Deep Beats: A Review of Jillian Tamaki's SEX COVEN in Youth in Decline's Frontier #7

Kelly Sheehan: In 2004 I attended a concert that was part of a festival devoted to experimental music and sound artists. The performance took place in an old television studio, an environment designed to ensure optimum audio clarity. There were three acts, Francisco Lopez, Charlotte90 with Tim Coster, and Rosey Parlane. Francisco Lopez was interesting, producing a sound like a cathedral collapsing on you in slow motion, as were Charlotte 90 and Tim Coster, serenading with pleasant electronic squiggles and blips. Rosey Parlane was something else altogether. Just one man illuminated by his PC, his set started with the blips and squiggles familiar from the previous act. Slowly, very slowly, new sounds were layered over the top, each addition still clear and precise. The sound, the noise, began to settle on the listener. After a while it felt like there was a great psychic weight pressing down. Your sense of self began to give way, to crumble and dissipate, and very soon there was only a small nugget of you left in the middle of a great, swelling, oceanic cacophony. Just the you that was listening and nothing else. No thoughts of drinks after, or leaving for India in the next week, or what you are going to do for a job when you returned in six months time. Just sound. It was what I imagine it is like to teeter on the brink of enlightenment or death. After a time the sound was just as gradually eased back, leaving you a little shaken, but awed and grateful.

Reading Jillian Tamaki's issue of Frontier, the monograph series published by Youth in Decline, is not like that, but it captures what it is like to be caught up in discovering something new, overwhelming and possibly dangerous, particularly when you are young and think you are ready to have the foundations of your world rocked or even completely demolished.

Coded messages from Satan.

Daniel Elkin: There's so much going on in Sex Coven, I don't even know where to start. I'm glad you began with your concert experience, though, Sheehan, because it grounds us, gives us some focus, a springboard from which to leap.

Yes, let's talk about the central conceit of the book first. Sex Coven gets its name from an untitled music file that was uploaded anonymously in the mid 1990's, which was then found by a user on a music-sharing site who renamed it Sex Coven and continued to share it. It gained traction, went viral, spawned a cult following, spawned intense public outcry, and there the story begins.

Sort of.

“How to define a wordless, six-hour atonal drone? A sound so profound that each chord shift feels like a new tear in the Universe? Sonic mindfuck gets close.”

With this, Tamaki kind of echos what you were talking about when you were describing Rosey Parlane's performance. Now imagine that experience for six hours. That's what this thing is. It spawns a new sense of possibility because it shifts you in the experience of it.

We're sense making beings, after all, right? Our brain seeks patterns even in chaos. When faced with disorder, in some sort of self-preserving way, we fool ourselves into finding structure, and, in this, perhaps, is the moment of visceral artistic enlightenment found in participatory art. What makes Abstract Expressionism painting and Experimental Ambient music powerful is the emotional state it elicits, not the particular “beauty” of the piece itself. Here, it is the experience of creating the pattern, recognizing what you make it out to be – for all extents and purposes an a priori understanding – and then completely grokking that.

Powerfully individualistic.

It's powerful stuff because it's individualistic.

When you do the work to have an emotional response to art, you are the owner of that experience. Authentic emotions are precious in a world where we are so often sold how to think about things, where outrage is manufactured, enjoyment is a science, and attention an algorithm. And nobody latches on to this more than young people, especially when their peer group embraces it, especially when they see that their parents don't understand it, even more especially when their parents fear it or hate it.

Tamaki captures all of this in her book. The intensity of the reaction to the music and the ritual it inspires are all laid out with fervor and excitement. Tamaki knows the proper moment to abstract her art to convey this ardor, and when to focus on minutia in order to set context and further her story.

But in all honesty, this phenomenon is almost secondary to the other things that Tamaki is exploring with Sex Coven. Ideas of social history and building community are really what I think Tamaki is scrutinizing here.

Sheehan: As much as Tamaki is examining these things it is a retrospective examination. This is as much a comic about people, and the world, moving on as it is about the excitement and personal growth that happens with discovery in youth. I loved the end of the book where the past ends in the present and the realities of running an alternative community 'free' from the burdens of modern life begins to settle on the individual concerned. The exchange between Raven and Furbaby towards the end of the book neatly encapsulates this as it does the tensions and habits that underlie the dance which an relationship involves. It's a dance that as it winds to a close always involves one step forward and two steps back. Running on default, like some background program.

