It’s been a little over a year since the first two volumes of Brody’s Ghost, Mark Crilley’s new series for Dark Horse. It would be easy to have forgotten about the series by then, or at the very least feel slightly lost with this new [...]]]> By Mark Crilley
96 pages, black and white
Published by Dark Horse

It’s been a little over a year since the first two volumes of Brody’s Ghost, Mark Crilley’s new series for Dark Horse. It would be easy to have forgotten about the series by then, or at the very least feel slightly lost with this new installment. But if anything, I think the reverse is true here. Crilley picks up where he’d left off with the previous volume, but does so in a way that keeps readers instantly informed, and if anything picks up steam at a rapid pace. I’d go so far as to say that readers who jumped in with this new installment would do just fine.

It helps a great deal that after most of Brody’s Ghost Vol. 2 involved Brody being trained to use his new-found powers, this new volume quickly moves Brody onto being on the trail of the dreaded Penny Killer. It’s a moment that needed to happen, and it feels like Crilley’s timing is perfect. Brody’s grown up a great deal in the first two volumes, and he’s mentally ready to move forward in a way that he wasn’t at the start of the series. What I found myself appreciating is that the route that Brody goes down this volume is a group effort; Brody’s responsible for a lot of it, but it’s his friendships that have just as much of a boost down the road to finding the Penny Killer. You can see, looking back, how Crilley laid the groundwork in the earlier volumes to make him able to able to get through this portion of the overall storyline.

Crilley’s also found a nice balance here in other parts of the story. Brody’s telling his story to his closest friends has just the right mixture of skepticism and belief, for instance, and for every right move that Brody makes in telling lies to get closer to the Penny Killer, he also makes mistakes. (Fortunately for him, none of them are critical mistakes, but it’s a nice reminder that he’s new at this sort of thing.) It keeps Brody from being infallible, and those little slips make him a much more interesting and relatable character as a result. And in many ways, that’s one of the biggest strengths of Brody’s Ghost; Brody’s become so likable that I want him to succeed no matter what. The fact that he’s hunting a serial killer is of course a good reason to want him to do well, but it wouldn’t matter what his mission was at this point, and that’s a good protagonist.

The art in Brody’s Ghost is as nice as ever; Crilley’s art is in a manga-inspired style, using clean lines and expressive faces as the cornerstone for the pages. There’s a lot of storytelling chops on display here too; he’s able to use panel size and progression to carefully move the reader through the page in a way that exhibits strict control over your reactions. When Brody has his visions, for instance, coming back to reality starts with two small panels showing a tight focus on his eyes, from being squinched shut to opening back up. It’s then that Crilley pulls back and shows the rest of Brody; the distressed look on his face, the outstretched arm and hand holding the object, and refocusing us in the real world.

Brody’s Ghost Vol. 3 is just as good as the first two volumes, and was well worth the wait. My only complaint is now we’ve got to wait for the next chapter, and this is a series that’s good enough that I’m always feeling a little greedy in wanting more. If you haven’t read anything by Crilley up until now—or like Crilley’s comics but were just waiting on enough material to be released—this is a great time to jump and see it all for yourself. Highly recommended.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

In comics, Bernie Wrightson is probably best known for co-creating Swamp Thing. Outside of comics, though, it might be his illustrated edition of Frankenstein. I remember looking at the beautiful illustrations back in the mid-’80s and being entranced by the gorgeous drawings of Frankenstein, [...]]]> Written by Steve Niles
Art by Bernie Wrightson
32 pages, color
Published by IDW

In comics, Bernie Wrightson is probably best known for co-creating Swamp Thing. Outside of comics, though, it might be his illustrated edition of Frankenstein. I remember looking at the beautiful illustrations back in the mid-’80s and being entranced by the gorgeous drawings of Frankenstein, the monster, and the situations that Mary Shelley had come up with back in 1831. Frankenstein Alive, Alive! #1 is in many ways a spiritual heir to that project, operating as a direct sequel to Shelley’s novel with a story written by Steve Niles. And so far? It’s got that tone down pat.

