THOR'S COMIC COLUMN'S TRADE WINDS SPECTACULAR!

By the Canuck contingent of the Rack Raids crew. Visit us at the Rack Raids site daily for the best new reviews on the interwebs...

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Trade Winds - Amulet, Book One: The Stonekeeper (Scholastic)
Review by Adam Prosser

Comics aficionados almost always start off at one end of an orthographic line leading from “writing” to “art”. At one extreme, you might get a “writing guy (or girl)” who sees the art mostly as illustration for the story, something that simply makes it more impactful and specific than a novel. At the other, you’d get an “art guy (or girl)” who’s more interested in the visual aspect and sees the narrative mostly as a framework on which to hang cool character designs and set pieces. The former might look at a beautifully drawn comic without a lot of text—like, say, Shaolin Cowboy–and complain that the story’s too thin and the characters are bland. The latter might look at a narrative-dense but simply drawn comic—like, say, Fell–and decide that it’s unengaging or hard to follow. Everyone has their preferences in this regard, their own idea of what a comic should be, and no one’s “wrong” per se. Of course, I’m talking here about the extremes; to me the best definition of a great comic creator is that they know how to use both aspects of comics to play off each other and create something that neither could do alone, or at the very least that leaves room for both the writing and art to shine.

Kazu Kabuishi is the creator of Daisy Kutter, writer and artist of the webcomic Copper, and editor of the acclaimed Flight anthologies. He’s most definitely an “art guy”. Not only are his comics art lavishly drawn and gorgeously colored, he has a great understanding of page composition and narrative flow. Like most of the Flight artists (and indeed, many of the comic artists of his generation), he’s inspired heavily by manga and anime, with Hayao Miyazaki being a particularly obvious influence. He merges it with western-style cartooniness to create an appealingly simple and expressive style that draws the reader into the action and engages them during the smaller, quieter moments, both of which are handled beautifully. With his new graphic novel, The Amulet Book One, he’s employed these techniques to full effect.

The story he’s actually chosen to tell, on the other hand, is less groundbreaking. After the death of their father in a car crash, Emily and Navin Hayes are relocated by their mother Karen to her family’s old home out in the country. The house was once inhabited by Karen’s grandfather, Silas Charnon, who left behind rooms full of strange machinery and odd artifacts. Emily finds herself drawn to one of these, the titular amulet, which she even wears to bed. That night, the amulet starts speaking to her, warning her that her family is in danger…and mere moments later, her mother is snatched through a mysterious door in the basement by a horrifying creature that looks like a cross between an octopus and a spider. Following her, Emily and Navin find themselves in a strange subterranean world of giant mushrooms, robots, and evil elves, and headed towards an encounter with their great-grandfather.

I would recommend Amulet unhesitatingly to just about anyone, boy or girl, kid or adult. However, the question of whether you fall head over heels in love with it or simply view it as an amusing trifle will depend which side of the aforementioned comics divide on which you fall. The closest comics precedent for Amulet is probably Jeff Smith’s Bone, another whimsical cartoon fantasy, aimed primarily at kids, with a gentle spirit and a sense of wonder evoked by the art. However, Smith’s work had more emphasis on humour and characterization than Kabuishi’s. Amulet is geared more towards breathtaking visuals and action sequences, and since it’s a 185-page graphic novel there’s no impetus for Kabuishi to tighten the story up. Don’t misunderstand me: the pacing here is absolutely splendid, but it’s more in service of “gee whiz” moments than on getting inside the character’s heads, or lending the story any real thematic weight. There are a few hints of something more interesting, especially when a villainous character reveals his motivation, and the undercurrent of grief that runs throughout the book, especially the early pages, helps keep it from seeming totally inconsequential. But for the most part it leans a little more on fantasy clichés than I would have liked.

But then, I’m a “writing guy”. This is still a fine book for younger children, and the price is sufficiently low that an adult comics fan will find it worth picking up to enjoy the atmosphere and inventiveness of Kabuishi’s artwork.



Trade Winds – Left on Mission (Boom Studios)
Review by Graig Kent

A recent trend has surfaced in storytelling involving the deconstruction of the spy, whittling away the glamorous lifestyle and superheroic never-say-die attitude (and the never-can-die stamina), replacing them with a plethora of psychological maladies and making a point of putting their physical limitations to the test. These days CSI has more gadets to work with than the new Bond, Austin Powers has taken all the steam right out of 60’s-era espionage, and Jason Bourne has proven the new norm. In comics, the excellent Super Spy proves WWII spies are anything but, Queen and Country has shown those to whom the spies answer to, and here, in Left On Mission, spies are shown like the Ouroboros, hopelessly eating themselves alive.

Eric Westfall had hoped he was done, having stowed himself away suburban stagnation, the wife and kid and nothing but time ahead of him. But he’s been called back to action, to recover his ex-lover, Emma, now an agent gone rogue, having stolen a hard-drive full of classified information and offering it up to the black market. He’s assigned a partner, Painter, and they find their way to an informant that will lead them to Emma. With something a little more personal at stake, Westfall strands Painter behind him and continues the hunt for himself. He finds Emma, and she remains as much a challenge and mystery to him as ever, but his love for her never faded. The twists and turns of Emma’s story, and Westfall and Painter’s exclusive pursuit of her I’ll leave for the reader to discover, but invariably it’s not glorious and the most high-tech the gadgetry gets is a Hawaiian shirt (which is to say there’s none involved).