Comic minutiae.

A much bigger story hides behind the short piece that Tamaki presents us with and I think this is a large part of why we both responded to the book. The minutiae of the scene I have just described has a heavy pull for me but so does the final three pages as Raven reflects of the end of the life we have just witnessed. She's back in the world now and the compromise that this involves while often trivial are always around, pressing in from moment to moment. But are they better or worse that the slightly sinister presence of Rob? Rob who does not have that many skills when it comes to being In Real Life.

At the same time the backstory which makes up the first three quarters of the narrative is appealing. That detail, the slightly strange, mystical, experience of listening to the SexCoven mp3, the discovery of the Data, the metamorphosis of an internet community into a sex cult, has the feel of world building, of the creation of a mythology but really, it seems to me, to serve as an elaborate backdrop to the exchange between the 'real' people.

Elkin: “Moving on” and “back in the world now” are apt descriptors for much of the meat of this book, Sheehan. Thanks (again) for pointing us in the right direction.

The final panel of the book sums up this theme perfectly. The resolution of that moment would seem profound if it weren't such a reflection of the daily compromises we make every day of our lives, a concession to the “really fucking stupid rules” that corral the chaos of existence in order to maintain social order, predictability, stability (or is it “Community. Identity. Stability” in this Brave New World in which we live?).

Yeah. I know. There are always those among us, though, who try to live their life without having to make these sorts of compromises, visionaries and luminaries who have latched on to something and have fancy notions of creating an Arcadia. They see undulating ideals of what could be. They have dreams and, the bold among them, try to make this place on earth.

Failed constructs.

But, alas, the history of humanity is littered with failed utopias after all. Unfettered by the constructs of the deadening effects those compromises inherent in religious and/or political expediency, human nature comes to the fore. Self-interest becomes the guiding moral principle, which, when folded into the greater goal of the pursuit of pleasure or a higher state of consciousness, only leads to the elevation of the cult of personality, the subjugation of the others in the herd – people are taken advantage of, the goal is lost, pettiness or perversion prevail.

No matter what deep beats provide the soundtrack.

And those who were part of whatever it was, those there who held out hope for something better, are the one's who feel the loss of the dream most profoundly. They stumble back bleary eyed to re-integrate into the world and start making all those small compromises that we all must make in order to live next to people, selling another little piece of our soul along the way.

**sigh**

“Do you still believe in SexCoven...? Even after you left the ranch?” What sort of answer can Raven possibly give other than, finally, putting out her cigarette on a service plate.

You can pick up a copy of Frontier #7 directly from Youth InDecline Press

-----

Daniel Elkin writes about comics and other things (but mostly comics) on his blog, Your Chicken Enemy and tweets a lot about sandwiches. 

Family Portraits by Sam Orchard

Sam Orchard's three-part comic, Family Portraits, should be read in a single sitting. Approached as a unit, the books cohere into a nuanced exploration of gender, sexuality, culture, place and creativity (while still finding time to touch on questions of class and social privilege).  


If that description comes across as if Sam has created a kind of sociology text book in comics form then I'm not doing the work justice, or adequately conveying the way in which these constructs are so expertly teased apart and examined - or the highly personal and personable manner in which Sam manages to do this. He is a excellent host, inviting you to consider and think with not a hint of judgment or condensation.  


Family Portraits is a mixture of stories Sam has collected from individuals in the LGBTI community, along with personal reminisces, asides, observations and slight remixes of older strips and Sam's week(ish) web-strip Rooster Tails. This stringent description however fails to convey how deftly, and in what an original manner, these parts are woven together.  Too often in comics the idea of rhythm seems to boil down to a rigid staccato beat with no room for legato intervals. Family Portraits sidesteps this contrivance neatly and opts for an ebb and flow, each piece finding its own pace, its own length, its own voice, its own expression.  


That might sound like a description of a piece of music but Sam seems set on creating something akin to a symphony. So far we've probably just had the overture. Reading through the three books as they stand you begin to get a sense of the rich ground Sam is exploring, of the many, many strands of 'music' he is pulling together to produce his grand composition.
 