Set a century after the original novel, Niles and Wrightson cast Frankenstein’s monster as a member of a carnival sideshow, appearing day in and out to scare bystanders that have paid to see… himself. By this point the novel Frankenstein has passed into the public awareness, but believing it as a piece of fiction rather than a true story. It’s a neat little twist for a sequel, a strange sort of mixture of our world and that of Frankenstein itself. Frankenstein’s monster (who in accordance with pop culture goes by just Frankenstein himself now) is trapped in a corner in terms of surviving in any other way, and the entire set-up makes perfect sense.

More importantly, Frankenstein Alive, Alive! #1 captures that dark, melancholic tone that I remember from the later chapters of Shelley’s novel. That gothic horror is alive and well here, with Frankenstein yearning for death even as he continues to live on well beyond his creator. The comic might be called Frankenstein Alive, Alive! but in many ways this is more of a living death for the poor creature, desperate for oblivion but unable to achieve it. It’s a good first chapter to this story, one that will eventually look handsome on a shelf next to the Wrightson-illustrated edition of the novel.

Wrightson’s art looks gorgeous here; it’s shot off of his black and white illustrations, but with touches of blue added to some of the backgrounds of the book. The end result is a visual that’s as moody as the writing itself; the deep blues are anything but cheerful, reminding me of dark watercolors that threaten to drown the characters of the book. I could look for hours at each page; the trim on the monster’s robe as he talks to his creator, the individual snowflakes, the crests of snow ridges as the monster a century earlier seeks an icy tomb. There’s so much to marvel and take in here, with Wrightson carefully creating intricate buildings and streets in a town, or every little plant in the background as the monster crawls through the forest. Wrightson’s a master of the comics industry, and this comic is a firm reminder on how he achieved that status.

My only quibble is that I found myself wishing that Frankenstein Alive, Alive! had been published right away as a graphic novel instead of as a serialized comic. IDW sweetens the deal by including the first third of Shelley’s novel in the back of the comic, as well as a conversation between Niles and Wrightson about Frankenstein, but this is a book that I think will read better as a unified whole. Still, it’s a handsome comic, and one for which I’m eager to see more. All in all, good stuff.

It was only a couple of years ago that I read the first volume of the original E.C. Segar Thimble Theatre comic strips that are better known as Popeye. If you’ve never read them before, they’re a thoroughly enjoyable series of adventure comics about [...]]]> Written by Roger Langridge
Art by Bruce Ozella
32 pages, color
Published by IDW

It was only a couple of years ago that I read the first volume of the original E.C. Segar Thimble Theatre comic strips that are better known as Popeye. If you’ve never read them before, they’re a thoroughly enjoyable series of adventure comics about Castor Oyl (always looking for a get-rich scheme), Olive Oyl (his slightly abrasive sister), and Popeye (the sailor who usually gets dragged into Castor’s schemes). Reading IDW’s new Popeye #1, one thing became immediately clear: Roger Langridge and Bruce Ozella have clearly done their research.

Unlike the cartoons and everything that followed Segar’s original strips, there’s no magical spinach gulping that makes Popeye get crazy strong, no constant idiotic chuckle from Popeye, or constant mentions of Wimpy wanting hamburgers. There’s still a lot of humor in Popeye, but it’s a slightly dryer and more unexpected tone. When slapstick happens it’s surprising instead of ordinary, and Popeye himself is a much gruffer, no-nonsense kind of guy. Langridge uses all of this to his advantage, with the trio going in search of what might be a second Jeep (the mysterious creature that they found on an earlier adventure that appears to be one-of-a-kind) in order to make money. A lot of old old favorites appear (the Sea Hag, Bluto, and even Wimpy) in the story, which moves at a good clip and has just the right mixture of suspense and action.

What’s especially nice about Popeye #1 is that even as all of these faces from the strip show up, I never felt like I had know anything about the original Segar strips to enjoy this comic. Langridge quickly explains what Eugene the Jeep is and why he’s so valuable, for instance, and villains like the Sea Hag and Bluto are explained merely by the situations they’re in, no exposition beyond a single sentence necessary. There’s an old cliche about how every issue of a comic is someone’s first, but Langridge takes it to heart here. I think that’s a good thing; there are a lot of comic readers who have never seen the original Popeye stories, and this feels like a great introduction to Segar’s high adventure, slightly comedic style. And, really, it’s near-impossible to not love a comic where Popeye agrees to go on a crazy quest by saying, "I can’t stan’ t’ see a dumb animal cry on account o’ I got a heart like nobody’s bizness."