Writer Chip Mosher delivers a script that’s subdued and methodical, quiet, somewhat romantic, with serious moments of intensity. Mosher doesn’t deliver any information easily, and it’s only through the first two chapters that we fully understand Westfall’s involvement in the story, and it’s not until the finale that we fully grasp the relationship all these characters actually have with one another. There’s layers to every action, and meaning to the words exchanged that don’t fully reveal their weight until the book has concluded.

Joining Mosher on this affair is artist Francesco Francavilla, who brings a thick, dark edge to the story, with the fumetti (Italian comics that is, not photo comics) style certainly an inspiration (the Italian setting obviously further influencing his artistic choices). Martin Thomas’ colors serve his lines well by imbuing a lot of earth tones, bestowing the look as if it’s lit from an blood orange sky or bright yellow moon. Fancavilla’s work reminds me of the classic newspaper serials involving Modesty Blaise or James Bond, packing a lot of information into small panels, and his pages are sometimes so densely collected with these kinds of panels that you could swear it was reproduced from such sources. His dance club sequence, the chaos of the strobe, is brilliantly executed and an astounding piece of sequential artistry on its own. Certainly a talent to keep an eye on.

Left On Mission falters in only one spot, a flashback sequence that’s not entirely necessary for the story. Shedding more light on Westfall and Emma’s relationship doesn’t harm the book at all, but the clarity of what actually happened was not essential to understanding either character. The finale of the book compromises nothing, however and it’s a most commendable resolution. The final word balloon is so precisely written, it reshapes the entire context of the book. That’s excellent writing right there.


Trade Winds - I Killed Adolf Hitler (Fantagraphics)
Review by Graig Kent

The British actor/comedian/novelist Stephen Fry wrote a book called “Making History” in which a Cambridge history student meets a scientist who has developed a portal allowing limited access to the past. They decide to stop Adolf Hitler’s birth by transporting oral contraceptives into Ma and Pa Hitler’s water supply. Unfortunately, their tampering with the past causes a chain reaction, making the present one vastly different from the one that should have been. With Hitler out of the way an even more ruthless figure stepped into his place, victory given to the allies where before they only met with defeat.

In Norwegian illustrator Jason’s I Killed Adolf Hitler, the writer/artist crafts an equally high-concept, but his execution is entirely different than what could ever be expected. It’s a world where contract killing is a legal profession and an everyday occurrence, and one of these killers is hired by a scientist to use his time machine to go back into the past and kill… well, you know. The killer accepts, but fails in his mission, and Hitler steals his time machine returning to the future. But the killer, now an old man, having lived a whole new life since the 1940’s is there to greet the Nazi and shoots him, fulfilling his contract. Unfortunately, Hitler is saved by the bible in his pocket (I guess Jason doesn’t watch Mythbusters) and escapes, leaving the killer to turn to his ex-girlfriend (now fifty years younger than him) and enlist her help in discovering where Hitler would be hiding out.

There are some strange twists and turns in the book, but none of the concepts, such as “what would the world be like if Hitler had disappeared?” or “how would society changes were contract killing legal?” are ever explored. Jason’s pacing is own, slow and mundane. For a story of this scale, keeping the momentum at a crawl is an odd choice, but also just part of what makes this book so unique. Jason is more interested in the dull, sad reunion between the old killer and the ex-girlfriend who is the only person he really knows. But even here, there is little spoken between the two and if there’s a rejuvenation of a lost love, there’s only the minimalist of hints towards it.

I Killed Adolf Hitler is made even more odd by Jason’s typical use of animal figures in place of human characters. Anthropomorphized dogs, bunnies, and ducks inhabit this visually colorful, uncluttered, and utterly subdued alternate world. It’s altogether an atypical reading experience, frustrating as much as it is interesting, but perplexing more than insightful… think Woody Allen channeled through Wim Wenders and you might get the gist.

Indie comics readers are accustomed to introspective material like this and will find it differently entertaining, genre comic fans will find it dreadfully pretentious. In either respect, it’s really somewhere in the middle of both in quality and concept execution.


Trade Winds - Legion of Super-Heroes: An Eye For An Eye (DC)
Review by Graig Kent

Things don’t get more convoluted than the history of the (even Hawkman’s back story is more straightforward). I won’t really get into the details of all the different incarnations, retcons, rebirths and stop-starts of the Legion over the past 20 years (that’s what Wikipedia is for), but I think it’s safe to say that in the Legion’s 50th year, things are just going to get more convoluted. With Jim Shooter tackling Mark Waid’s current revision, the Legion of Super-Heroes LOSH cartoon and affiliated comic book a hit with younger viewers and readers, Geoff Johns taking an alternate-dimensional look at the Legionnaires in Action Comics and no doubt a slew of Legion-related reprints over the year to come, I’m not entirely certain how DC really plans to pay tribute to the Titans of the future without confusing anyone new that wants to step in.