While it is the myriad voices which make Family Portraits compelling it is Sam's cartooning craft that supports those multitudes. Not flashy or sophisticated, there is little on the page which does not need to be there, Sam has a fine command of the page and the varying components that make up the whole. Varying styles and subtle use of colour usher the reader along, providing cues and reminders, allowing for changes in mood or tone. He is also a natural draftsman.  Sitting next to Sam at the 2014 Auckland Zinefest it was interesting to watch him draw as we talked. The pen never hesitated or faltered, all the time producing gentle, rounded, confident lines. Images appeared. Batman kissing Superman. Wolverine sporting a strap on. All warm, a bit naughty and funny. It was a pleasure to see someone so naturally extend themselves onto the page.  


Social messages aside a big part of Family Portraits appeal is the sense of play on the page. Along with Sam directly engaging the reader, in what feels more like a conversation than a monologue, there is also a lovely appreciation for the artifice of the page. At one point the action, of what looks like a draft version of a story is interrupted by a scribbled out panel. Turning the page we encounter a miffed Sam discouraged by the narrative, admitting that he's sidestepped difficult aspects of the story he is trying to tell. Eventually we return to the action but this time the previous stark black and white images are touched up by monochrome highlights. Panels, sometimes whole pages of them have been added, not just expanding the scoop of the story but complicating our interpretation of what we read before. Family Portraits is stuffed with that sort of invention, investing the book with a fun feel, a lightness of touch that is rare when engaging weighty issues.


Family Portraits is a great read. If there is any justice in the world it will soon be available in libraries and schools up and down the country or, ideally, sitting on your bookshelf or bedside table. Supporting Sam should, hopefully, allow him to continue with his great work, to continue his dialogue with the world and himself and help us all to open our minds and make the world a bigger, safer, more interesting place.


You can read Rooster Tails here (it contains exerts from Family Portraits) and you can buy the finished books here.

Libraries and schools can purchase copies of Family Portraits from Wheelers.

Kelly Sheehan
Faction Comics + Earth's End

Nothing Fits by Mary Tamblyn and Alex McCrone

My initial introduction to Nothing Fits came in the form of a particularly unimpressive Kickstarter video. Despite a well edited introduction montage and great atmospheric music, Mary Tamblyn and Alex McCrone were more dead than deadpan and mumbled their way through a script asking me for my hard earned cash. 'Put some effort in' I thought and half-heartedly clicked through to their online strips for a perfunctory glance.

Five minutes later I was back and pledged my financial support.



The comic that I had read was instantly appealing not to mention engaging, funny and smart. Underlying the strip's many virtues was an impressively snotty attitude. There was something brashly confident about the drawing and writing.



The opening pages introduced the scenario, characters and circumstance with admirable economy. There was nothing on those pages that did not need to be there; words and pictures complimented one another perfectly. This is perhaps reflective of Mary Tamblyn's (writer of Nothing Fits) background as an artist, born with the confidence that a picture can tell a thousand words but it must also be the result of a close creative relationship between writer and artist. Each seeking to support, rather than eclipse, the other.



If Nothing Fits reminds me of anything it is books from my 70s childhood, specifically the work of Joan Aiken, Diana Wynne Jones and Margaret Mahy, (the Godmother, the Materfamilias, of New Zealand fiction). On hand was the same feeling of mad, offhand invention, of imaginations that could be opened on a whim to gush dreams and drama. Hover cars, mummies, mad science labs, wizards, Egyptian gods, castles, snotty girlfriends, giant snakes, ghosts, strange rat people, formal gardens, foreboding forests, clones, magic portals and gods are all crammed together under one cover - but nothing feels out of place or forced.

Nothing Fits also shares with those grand dowagers an underlying tone which hints at the tragedy and disappointment of life. This nuisance is present throughout the whole comic, right up to the final illustration of the finished book, which provides an unexpected emotional punch to the gut as you saunter through the exit-simultaneously upending your readers perspective on the story you just finished.



The Wynne Jones/Mahy 70s connotations are reinforced by the art. Alex McCrone's scratchy pen and ink style brings to mind Pat Marriott and Quentin Blake, (with perhaps a touch of Tove Jansson). Giants of childrens illustration. What's strange about that is that I hated those guys when I was a kid (not Jansson!) and I love Alex's art. The pictures and storytelling in Nothing Fits have an effortless feel, as if it all just flows out from pen to page. I doubt this is true. What's on the page is probably the result of blood, sweat and tears. The product of a lifetime spent drawing.

Whatever. Alex McCrone's drawing chops are impressive.



