sort of 'classic' in my eyes (I'd read the series before this class, but seeing it on the resource list made me jump back onto it) about a Hunter S. Thompson kind of figure in the future, who breathlessly pursues truth and dogs corruption at the turn of every page. One of Warren Ellis's more prominent works, the energy just jumps right off the page.

The art is fantastic enough, but Ellis's writing is really what sells it as a story - the character of Spider Jerusalem being its own little microcosm of humor and sometimes not-so-subtle political commentary. Spider's 'Thompson' sheen extends so far as to have his own Nixon to battle with, as well as indulging in every other vice (as well as some that don't even exist yet) that Thompson did.

But merely framing Transmet's main dude as a caricature of Thompson is disingenuous, as Spider can clearly stand on his own two feet as an individual and as a harbinger of critical political commentary. Throughout the series, Spider comes across as not just a fabulously and hilariously-written bundle of explosive energy, but as a kind and fair intellectual, truly devoted to his self-described cause - even if it means shooting a few people with a bowel disruptor.

The sheer length of the series, as well, allows a great deal of stories and ideas to be imparted to the patient reader, making Transmetropolitan a pretty ace thing to endeavor soaking up. I certainly feel like a better person for making the leap and eventually devouring the whole thing.

  

Now the only thing I need to do is find the entire series again in a format that'll load onto my iPad.

Sin City

Frank Miller's 'Sin City' is a pretty neat series, as far as neo-noir storytelling goes. Interestingly, its author is sort of a dick, and the stories in it are not very feel-good or even politically correct, and yet it has enjoyed enormous success. Being adapted into the 2005 film, as well as simply distributed and read in comic form, Sin City is a pretty iconic series.

I personally felt as if I was 'slogging' through certain parts, and just sort of going through the motions of reading the panels (especially the bits in A Dame To Kill For where Dwight would just not shut up), but some parts were genuinely rewarding in terms of their pacing and art - one of the most haunting take-aways from the whole series is the vision of a bandaged Dwight on the phone with Ava, promising his revenge. Absolutely chilling stuff.

The later (restrained) use of red, blue, and yellow in some of the stories is really effective, and sort of shocks the up-'til-then complacent reader to full attention for those bits. the entire Yellow Bastard storyline is pure sadistic insanity, rivaled only by the cellar scenes in The Hard Goodbye.

One of the things about Sin City that's really excellent is the way the storylines neatly dovetail into one another, picking up threads and themes from previous or future storylines at will. They connect to one another with a seeming prescience that makes me wonder how much Frank Miller planned it, and how much just sort of happened.

The last point of note I want to address here is the characterization - I personally wonder how much of the characters is Frank Miller talking, and how much of them is just…them. The reason I wonder this is because I have unfortunately been exposed to some of Miller's personal politics through the internet, and his characters in Sin City from twenty years ago tend to echo his words a bit here and there.

Regardless of that, one of my favorite characters in the series is Marv, if only for the fact that his politics are fairly tame and his principles are sterling silver. Dwight comes in at a close second, if only for the fact that he is one canny motherfucker.

From Hell

Alan Moore's "From Hell" is a strange, epic work. I was originally drawn into it due to its writer, who is one of my favorites, but was then gripped wholly by its artful dance between fiction and reality (indeed, Moore has some 50 pages in the rear of the work detailing his research!), as well as its uncompromising characterizations of its men and women.

Moore's approach to narrative generation here is exquisite - summoning up the long-dead ghosts of a whole cast of real individuals, he weaves a new history for their lives that they never led, imbuing them quite handily with Masonic credentials and theophanic visions.

A strange undercurrent runs beneath the work for its main character, which is both profoundly paranoid and uniquely misogynistic - believing that the future of the world, for it to happen, must see the dominance of men over women - and not just in a literal sense, but in a mystical one. This undercurrent provides much of his drive when he assumes the work and identity of "Saucy Jack", with all of his Masonic rambling and "double events".

The art in it is pretty gruesome, which is oddly fitting, given the nature of the narrative - something I observed early on was that "everyone in this is ugly". Even the prostitute victims, some of whom were historically beautiful women, are drawn in a scratchy and brutal style. There was only one panel amongst the whole work that I could say was legitimately optimistic in its portrayal of an individual.

On the whole, I really enjoyed this work, as it was something very different and very dark. Some of the murders, being quite horrific, made me squirm while I was 'reading' through them, so - bravo. Mission accomplished.

The whole thing ties up very neatly in an ending that I can say is uncommonly satisfying, and the various 'visions' that show up throughout the work, hinting at an inevitable future yet to come, weave themselves into that ending and somehow give it even more power - by hinting that, perhaps, Jack was not quite as insane as we all thought.

Calvin & Hobbes

Calvin and Hobbes is a classic, something that hardly needs to be mentioned - delighting generations of readers in the past and hopefully generations in the future. Straining at the edges of its fairly insular medium of newspaper comics, C&H combines gorgeously simple drawings with an incendiary wit, delivered by the comic's unstoppable Calvin. With Hobbes serving as the softer foil to Calvin's industrious mayhem, the two form a narrative duo that can simultaneous perceive and question all sides of the events that life throws out to them, while reserving their judgement just enough to allow the reader reflection rather than argument.