If there’s a problem with long-term publishing, continuity is it. Maintaining and/or attempting to explain continuity only gets in the way of enjoying the actual stories (although there are some who would argue that continuity is an integral part to good comic book storytelling). In the Legion’s case, luckily each can be seen as their own separate entity, almost entirely. This trade paperback, “An Eye For An Eye” collects the first six issues of the Legion’s first direct-market only, Baxter-format series (which DC did alongside the New Teen Titans), a book which became a top seller for DC and well received by critics at the time. Written by Paul Levitz, the understanding of the direct market was that the audience skewed older, meaning with the new series the writer could forego a lot of typical comic book conventions like hyper-expository dialogue each issue and up the dramatic content.

This story was a ramping-up of the Legion mythos, as a maturing Legion suddenly find themselves faced with a coalition of their greatest adversaries in the Legion of Super-Villains. The LOSH’s objective, simply put, is to eliminate the entire Legion. What results is a brawl in which the Legion, in greater numbers, will no doubt win, but not without casualties. In a time in comics when the death of a character didn’t happen every other month this was quite startling, and established for the first time that the Legion may not always prevail, at least not always in time. Every Legionnaire suddenly became expendable, and I can imagine as a reader it was as upsetting as it was exciting.

Levitz, who started writing the Legion for DC at the age of 16, thrived with having the reigns removed. Following “The Great Darkness Saga”, the Legion became something darker than their four-color roots would ever have indicated, and it was through the direct market that Levitz, with co-plotter Keith Giffen, let them loose.

Giffen, who was Levitz’s artist prior to the launch of the new series, only stayed on for two issues as illustrator, his blocky, black-heavy work replaced by Steve Lightle’s dynamic anatomy and intricate detailing, proving more fan friendly, a mix of George Perez and John Byrne. Lightle’s style is perfect for superheroes, but not as adept in expressing the darker tone that Levitz established for the Legion as Giffen’s work.

Unlike the Legion’s overwrought contemporaries like Wolfman’s New Teen Titan's and Clairemont’s X-Men, the dialogue in the Legion of Super-Heroes from the same time isn’t nearly as cringe-inducing. The story is grand and exciting, but ultimately familiarity (that darn continuity again) with the team is needed to really enjoy it. “An Eye For An Eye” does stand alone, but no doubt would have a stronger impact if there were other trades of previous (and hopefully forthcoming reprints of subsequent) material.



Trade Winds- Rotting In Dirtville (Gigantic)
Review by Graig Kent

Zombie stories officially played-out in 2007, at least for me. It’s time to give the sub-genre a break and move on to something else for a while. If, during that time, I need a zombie story fix, there’s only one place I’m turning, and that’s James Callahan’s original graphic novel Rotting In Dirtville.

Now, the book isn’t really a zombie book, and I’m not saying that because it’s really a Martian-made plague that blends technology with organic tissue and seeks only to replicate until its cannibalized the whole planet, but rather it’s really a story about how small town life, and how it’s affected (or not affected) by the changes in the world around it. It’s also about a young man, Milton Bloom, and his struggle to survive…

…and it’s about Giant Robot Zombies from Mars. But, quite frankly, it’s the smartest, most affecting Giant Robot Zombies from Mars story you’re ever going to read. It’s really a beautiful piece of work, genius even. I don’t know where this Callahan guy came from, but if ever someone wants to figure out what “it” is, well, study him, ’cause he’s got it.

I don’t really even know where to start talking about this book. Okay, design. Rotting in Dirtville is set in a timeframe of unknown origin. Everything looks old-fashioned Riverdale-gang style (there’s even a souped-up version of Archie’s old jalopy) with a modern “retro” feel (horn-rimmed or black plastic-framed glasses, tattoos and punk-band t-shirts). The townspeople are all quaint, and the teenagers rampage through town disturbing them all, obviously because they’re bored. This combination of older sensibilities with modern habits and dialogue puts this book immediately in its own little world.

The characters are brilliantly designed, especially Milton. He spends all day out in front of his house chopping wood, selling it to pay for his parents funeral and to afford a train ticket out of there. The house is a marvel, remaining standing somehow after a jet engine fell on it and exploded. It’s obvious Milton was an outcast even before it happened, but somehow this kid has become even more an outsider to his peers. The girl across the way, Betsy, befriends him, if for lack of anyone else worth befriending, comments on Milton’s bare feet. “I don’t like wearing shoes in the summer,” he says. “Milton, it’s almost November!” His lack of response is equal parts as if he knows and doesn’t care, or he didn’t know but wonders if he should care.

Through the various interactions Milton has, from the people he sells wood to, and through conversation with Betsy, we learn about the Martian invasion (there’s also scattered placements of TV broadcasts throughout the book which give minimal, but perfect amounts of detail about the whole affair), how it’s affecting the economy nationally, and how it’s affecting the small town. It’s assumed that it was as a result of the Martian invasion that Milton’s house was half-destroyed and his parents killed, but it’s never outright stated. The fact that the economy has tanked has meant Betsy and her snotty brother Russell are left alone, as their parents have went elsewhere for work. Other than that, nobody seems to be too affected by the big cities getting trampled on by Giant Robot Alien Zombies, as, well, big city problems ain’t the same as small town problems.