Nothing Fits is a great collaboration between two equal, complimentary creators. The easy synthesis is reflected in the components that make up the whole. Monochrome colours wash over the inks in lovely gouache hues. From what I can tell they are painted, high-wire style, directly onto the page. That's pretty audacious. Look Ma, no hands! Makes me nervous just thinking about it. Equally as impressive, in an unassuming way, is the lettering. The font, created from the artists handwriting (I think), lends the dialogue an energy, underlying the scripts sass. No small accomplishment.



Nothing Fits started life as a web-comic. While you could quite happily experience it just on the page I'd recommend checking out the site where it all began. Along with the comments section banter there are some lovely Easter-eggs to be found in the attached process blog. Sketches, notes, additional mini-strips, fan art and asides give extra life to the main comic. It's from these features, viewed together and at a distance of a couple of years, that you feel the fission a web-comic like Nothing Fits can generate. There is the sense of things fermenting, of a community coming to life around a smart, beautiful strip devised by two young students from the arse end of the world. It's a heartening glimpse of the way the world is now, and the things that you can achieve with some pretty basic resources and a big imagination.

Nothing Fits can be brought here and read here.

Kelly Sheehan
Faction Comics + Earth's End

Holocaust Rex Book Two by Wills and Kidd

First of all, I love Karl Wills, and have read and enjoyed his Princess Seppuku, and more recently, Holocaust Rex Book one, wearing a nasty little smirk on my face the whole time. Now, I suspect that grinning at Karl's peculiar sense of humour may label me a bit of a sick puppy, but I have a feeling that is exactly what the author was counting on.

Actually, I should say authors, plural, as although this book is drawn and formatted in Karl's usual style, Holocaust Rex 1 and 2 are both written jointly with Timothy Kidd. I'm not personally familiar with Tim's work (that is I wasn't, until I read this post by Kelly,) but regardless, the book retains Karl's distinctive wit.

The humour is not to everyone's taste. It won't make you laugh out loud, but it sure as hell makes you grin; largely because what you're reading would probably make your mother turn blue in horror, while decrying the "disgraceful" and "disgusting" state of comics. Because it IS shocking - it throws up casual, discomforting horror in a way that can only be described as gleeful.

What makes the violence particularly jarring is Karl's distinct drawing style; His bold black and white lines lay the foundation for a simple, cartoony look that suggest a far friendlier and old fashioned mes en scène than the one Tim and Karl have in mind. Even the quaint children's book sized 14x10 zine format helps to belie the gruesome tales within.

In addition, Wills makes great use of the increasingly "old school" comic book exclamations - communicating emotions in popping sweat beads, dizzy-spell squiggles and hovering thunder clouds, even as the characters suffer excruciating pain. I'm led to understand that these little squiggles have a proper name* in the comic world, but to me they're just another fantastic example of why comics as a medium are so powerful. Where else could a few dabs of ink give the effect of communicating painful dismemberment at the same time as providing cutesy comic relief?

Anyway, down to brass tacks. Holocaust Rex is set in medieval times, and where book one introduced us to our eponymous lead, this second book introduces two physicians, Hans and Enoch, and the town of Koch (how does one pronounce that name aloud, Karl? Tim?). And in fact Holocaust Rex barely makes an appearance in this issue, as the story veers off at right angles, in a way that strongly suggests that this series has a lot more in store than the usual brief Seppuku story. The physicians themselves are deplorable creatures and are employed on a journey through their beleaguered city, introducing us to a grizzly, horrid place, that one imagines would smell so gut-wrenchingly bad that a quick vomy would be a normal part of one's daily constitutional. Filth, plague and the medieval setting makes for a winningly gory combination, and one that the reader senses the authors are reveling in.

And Tim and Karl stop at nothing - witch burning, dissection, rancid corpses, facial fungus and whores selling their wares while vomiting up their innards. But although grotesque, it is more than just the juxtapositions which gives Holocaust Rex its comic relief.

For me, the arms-length distance with which the authors keep their characters gives the books a delightfully misanthropic feel. You are invited to observe humanity with an almost scientific detachment, in all our sadistic, inhuman horror, while at the same time actually seeing the real humour in that horror. Pulling off that little trick is both discomforting and wonderful, and no mean achievement. I can think of few authors who have done this as convincingly.

Finally, Holocaust Rex evokes a real sense of mystery. For all it's distance, the story really drew me in with its slick, solid beat, as in only a few pages, and with an efficient and choppy pace, it alluded to a much larger canvas. While I loved Karl's short previous works, the thought of something longer makes my mouth water.