I’d never heard of Ozella before, but I like his art here. It’s exactly in Segar’s style, with the rounded heads, wiggly lines radiating out of people’s heads, and gruff expressions. Bluto just radiates menace, and his assistant looks like a huge slab of beef just ready to attack. He’s got a fun sense of motion for his characters, with Popeye’s arms whirling around like a windmill, or the way that he leaps and bounds through the air. It’s completely in character with what Segar did before, but it also manages to keep from feeling old-fashioned or less than natural; that’s a feat that few comic artists can manage when mimicking another artist’s style.

Popeye #1 is a comic where there are boats with "Secret Weapon X" levers that, when pulled, release a shark to attack other ships. It’s slightly ridiculous but completely awesome. I’m hoping that Popeye #1 creates a whole new group of fans for the character (and if so, do check out the collections of Segar’s strip from Fantagraphics as well!), because Langridge and Ozella are turning out a comic that’s too fun to ignore.

Brevity may be the soul of wit, but that hasn’t stopped a lot of comic and book creators from turning out some huge creations over the years. Maybe that’s what I initially found so refreshing about Liar’s Kiss by Eric [...]]]> Written by Eric Skillman
Art by Jhomar Soriano
120 pages, black and white
Published by Top Shelf Productions

Brevity may be the soul of wit, but that hasn’t stopped a lot of comic and book creators from turning out some huge creations over the years. Maybe that’s what I initially found so refreshing about Liar’s Kiss by Eric Skillman and Jhomar Soriano. Clocking in at just 120 pages, I feel like it’s in many ways a lesson of how to tell a story at just the right length. Not too long, not too short, and ready to jump into the conclusion before it overstays its welcome.

Liar’s Kiss is a comic that at first seems familiar; a private investigator spying on a woman to prove that she was faithful to her husband, only to reveal that all this time she’s been cheating on her husband with the private investigator. And when the husband turns up dead, through various twists of fate the pair of them realize that their little game may have plunged both of them into the hot seat. Here’s the thing, though; we learn the first piece of information on page three, and we’re not even a dozen pages in before the next piece is revealed. Each new chunk of information is paced out perfectly; we learn more about Nick Archer the investigator, Abbey Kincaid the cheating wife, and all of the other characters at a speed that keeps you jumping and guessing. And with each reveal, you start to realize that there’s no one in the book you can trust to give you an honest answer.

Skillman never makes Liar’s Kiss feel rushed, even as it moves at a sharp pace, and that’s not an easy feat. I think that it’s the greatest strength of the script, able to unfold the story at a good clip but somehow still have time to stop and explain everything in good detail. It certainly helps that the protagonist of Liar’s Kiss is a private investigator, so Nick Archer has time to stop and ask people what’s going on, what their relationship to the Kincaids is, and so on. But even then, I never got the impression that we were getting huge information dumps or visits by the exposition fairy; it comes across natural and entertaining. The continual escalation of the plot of Liar’s Kiss certainly helps that overall flow; Skillman never lets the book feel slow or dragging, two words that are often associated with a lot of explanations in a book.

Soriano’s art in Liar’s Kiss is interesting and attractive; in some ways it reminds me a bit of taking Frank Miller’s earliest Sin City art and then stripping it down in terms of the number of lines, and avoiding the heavy blacks. There’s a scene early on in Liar’s Kiss where Nick comes to talk to Abbey right after her husband is discovered dead, and it’s beautiful; just a handful of lines to carve out the edges of her hair and blouse, a few more lines used for the facial features and tears running down her face. It’s a level of minimalism that is impressive in part because of how much expressive detail is still achieved. Add in some good sequential storytelling and you end up with a good looking crime book. It works at the smaller dimensions, and it’s got an attractive cover that pops out with its use of black and pink; not necessarily a combination you’d associate with this genre, but it feels right.