Through the simplest of actions (and Callahan’s physical language is some of the best I’ve ever seen in a comic book) Callahan fleshes out the bulk of this small town’s youth, their attitudes, their relationships to one another, and their relationships with their elders. You get a sense through Callahan’s visual pacing immediately the slow rhythm of the town (the amazing pan through town is followed up with six incredibly composed panels of Milton chopping wood). Leafless trees, a cloudless sky, body language and movement of clothes in the wind all capture the feel of October, long before Betsy informs us what time of year it is.

The dialogue in this book is packed with meaning, and yet never even borders on overwrought. In fact, it’s through an economy of words that more is actually being said. It’s all so naturally constructed but it’s also exact to each character while relating more and more the state of the world as Callahan conceives it to the reader. There’s some brilliant lines, like Betsy’s response to being called “bran” by her brother’s friends, or the old farmer’s interaction with the kids. There’s even just some utterly pointed remarks, like “Don’t be stupid, boy, America is the world” that so simply, yet effectively define small town attitudes, arrogance, and naivety.

By the time the robot alien zombies hit, it’s… well… not a surprise, and yet it is. Here are a group of people, watching things happen remotely thinking “sad, but doesn’t affect us” and therefore are completely unprepared to deal with it. The plague hits and within an hour it’s rampant, trampling over and absorbing everything. Betsy and Milton fight back, but there’s just no point. Running is the only option. Even though the second half of the book silently documents Milton’s escape, it’s over so quickly. Callahan so effectively quadruples the pace that that savoring of words and pictures from the first half is gone. Sure you want to stop and marvel at Callahan’s amazingly detailed, visually stunning artwork (kind of like a cross between Seth Fisher and Steve Dillon), but the book sweeps you away through to the conclusion.

I’ve read this book a half dozen times, and each time I fall in love with it a little more. There’s not a single thing I can think wrong with it. Each panel, each word seem so precisely drawn or written. It’s full of quiet moments, awkward moments, and some smiles and chuckles too. The action is incredible and the creatures are amazing, scarier than anything cinema has done with zombies in decades. It’s surreal, it’s bizarre, it’s cool, and it’s absolutely unique. It’s absolutely one of the (if not the) best horror genre comics I’ve ever read.


Trade Winds - JLA: Kid Amazo (DC)
Review by Graig Kent

It was a winding road for Pete Milligan’s tale of the JLA’s potentially most dangerous adversary’s offspring. Originally solicited as an original graphic novel, “Kid Amazo” was pulled from the schedule before it saw print, and evidently shelved. Over a year later, the story was solicited as a 5-issue arc in the less than prestigious monthly form of JLA:Classified (issues 37-41). Now, collected as a trade, it’s back in its proper form, but to be honest, it’s not much better than your usual Classified fare.

The focus of the book isn’t the JLA, but the titular Kid Amazo, who thought for a while he was a real boy, a philosophy student at Berkeley until the JLA and Amazo came crashing down on campus (and not by accident). With his creator, Professor Ivo, Amazo donated some of his parts and circuits to an experimental fusion with human DNA, creating a cyborg in the form of Frank Halloran. If he though his struggles with philosophy in school were hard, suddenly he’s made aware that a robot is his dad, his life’s been a lie, and he’s been programmed to hate the Justice League. Think about the nature of individuality, purpose, being and soul now, Frank.

The Justice League, meanwhile keeps tabs on Frank, bickering amongst themselves about what they should do. Is the kid dangerous? Will he be a force for good or evil? Should he be destroyed now? Is he human or a machine? Does he have free will? There’s a question for each member of the team and no answers but to watch, and try not to interfere. Frank struggles with the new knowledge of his identity and his crisis (not to mention Amazo’s seeming need to be a paternal figure) affects his relationship with his girlfriend.

Frank internal emotional battle soon becomes an external (and public one), taking on the guise of hero and striving to be one, while also questioning whether he shouldn’t be using his powers for something more selfish. What it boils down to, though, is his see-saw of inner turmoil can’t continue, and either he has to put a stop to it or the Justice League will.

The story itself struggles as much as Frank does in dealing with his emotions, and the JLA’s involvement only complicates matters. It’s unfortunate that the complications aren’t the type that make the story better, but rather weigh the story down. The scenes involving the JLA’s debates over whether or not to get involved in Frank’s struggle are difficult to swallow, as they never read like the characters, but instead the writer’s voice. The way Wally and Bruce and Clark and the rest are portrayed or the ideals they represent aren’t reflected properly in this story, instead acting as deus ex machina to get ideas out there.

The philosophy 101 that Milligan toys with is weak stuff, and most of the psychological combat between Kid Amazo and the JLA that should prove meaty storytelling is handled off-panel. That Frank is a philosophy major is like getting hit in the head with a frying pan over and over again while reading, if only he actually waxed some respectable philosophy, had the book been more cerebral, it would have been much easier to invest in.