   

The purely fantasy elements of C&H's world are wonderful escapes from the typically mundane world the characters are trapped within - Watterson excellently portrays the fanciful ness of childhood imagination and escape with a deft and welcoming sense of style.

   

The few examples of recurring storylines are counterpoint to the strip's normally random and independent structure wherein the characters are free to act as insane and unbound by the conventions of society as they like. C&H was an essential part of my childhood, allowing me a place to explore strange and wonderful ideas typically barred from a child's daily life - strangely enough.

V For Vendetta

V for Vendetta, by Alan Moore, is a work which I initially found quite difficult to read due to its somewhat hackneyed construction in both the narrative and artistic realm (appropriately enough, the book's preface is essentially an apology by Moore regarding the beginning of the work's unsteady foundation).

The titular character, V, is a frank and astounding bundle of theatrics and domestic terrorism, a faceless avatar of an immortal idea. V's selfless and ceaseless devotion to his adopted ideal borders on pathological autism, made all the stranger by V's shadowy past and casual erudition. The lengths that V goes to to manipulate and "save" his initially hapless co-conspirator are obscene, going far beyond the boundaries of what we would typically think of as "emotional and physical abuse", all in the service of a hazily-defined crusade which, miraculously, resolves itself quite neatly at the end - and all according to a grand and inhuman masterwork of a plan.

The hand-off at the end of the tale, from V to girl, physically echoes his earlier assertion - that you can kill the man, but not the idea. "Ideas are bulletproof."

Moore's use of the visual "pun" elements and interweaving "unrelated" writing with strangely coincidental imagery is at its peak throughout several issues, however, a theme that he would return to in Watchmen.

 I have to say that while Moore is one of my favorite authors, I find myself a little perplexed at the popularity this particular work has enjoyed, as it is not particularly 'gripping', it is merely competent and very grim. I have a suspicion that the two aspects were what managed to set it apart back when it was published - much as how the Punisher enjoys the popularity it does for being something few comics at "its time" were.

Sandman

Sandman is a truly epic work, headed by Neil Gaiman and slavishly attended to by a team of shifting illustrators, comprising an unfortunately finite series of brilliant narrative. Monomythical in nature, Sandman follows the extra-corporeal adventures of Morpheus of The Endless, the administrator of Dream and gradual friend of the mortal realm.

The artwork in the series initial thrust is difficult to digest - which has led me, in the past, to rigorously caution newcomers to it all that "it gets better, I swear". The vaguely revamped version in Sandman Ultimate has only managed to slightly address this situation - though 'older' fans like myself seem to prefer the 'classic' look of the old and eye-searing initial volumes.

The themes that are woven throughout the series as a whole are sweeping in breadth and literally fantastic in nature - combining myths and legends from all corners of the earth and all eras of history, deftly metastasizing the disparate threads into a cohesive whole with the titular character firmly at the enter.

Morpheus finds himself tackling many things - the predations of humans, the intrigues of his fellow immortals and the gods that entertain their attentions, becoming the de facto owner of Hell, and eventually the struggle for his very existence as a being capable of change and perhaps even death (Death, meanwhile, being literally related by blood as Dream's sister).

The whole series is a sort of roller coaster ride that feels as much a tour of human mythological history as it does a clear narrative about a character who learns and lives despite being an immortal fixture in the fabric of our psychological universe.

This was (and is) easily one of the most important series I have read as both an artist and an individual, and has greatly informed the way I enjoy weaving together disparate characters and events in narratives - as well as 

Zombies VS Robots

Ashley Wood and Chris Ryall's "Zombies VS Robotss" is an interesting experiment in both art and narrative. With Wood's gritty and explosive art style dominating what thin narrative exists, it's quite easy to ignore the story and simply allow your eyes to lock themselves into autopilot for essentially the entire work.

In terms of technical arrangement, Wood doesn't merely break the rules of conventional comic book paneling, he burns them and tosses them into a ditch. Action spills across multiple, barely-implied  panel borders and pages, with lavishly-illustrated splash pages serving as pictorial exclamation points at the end of frenetic action sequences.

Other novel elements include ancillary 'definition' panels providing outside context for certain otherwise unexplained portions and characters in the story - a clear reversal of the "show, don't tell" maxim, something that comes across in the work as oddly refreshing.

The bulk of the work consists of the titular robots and zombies shredding one another into a fine pink and gunmetal mist, joined later by a tribe of lesbian zipatoned amazons, culminating in an apocalyptic battle that guarantees the theoretical destruction of all zombies, granting the heroes an ultimately temporary respite.

A truly intriguing and unique work, something that I found early on when I was first becoming acquainted with Mr. Wood. It really set the tone for the sort of work I felt at the time that I eventually wanted to be doing about two years ago (though that turned out quite differently - oh well). I felt that I learned (and I feel that I continue to learn) quite a great deal from Wood's flair for effortlessly dancing between the realms of narrative and image, and combining them in a way that is truly astounding.