 In short, Holocaust Rex makes for a winning combination. Great art, great storytelling and a wicked sense of humour. It is not a series for the romantically inclined, or soft-hearted, but for the rest of us sorry bastards it makes for one brilliant wee comic.

Just don't let your mother catch you reading it.  

Get Holocaust Rex here.

Amie Maxwell Faction co-editor  

* I looked this up - brilliant!

Western Park by Timothy Kidd

The Great New Zealand Comic is currently a work in progress.

The comic in question is being constructed 24/7 in the head of creator Timothy Kidd. It is a hydra headed beast, consisting of numerous strips which overlap and interlink. Events revolve around the members of the Rabbit family and their friends and acquaintances; a grand narrative taking place against a backdrop of inner city Auckland and its satellite suburbs.

Some of the mesh of stories can be found over at the blogspot, Western Park. Served up in bite sized portions are a variety of stories, including; Bernard on the Eve, Blues Clues, Farfiva, Be my Ghost(1) and assorted diary comics and ‘test patterns’. Parts have turned up in small press anthologies such as Radio as Paper and Dailies. One section can be found in Adrian Kinaird's From Earth’s End: The Best New Zealand Comics, along with a profile of Tim and a (fascinating) short rundown of his working methods. Another was featured in cancelled fashion/style mag Pavement.

The tone of the strips is deadpan, nuanced with acid observation of the numerous characters foibles. Collected it would be equal parts sitcom, epic 19th century social novel and slapstick tragedy, desperate elements held together by exacting cartooning skills and an appreciation of narrative that runs from Dickens to Larry David to Jamie Hernandez.

The art is precise, gentle and keenly aware of the importance of detail and day to day observation. It's a style that has evolved over decades in numerous sketch books, and hundreds of pages of comics, a narrative in its own right, the antipodes equivalent of Crumb(2).

Part of a single page story that appeared in Pavement, (issue 62, summer 2003/2004) (3).

Came the dawn

Tim has been working on his comics for a long time.

Most of the forerunners to the current project(s) have been discarded or put on hiatus. The most developed of these, Came the dawn, emerged in a variety of mini-comic incarnations before being picked up by Karl Wills and released under his The ComicBook Factory imprint. Three parts were published, enough to give an appreciation of Came the dawn's level of ambition, enough to induce frustration that the series was suspended and now remains in limbo.

Came The Dawn covers 1-3.

Some sense of the scope can be gathered from the character gallery below. 20 characters, all sharply rendered fictions, none of them are on the page for long, yet each manages to make a unique impression and stick in your head.

Having read and re-read the three issues over the years I still pick up on subtleties and details which I have passed over up in previous readings. Came the dawn is happy to build at its own pace and you can keep up or fall away, it's up to you(4).

Half a world away

The first comic I read by Tim was Half a world away. I still have my copies acquired over the few years I worked at Mark One Comics in the mid-nineties. Seven A4 books, the paper now beginning to yellow and the staples to rust. You can see a couple of them below, in all their fallen glory.

Set in an unspecified town in rural New Zealand the characters are isolated by circumstance and disposition. Exchanges, when they take part, are tentative and unsure. The landscape stretches out around them, reducing people to an inconsequential component.

Under the alienation and loneliness is an undercurrent of threat that eventually erupts into violence, no less disturbing in that we witness the aftermath and not the explosion. More disturbing in that it follows a moment of tenderness and intimacy.

Half a world away was, and remains, an impressive comic (though will Tim squirm if you talk to him about the series).

I used to nag him about when the next issue was coming out. It was never fast enough (though always worth the wait). Which is pretty much how I have continued to feel to this day(5); expectant, but patient.

Because when you examine Tim's work, and realize the breadth of his subtlety and scope, there can be little question that when he does finally complete his Rabbit Family work, whatever it ends up being called, and whatever final form it takes, that it will be a New Zealand great.

So I can wait. 