The art by Carlos D’Anda is good, but not nearly the caliber of original graphic novel status. Thus, it wisely was restrained to a JLA: Classified arc, where it didn’t need to stand out or prove itself worthy. As a trade now, and I guess in it’s intended form, it’s somehow even less impressive, like after all it’s been though it should shine out as an unjustly mistreated work. After all, Milligan has written some fantastic, off-kilter superhero works over the years, but this struggles far too much to be one of them.


Trade Winds - Flink (Image)
Review by Graig Kent

It doesn't seem to long ago that I just reviewed Doug TenNapel's Black Cherry, and, since graphic novels typically take a while to come together, I hade to wonder how TenNapel could so quickly release another one. I was suspect of the quality of Flink before I even read it.

TenNapel’s stories have always had a stream-of-consciousness aspect to them, an unrefined quality to them that sometimes work in their favor (as with Black Cherry’s raw, anything-can-happen Mafioso story) and sometimes not, (the bizarrely religious alien-invasion and school of Ted Nugent education in Earthboy Jacobus). When it works, it’s enhances the often irreverent nature of the tales TenNapel tells, but when it doesn’t work, it’s usually pushing the ethereal too far and coming off as sloppy or meandering. Having read all of TenNapel’s work, from Gear on down, I get the sense that he starts his storytelling knowing where it begins and where it ends and then just goes with it until point A meets point B. His cartooning style seems to back this up, as it appears roughed out with brushes and pens, the shadows at times defining the figures and not the lines themselves. His skill at cartooning, however, keeps his characters appearance uniform, where they could easily in lesser hands be distorted contortions in his slathered-on, ink-heavy style, and in his style, TenNapel is still able to sketch out a welcoming believable and/or fantastical environment for his characters to inhabit.

But Flink is TenNapel’s weakest effort to date, and it suffers from awkward pacing, motivationally challenged characters and a dire lack of focus. The back cover states, bluntly, “It’s a story about a boy and his Bigfoot,” but even that TenNapel gets wrong. If it’s anything, it’s a story about a Bigfoot and his human, but even then that’s not what it’s really about. There’s a thread of father and son bonds that TenNapel attempts to weave into the story, but it’s so roughly sketched that it’s not apparent until the final pages where the boy, Conrad, is reunited with his father just as Flink, the Bigfoot, is reunited with his son. If that’s a spoiler, sorry, but the relationship between Conrad and Flink never makes much sense, and TenNapel never hits upon it hard enough. It’s like this was cobbled out, an as-is first draft that he never looked back upon to edit or refine.

The opening pages aren’t very clear, and it’s only through revelation through the story and finale that we understand the visuals that were presented. Also, the culture of the Sasquatch as TenNapel introduces in this story aren’t explored nearly enough… there should be a Disney-esque sense of discovery here, using Conrad as a vessel for the reader to discover the ways of the Bigfoot (ala the Jungle Book or Monsters, Inc.), but no, the human’s visit to the strange world of Bigfoots (Bigfeet?) is over almost as quickly as it began and a great, joyful opportunity is missed.

TenNapel shoots over the interesting possibilities he brings up in Flink, including establishing any meaningful bond between man and creature, as he seems to rush through every story element to get to the end. On a character level and story level, this one’s a failure.


Trade Winds - Long Hot Summer (Image)
Review by Graig Kent

This 2005 original graphic novel from writer Eric Stephenson and Jamie McKelvie is so potent, has such resonance that I really don’t want to review it, but instead I want to have a book club discussion on it, I want to sit down with some friends like a group of giddy girls after watching The Hills and jaw on about it. I mean, it’s not tackling any real societal issues or highlighting solutions to international disputes or anything, but Long Hot Summer presents its characters and their environment with such reality and the conflicts between them are all so familiar that it invites the reader to compare to their own experiences.

The story is an extract, an episode, a small segment in the lives of the people involved. We don’t know how they got to this point, and we don’t really know where they’re going afterwards, but for an all-too-brief 75 pages, we get to peer in on the lives of this clique of post-graduate friends. We’re not so much as introduced to everyone as we’re dropped in on them. The central figures are Ken and Steve, but there’s also a rich supporting base of friends, and the interaction between them all is so very natural, as natural as the characters themselves. Some people come off as dicks, others come off as pretentious, still others come off as kind or sweet… but all of them come off as normal people you’d likely meet or even have in your own circle of friends at age 22. At that age, just at the tail end of your post-secondary education, you’re life is really just starting, and your clique just can’t hold itself together the same way. People are off looking for jobs and finding new relationships outside the group. Some people start to find themselves, while others seem more lost than ever. As a circle of friends begin to spread out into the larger world, it first grows and then fractions. The differences in personalities and objectives begins to change and friendships splinter. It’s how life progresses, and Long Hot Summer provides a glimpse at such an evolving community and their complex (but common) interaction.

The protagonist, if you can call him that, is Steve. He’s good looking, stylish, well mannered, average intelligence… he’s nice, to a fault. That fault is Ken, Steve’s best friend, who’s average looking, less sensible in stile, but nice enough except that he has an attitude that occasional verges on unjustly extreme. From the outsider’s perspective we’re given, we see how their friendship works, and at first, it’s sweet how Steve sticks up for Ken, puts his neck out for him time and again and how Ken is unfairly derided and ostracized by the clique. As much as we’re supposed to identify with Steve, I think just as many people will identify with Ken. Can you relate to being one of the gang, or being the outsider, or both? After a while though, it’s understood just how much Ken takes advantage of Steve’s good nature, borrowing money, bumming rides and slagging their group of friends… there’s a hostility there that we’re never sure where it stemming from. It’s actually readily apparent that the group doesn’t like Ken very much and that he sort of came as a package deal with Steve, and for as much as Steve thinks they are all friends, he expends a lot of effort trying to minimize the tension.

The thick of the story arises when Ken meets sexy and stylish Ashley, and in the familiar “timid nice guy” role that seems all-too familiar, he befriends her when his true intention is to date her. Steve’s happy that Ken’s happy, but after he’s introduced to his best friend’s new love interest, suddenly trouble is brewing. In a series of all-too-common events Ken soon finds himself stuck in the “friend zone” when he thought he was making progress, and Steve catches wind that Ashley actually has her eye on him: an unreciprocated-love triangle.

Steve winds up seeing Ashley behind Ken’s back, but soon realizes the mistake he’s made: he’s killing his friendship with Ken over a girl who is controlling and needy, whom he doesn’t even like very much and knew it was wrong all along. Like real life, Steve’s motivation is never clearly explained, but investing yourself into the story, it’s easy to see why it happened. McKelvie’s illustrations give us handsome, affable Steve, whose body language shows a man who doesn’t know his own attractiveness, and Stephenson accompanies with a nice guy who can be easily controlled. They give us the gorgeous Ashley, with lust in her eye, and McKelvie’s illustrations of her flirting with Steve while being cool with Ken (in the same panel at times) are impeccable. Steve didn’t have a chance.

I loved the simplicity of the story that Stephenson has crafted, that’s coupled with a realistic social dynamic. This is the way things happen, how people act and talk and interact, whether friends, antagonizers, acquaintances, lovers, or just passers by. Stephenson never outright explains the characters or their motivations. They act and react and it’s up to the reader to invest in them to understand why they do the things they do. McKelvie gives us just as much reality in his immaculate art, so clean and refined, every line precise, his people not just figures on the page, but characters, actors, conveying real language beyond what they say, something he would continue to do with Phonogram and Suburban Glamour.

The ending is unceremoniously abrupt, and in no way a resolution. Then again, unlike books or film, life rarely has a finite resolution. The end of each day segues into the beginning of another, and there’s no forecasting what could happen. It’s a testament to the strength of Long Hot Summer that I’m left wondering how Steve’s life and his various friendships are going to continue to play out.


Trade Winds - The Goon: Chinatown & The Mystery Of Mr. Wicker (Dark Horse Comics)
Reviewed by Adam Prosser

When I was a kid in school, we used to take personality evaluation tests all the time. They weren’t usually referred to that way, but at least once a year we'd end up doing a  unit  meant to categorize us somehow. I’ve never been sure what the point was; in retrospect they were either insipid or creepy, as though the powers that be were trying to label us for future reference. These tests used different terminology, but it basically broke down to four categories based on two opposing sets of terms; the one I remember most clearly had it that your thought processes could be "Abstract" or "Concrete"  (basically, a realist vs. an idealist), and "Random" or "Sequential"  (looking at the big picture vs. going step-by-step).  The two furthest extremes were "Concrete Sequential" (suggesting a buttoned-down, nerdy, accountant type) vs. "Abstract Random" (suggesting a creative, flaky sort).

Yes, I am going someplace with all this. I think this methodology presents a useful way of breaking down the tendencies of comics to be surreal or realistic (Abstract vs. Concrete) and continuity-oriented or standalone (Random vs. Sequential).  All these different approaches have their merit, of course, but some of the most fun comics of our time have been Abstract Random the kind of what-the-hell, anything-goes approach to storytelling that liberates a writer and/or artist to just concentrate on packing each issue with as much crazy, cool, hilarious stuff as possible.

And chief among these comics, of late, has been Eric Powell's The Goon . This is a comic with no filler, no sense of self-importance, and almost no story. Most issues are little more than an excuse to plunge the title character into a scenario filled with whatever crazy stuff Powell wants to draw that month zombies, robots, Kaiju monsters, werewolves, gangster shenanigans, mad science... there's even been a prison drama and a football story, though all of it is filtered through Powell s warped sensibilities and it's always, always hilarious. Powell has a gift for trimming almost any genre to its bare essentials, and then cranking it all up to eleven.

At least, that s how I would have characterized the book until recently. In the issues before the break precipitated by the kerfuffle over Satan's Sodomy Baby which I won't rehash here, since this review is getting long enough already Powell started to show us that there was an underlying story to all this madness after all. We already knew that The Goon had lived a rough and unpleasant life, culminating in a recent experience in Chinatown that had left his face scarred and his heart broken; we also knew that Mirna, the luscious torch singer, had been making eyes at him, but his experience had left him too cynical to believe that she was anything but trouble.