Kelly Sheehan

Faction Comics + Earth's End

(1): The titles of these stories may change the next time they make it into publication.
(2) : My favourite section of these numerous volumes was where Tim began to copy vintage photos of the 40s and 50s. Suddenly his characters became more rumpled, disheveled. The slight awkwardness in the early work fell away and in place there was a confidence which has not stopped challenging itself since.
(3): Strictly speaking this strip is not from Western Park but it is from the general continuity so I've included it. Also it's a 'cross- over' story which features both members of the Rabbit family and Bernard who, in his own strip, currently remains trapped within the confines of his own room.
(4): Me? I'm still waiting for it start up again and lead me on a bit further.
(5): One thing about that: Any one of the works examined in this article was worked over by Tim to an astonishing degree, change upon change upon change. Just when you think it is finished there's something that needs to be added or subtracted or reworked. As an expectant reader this can get a little frustrating. And yet it's always worth it. Always. Those changes are done for a reason and you just better suck it up ,buddy because it's not change; its refinement!

Faction in the spotlight

"Faction 1 is what all anthologies should strive to be"

Faction comics continues to get some wonderful reviews! Check out what Panel Patter has to say about us here.

And CBR's Robot 6 gives us a mention here.

Lazarus by Rucka and Lark

Sometimes it's hard to find the desire to write a review when nothing really grabs you enough to give a shit - for good or bad. Then virtually without comment, someone slaps a comic on your book pile, and the next thing you know you’ve been smacked full in the face with a bolt of pure awesomeness. You’re grabbed, wrenched and enthralled, and when it’s over you find yourself Googling the due date of the next one.

Greg Rucka has created just that with Lazarus. Set in a future not too distant from our own – with the rich getting richer and the poor reduced to “waste” - - the book imagines a chillingly believable world just a few National votes beyond today. Set in the late 21st century, the ruling structures of the world are divided into family dynasties, which rule over their domains and the people living within them, with naked, profit-driven ruthlessness. The tech and military is owned and controlled by the “haves”, whilst the “have-nots” exist in the crumbling third-world remains of our own present infrastructure. 

Interestingly, Rucka gives a quick Family/Waste headcount in the beginning of each scene – providing not just context to the location, but also a deeper understanding that ‘The Family’ are few and ‘The Waste’ are many. And it is in the midst of this world that our lead character, Forever, is born. Well, actually - - made.

Forever is designed to be a genetically engineered weapon - and man, she is truly kickass - in the way that so many comic writers talk about, but rarely achieve. Artist Michael Lark has poured her into a tight black leather one-piece, with a sword that she brandishes with as much ease as her guns. Long, black flowing hair, flicked up into a ponytail, abs, biceps and a thickness that is refreshingly different to the skinny waifs I see everywhere else; I think I fell in love with her instantly. To Forever’s family – Family Carlyle, she is their human “sword and shield”, their protector and their Lazarus. Unlike the biblical version, diseased and deformed she is not. Though perhaps tellingly, it was the act of bringing Lazarus to life that started the enemies of Jesus plotting his downfall.

What is fascinating is how Rucka has shaped Forever - and in particular, the dichotomy between her toughness and innocence. Being grown and then trained as a weapon, Forever is largely ignorant of what her family really stand for and the vast sea of corruption that surrounds her. She shows obvious discomfort when asked to deal harshly with the lives of the workers and the unemployed “waste”, but remains fiercely loyal to the Carlyle clan. She yearns to be accepted by the family, especially her father, who coldly keeps those tensions stoked high.

Loyalty and Betrayal, Hubris and Humility, Have and Have-Nots, Good and Bad - this is the black and white world that Rucka and Lark have created for Eve -  and it feels terrifyingly close to our own.

Let’s take a quick look at volume 1.

The first issue starts brutal and bloody with a standout action sequence that puts Lara Croft to shame. Soon we are introduced to the Carlyle Family, consisting of five siblings - two boys, two girls …and Forever (AKA Eve). We also meet the rotten black heart of the family - their father, Malcolm; a classic patriarch figure, who controls his children and empire through both subtle and overt threat, as much as he does through emotional manipulation. At times it feels like a sociological experiment gone slightly wrong, power wrought on children to see how messed up you can truly make them. And the Carlyle Family are everything we could’ve hoped for in this sense - jealous, greedy, corrupt and insanely paranoid, of each other as much as of the other rival families. But as clear as this corruption is, it remains hidden from our Eve - and it is this crawling sense of betrayal that sits firmly at the heart of this story, and is what shapes the beginning of Forever’s journey.