This special Hardcover ties up both these plot threads with two basically separate stories, as the title suggests. One is a flashback to the Goon's Chinatown encounter, painted in washed-out watercolour and involving a girl who almost inspired Goon to ditch his life of crime. The other, set in the present day, deals with a new player who s trying to muscle in on Goon s turf, the mysterious and creepy Mr. Wicker. (As his name suggests, he seems to be inspired by the movie The Wicker Man–the classic one, not the awful remake with Nicholas Cage).  The connection between the two is Goon's relationship to a girl, and how his Chinatown scrape is affecting his relationship with Mirna, who may have a connection to Mr. Wicker.

The opening flyleaf is printed with the words "THIS AIN'T FUNNY", and it's no lie. I don t know if Powell s just in a bad mood these days (again, see the flap over Satan's Sodomy Baby ) or if he'd always intended for the story to take a darker turn, but this is probably the darkest, and dare I say angstiest, Goon story yet. Powell s art has been slowly evolving and changing I quite liked the simple dark-ink style of the earlier issues, which resembled a hyper-stylized version of EC and which suited the deranged wackiness, but his newer style of lush, painted colors over detailed pencil work suit the darker turn the story has taken.

What's surprising, though, is how this comic built on randomness and surreal energy can prove to be so emotionally affecting when it's grounded in a longer storyline. While I do hope the Goon goes back to being wacky and sick in the regular book, an extended foray into more classical storytelling suits Powell surprisingly well for the length of this OGN–almost like it’s just another genre for him to dabble in. I guess people aren’t really confined to being Abstract Random or Concrete Sequential after all.


Trade Winds - Scott Pilgrim Vol. 4: Scott Pilgrim Gets It Together (Oni Press)
Reviewed by Adam Prosser

"Scott, if your life had a face, I would punch it in the balls. Seriously."

As a goofy, oversensitive, slacker man-child from Toronto who hates real jobs and falls for girls who are way out of his league, I'm always a bit surprised at the success of Scott Pilgrim. That is to say, I m surprised that people enjoy it as much as I do, considering that it seems tailor made to speak to me, and me alone. Literally, this is me reading Scott Pilgrim: Oh, look, it s the CityTV building! Oh, and Dundas Square! Oooh, Sneaky Dee's! I hate that place, why would Scott hang out there? Hey, I think I've been to that Vegan restaurant, etc. But I guess the zany spirit of fun and universality of the characters and situations speaks to just about everyone, as witnessed by the popularity of this comic, which gets better and better with every installment.

If there's been any major potential stumbling block with this series, it's been the character of Scott Pilgrim himself.  I just described myself as feeling a certain kinship with him, and even I get a little annoyed at what a mess he is sometimes.  I mean, the dude seems to have actual mental problems.  He can't even remember large chunks of his life, or that he's met people, like, four times already, or that the web address to www.amazon.ca is "www.amazon.ca".  Obviously this is comedic exaggeration, but still, you can t help wondering what his erstwhile, hair-changing ninja delivery-girl ladyfriend Ramona Flowers sees in him. This is obviously a common enough trope - the dumb geek with the amazing girlfriend - but Scott Pilgrim (the book) is smart enough to make explaining this relationship the central focus of the story.  As the title states, Scott finally starts to make some baby-steps towards maturity in this one, and the results are strangely exhilarating.  Or maybe not so strange, since you KNOW there s going to be ninjas involved.

Volume 4 opens with a burst of color, as Scott tries to work up the nerve to finally say  the L-word to Ramona:  Lesbian. No, wait, I mean Love. Unfortunately, his ability to do same is just the first of a series of challenges that threaten to shake up our emotionally arrested protagonist's precious little life. The fact that he and best friend/gay roommate are about to be kicked out of their apartment, the re-appearance of an old high school not-flame, and the increasing pressure on Scott to get an actual job also conspire to force Scott to either grow up or make some changes. Then there's the mysterious Asian man with a sword who's trying to kill him despite the fact that he s apparently not one of Ramona's evil ex-boyfriends.

We also learn more about the mysterious Ms. Flowers, including her previously unknown age and the reason why she's been so vague about exactly how many ex-boyfriends Scott is going to have to do battle with. The answer involves the L-word.

Some people complain that writer/artist Brian Lee O'Malley's art has a tendency to make the characters hard to distinguish from each other (as he frequently acknowledges), but I personally disagree. I never have more than a momentary confusion about this, even when he draws scenes of a dozen or so characters all seated around a table (as he does a few times in this volume). O'Malley's art is deceptively simple, but he s got a great eye for detail that helps keep things extremely clear. I do kind of wish this comic was in full color all the way through, as it would better suit Scott's hyperkinetic cartoon universe, but O'Malley s solid linework never stops surprising me with its versatility.

Meanwhile, his writing is just getting better and better at capturing the intricacies of the character relationships, often revealing everything you need to know about a minor character with a few well-chosen panels. Well, OK, it helps that O'Malley also relies on snide narrative captions and bizarre pop-up stats boxes, one of the series' trademark video game shoutouts.  But what I find most impressive about O'Malley is his ability to capture dialogue between a group of close friends, living in this particular place, subculture, and time, who share the same wavelength. Their conversations often seem to be comprised entirely of non sequiturs, weird tangents, and in-jokes to which we (or even they) aren’t entirely privy, and yet you always understand them. Some of it, again, is exaggeration, but there s a core of truthfulness there, and what makes this the best Scott Pilgrim volume yet is the way the underlying heart comes to the surface at the climax, when Scott finally does get it together. The boy earns it in this one.

Or maybe it's just me. I've been there. Even if I didn't literally have to pull a flaming sword from my chest.


Trade Winds – Contraband (SLG Publishing)
Review by Graig Kent

To borrow a phrase from Max Headroom, Contraband is a story set twenty minutes into the future, a time much like our own only slightly different, with one aspect of our culture pushed to an extreme. In this case writer TJ Behe speculates about the progression of mobile phone technology and it’s ever-growing role as the watchful eye of our society. Camera phones have made way for video phones and the idea of being a mobile journalist; capturing events on the video phone and uploading them to the web for notoriety has become an addictive past-time for British society. The story picks up shortly down the road, as news doesn’t happen quick enough and soon kids turn to brutalizing one another to create a story. It’s Jackass emulators and backyard wrestling taken to another level, the turn-of-this-century race for blogging notoriety turned on its ear, the popularity contests that are YouTube and mySpace exploited with purpose. It’s a modern sci-fi/cyberpunk story with elements tracing back to fiction and cinematic social dystopias like A Clockwork Orange or Nineteen Eighty-Four, technological ones like Strange Days or The Matrix, or even bloodsport ones like The Running Man or Rollerball (the James Caan one, please, not the remake).

Here, Eastern European youth society has been infected with the Contraband bug, not in a literal sense, but this mobile-centric broadcasting network has promised cash for top-ranking videos, most based around violent acts or sex (or both) inciting youth into (the wrong kind of) action. With staged fights and regular pornography hardly unique enough, kids push themselves to the extreme to try and capture that one video that will net them thousands and their seven-point-five minutes of fame. Toby is a less aggressive youth, an everyman, engaging in social mobile journalism by capturing interesting conversations or crimes in progress, but one day he captures the wrong conversation and the wrong men. Tucker and Plugger are two hard dudes who just happen to be the creators and operators of the Contraband network. They’re in a battle for public sympathy with Jarvis and Charlotte, social activists rallying against the cellular broadcast, and all of them have a past together naturally upping the acrimony. Tucker, threatening Toby at gunpoint, coerces him into tracking down Charlotte and providing him with her location, the intent to take her out. There’s only two problems: Toby’s conscience and a burgeoning love for his intended target.

What results is a complex tale that takes corporate espionage and holds it down to street-level mobster-style tactics, taking into account the social ramifications of technological advances, involving equal parts greed and entertainment. It’s a book brimming with potential but there’s an abundance of diversions that turn what should have been a focused and pointed work into a sixty-forty split between ingenious and intolerable.

“Another random but runny stream of consciousness escapes from your mouth. It’s not obligatory to say every single thing that pops into your head.”

This quote arises early on, Plugger pointing out that Tucker never shuts up, but, quite frankly it’s a hypocritical statement, as rarely any character does. Nearly every scene change involves a launch into either a flashback story (sometimes useful, sometimes unnecessary) or a soapbox rant of political, sociological or cultural observation, which is not to say that there’s not some valid topics brought up worth exploring, but they’re not given any room to breathe and instead they just wind up smothering the central message. If it were one character solely doing this - like Tucker in the role assigned to him - and thus a trait of said character, it wouldn’t be an issue, but all the characters do it, and as such they lose individuality and their dialog becomes interchangeable.

I’m not adverse to reading text-heavy comics, but there must be purpose to verbosity, either in a story context, a character context or a stylistic context. Many of the speeches here are completely detached in meaning from the book’s core and don’t serve any insight into the book’s situations, environments or characters. Phil Elliott is the artist with the daunting task of illustrating this dialog-heavy story and pushes through it quite well. Elliott’s style has a familiarity to it, a heavy pen creating simplistic outlines, with clean strokes ala Hergé, but not as cartoonish, more akin to contemporary alternative artists like Steve Rolston. There’s moments where the physicality of the figures are awkward, but overall Elliott provides a steady sense of movement where the dialog might otherwise stagnate the sense of progress. I would have like to have seen more from-the-mobile perspectives throughout the book, as what is provided sometimes jumps from that view to a much broader in-the-moment shot. But Elliott provides the perfect amount of detail and captures Behe’s 20-minutes-into-the-future ideas well.

The climax of Contraband is a gripping one, pulsating with intensity, but it’s an uneven read getting to that point, one I fear may put off many readers. I found myself distracted by the overabundance of diatribes and the non-linear progression a third of the way through and had to put the book down for a few days before rustling up the enthusiasm to continue on. The most unfortunate part is this is a book I want to like a lot more than I actually can. The idea is fantastic, and when it’s in focus it’s executed quite well by Behe and Elliott, but that focus is too often obstructed for anything more than a caveatted recommendation.