But it’s not all darkness - Lark and Rucka also catered to a ‘girlie’ thrill on my part as well. When Eve and a rival family’s-own genetically engineered Lazarus meet, I enjoyed seeing Eve’s vulnerability shine through. Very Capulets and Montagues of course, but…ah, young (genetically engineered) love! it’s a beautiful thing. And it didn’t hurt that this other Lazarus was equally spunky.

Brutal

Lark’s artwork is a fantastic fit for this book, and is a real pleasure to behold. Inky, realistic and restrained at the same time, his line work shows off the world to full effect. But for me, it is Rucka’s storytelling that really stands out in Lazarus. The thoughtfully constructed future world and the political interplay of characters and environment is what ultimately seduced me. Rucka is a real auteur and I feel supremely confident in his ability to keep the pressure up even as he gradually tweaks back the curtains on his bleak vision of the future. His crafting of Eve gives the story tremendous momentum. And frankly, her character is the reason why this comic is just so very, very good. Rucka has imbibed her with so much depth, complexity and strength - finely balanced by an understandably child-like innocence - that it’s just impossible not to be sucked in.

With much of the story still to come, my prediction is that Rucka and Lark are going to take us on an amazing ride, and I cannot wait for Google to tell me when the next one is coming out.

Get the first trade here

Amie Maxwell
Faction co-editor  

Mesmo Delivery by Rafael Grampá

I think that if I was going to get a tattoo, I'd ask the artist of Mesmo Delivery, Rafael Grampá, to design it. This comic just oozed style, a style that screams "ginger haired hipster with beard, braces and black rimmed glasses, playing the saxophone ...and drinking an espresso".

Yeah; crazy, crazy hip.

The art was key to Mesmo Delivery truly delivering. It's somber enough to give the impression of darkness, grainy enough to give it grit and bold enough to... well, to tattoo into my skin.

Damn, boy, this sure is purty

To top it off, the entire piece felt filtered -drained of colour, but without being overly muted, which gave it a real noir trucker look.

The world of Mesmo Delivery was equally gritty and intense. I have seen enough hitchhiker movies to know that truck-stops, diners and roadside hangouts usually result in a beheading or zombie attack. And Mesmo Delivery did not disappoint on the violence dial. This comic is graphic.

The characters were the most beautifully-ugly band of dysfunctional misfits I've seen in a long while. First up is Rufo, an oversized lug, with a squashed, pug like face, and gigantic, baby-like quality. And our hero (if that's the word for it), Sangrecco? Grampa describes his creative evolution (in a generous gallery at the back of the book) as a blending of Elvis and Iggy Pop; a character who brings performance art to assassination. Which is true. This character, for all his ugliness, is like ballet dancer with blades. And the supporting  characters; a band of toothless bottom feeders, made me cringe as much as smile - with g-strings over jeans, overbites, overalls and over-the-top inbreeding up to the wazoo.

I think what I enjoyed most about it though was it's zany, self-aware, and lovingly crafted cinematic framing. There were some panels, some scenes which just left my mouth hanging open they were so frickin' cool! Point-of-view conversations, beheadings (where zoom-in close-ups show the minutiae of the blade tearing through a throat), impalings, and my favourite panel - where a moment of piss-your-pants terror has been executed with unimaginable (for the subject matter) design panache. It's something else.

The story itself (also authored by Grampá) was simple, following a couple of mysterious truckers pulling into a diner. I won't go into the details, but it worked perfectly with the intense graphical quality of the art. I suspect my Faction co-publisher would disagree with me, but not all storylines have to give you sucker-punch depth. In fact the simple story telling of Mesmo complemented the visual complexity of the comic's design -  and I found the balance pleasing.

It definitely makes me want to see more, but not in the sense that I fell in love with the characters, or wished the story would never end. In fact, in love with Mesmo Delivery I definately am not. There was certainly nothing to like in the characters, and the violence was harrowing. But as a spectacle, it was riveting. It was such an adrenaline-pounding read that, like a drug trip, I felt hollowed out after it was all over. And like a drug, it left me wanting more.

And a tattoo. It left me wanting a tattoo by Grampá. So yeah. Go buy this book.

Get it here
Preview it here

Amie Maxwell
Faction co-editor 

Mercury by Hope Larson

So Hope Larson is a big deal in comics. She won an Eisner Award in 2007 for "Special Recognition" of her talents - and her recent book, A Wrinkle In Time has garnered widespread acclaim. She’s a real comic success story in fact, so it’s a little embarrassing that I haven’t read anything of hers up until now. Consequently it was with some enthusiasm that I plunged into one of her recent(ish) graphic novels, Mercury (2010).

Right off the bat, Mercury is easy to read, easy on the eyes, and launched its story in a familiar, if well-worn groove. You know the thing: Boy meets girl, girl likes boy, cute smiles exchanged, teen relationship angst ensues. Her characters are familiar too. Boldly drawn, their faces are attractive and seemingly innocent and ordinary. Ordinary but likeable. And that's a mean feat when most of them are teenagers!

Young love, It's cute right? The comic reminds us that crushes are a staple human condition, the narrative emphasizing this by following the lives of two young girls living 150 years apart. The two stories run parallel to each other throughout the book; both set in the same area of Nova Scotia and following an apparently familiar trope. Until it doesn’t, and the familiar falls away and things start getting a little …freaky.

Strong, likable artwork from Larson.

The story pivots on the discovery of magical necklaces that can be used to track down the things that you desire the most, and before long there is the added lure of riches and gold; advances are spurned, and events take a decidedly supernatural turn. From here the story advances at a brisk pace, successfully generating a healthy forward momentum of tension and anticipation. It’s a solid, assured read.

But by the end, when I closed the covers, I had to admit to myself that somewhere along the way, it had just fallen flat. Now, this may be a personal thing, in that perhaps I simply expected more from it - a more thorough plumbing of the depths, if you will, or perhaps just getting a little more gristle to chew on, and I freely admit that perhaps this was never the author’s intention in the first place. Never the less; in this respect, the book left me wanting.

Of course, this is a book about young people getting crushes and coming of age, and it certainly took me back to that time with practiced ease, but story-wise; that was pretty much all it did. There were no fresh insights, no meaty undercurrent, and perhaps not quite enough of a story to keep me interested. I know I’m not the target audience for this - it very much falls in the young readers section of the library. But I enjoyed the Twilight books, and I just finished reading Luke Pearson’s wonderful Hildafolk series, which are definitely aimed at young readers - and I enjoyed the hell out of them, so I don’t think that should necessarily be a issue.

On the other hand, in a final indecisive vacillation, there’s certainly a market for this kind of material, and I guess I have to concede that it’s just not me. Larson is undeniably talented, and I would love for her to tackle some material with a bit more depth (and perhaps she has done - I certainly need to read more of her work before I made any ill-judged generalisations), but equally it may be she has found a niche for her work that suits her -and her audience- very well; and for that I applaud her.

Get it here
Or, like I did, at the local library - yay libraries!

Amie Maxwell
Faction co-editor 

Black Is the Color by Julia Gfrorer

I always like to imagine the people I admire, be they authors, artists or scientists, as being friends of mine. Talent is just an attractive trait and if you've got it, I want to be friends with you. So, to my mind at least, Gfrörer is now one of my besties.

Her comic is aptly named "Black is the color" and it is beautiful. Beautiful in a way an H bomb is beautiful - - devastating - but also glorious and full of light. The brief bio at the back of her comic states that "her name rhymes with despair, and her heart is as black as jet". And wow; the comic. Let's just say, you wouldn't expect anything less from a jet black heart. The story is woven through with so many moments of intimacy and horror, that by the end of it I was left with a weird mix of sadness and hope meshed together. I wasn't exactly sure where one stopped and the other started. So yeah, Black is the colour" is a little bit of an emotional fucking rollercoaster, frankly.

The art was divine. The lines were so fine and detailed, and each line told a little more about the story, until you got to the end of them and just felt blasted and wrung out. It was so beautifully drawn, I had to stop and slow down from time to time to truly see how those lines made the wind move, the boats move and the sea move from panel to panel. The detail slows you down, but in a good way, and it richly deserves the time you spend on it.

I should mention that the book features mermaids. These creatures are anything but the ethereal beauties sometimes imagined, and they offer a light, teenage contrast to the flagging human, who serves as the center of this tale. The death in this book is shot through with immature prattle, which makes it light and a little sick and twisted at the same time.

In the end; did I get the full gist of this book's message? I think so, but more at an emotional level than an intellectual one. "Black is the colour" illustrates the horror and banality of our existence - and the beauty of our death; especially when there's someone loving there at the end to help take you away.

I hope I go like that. Thanks for the insight, Gfrörer, old pal.

Buy it here (seriously recommended)

Read it here (cheapskate!):

Amie Maxwell
Faction co-editor