Liar’s Kiss is a book that I think quietly slipped by a lot of readers when it was published this time last year, and that’s a shame. It’s a fun read, one that moves quickly and then lands a strong conclusion before there’s ever a chance for it to drag. Skillman and Soriano have created an enjoyable noir graphic novel in Liar’s Kiss, one that deserves some attention. I’ll happily read more books by then down the line.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

Alabaster: Wolves is a comic I’ve looked forward to ever since its announcement. It’s written by Caitlin R. Kiernan, who had a long run on The Dreaming and made the title her own, but who’s had a much bigger career as a [...]]]> Written by Caitlin R. Kiernan
Art by Steve Lieber
32 pages, color
Published by Dark Horse

Alabaster: Wolves is a comic I’ve looked forward to ever since its announcement. It’s written by Caitlin R. Kiernan, who had a long run on The Dreaming and made the title her own, but who’s had a much bigger career as a writer of prose. It’s drawn by Steve Lieber, whose work on Whiteout made him a star in my eyes and who has produced numerous strong comics since then, too. And the idea of rebooting a character from Kiernan’s books and short stories, and taking her down a different road for a series of comics? Well, it sounded like a blast to me. And with this first issue, I feel like Alabaster: Wolves is already on a good path.

When Alabaster: Wolves #1 opens, we’re joining protagonist Dancy Flammarion in an adventure already in progress. Kiernan keeps you from being lost, though; there’s enough information in Dancy’s narration to get the general gist of her story. She’s on a journey where a four-faced angel is telling her to kill monsters, even as there’s just the hint of madness surrounding Dancy. This is, after all, a teenaged girl talking to a blackbird that claims to know all about Dancy’s past and the killings that she’s performed up until now. By the time Dancy’s being threatened by a werewolf (who has some of Dancy’s long-lost possessions) and the angel shows up, well, it’s hard to tell what’s in Dancy’s head and what’s in the real world. And that’s just the way it should be.

Kiernan’s provided multiple hooks in Alabaster: Wolves—Dancy’s mental health, the appearance and vanishing of the angel, the werewolf, the hints about what Dancy’s already done to get her to this point—in such a way that it’s hard to not want to know just what happens next. Kiernan and Lieber have created a rich world that you dive into within seconds, and it makes me want to know more about "the awful women in Savannah, the cannibals" or "them poor folks down in Waycross." And when things come to a head in the riddle contest, that’s the clincher. Dancy isn’t your ordinary protagonist, and it feels like Kiernan isn’t playing by the rules here. I like it.

Lieber’s art matches the mood that Kiernan’s script has created. It’s a rough-hewn and run down world, or at least the edges that Dancy lurks in. Reading Alabaster: Wolves, the first thing that jumps to mind is how well Lieber draws his characters’ body language. Watching the werewolf and Dancy first confront one another is a mixture of swagger and quiet confidence, each sizing up the other even as they put their best foot forward. Considering how much of Alabaster: Wolves #1 involves characters talking to one another, it’s a critical element to convey, and Lieber keeps it visually interesting with the slightly ragged edges and worn out feel. Even better, though, is the way that Lieber draws the fantastical elements like Dancy’s angel. With its four heads with differing expressions, or the ripped bat wings, it’s a creature out of nightmares rather than Heaven, and I love it.

Alabaster: Wolves #1 is a strong opening for this first Alabaster mini-series; hopefully it’s not going to the first of many. I’m already tempted to read the Alabaster short story collection that this is based on, but I’m going to hold off for now. I know they’re going down slightly different paths, but this first issue was enough fun that I’d like to have more surprises ahead. Dark fantasy and horror fans, do check this book out.

I’ve loved Michael Zulli’s art ever since I first saw it, and over the years he’s just gotten stronger and stronger as a creator. When Zulli turned to Kickstarter last year to fund the printing of a 208-page hardcover graphic novel that he’d written [...]]]> By Michael Zulli
208 pages, black and white
Published by Eidolon Fine Arts

I’ve loved Michael Zulli’s art ever since I first saw it, and over the years he’s just gotten stronger and stronger as a creator. When Zulli turned to Kickstarter last year to fund the printing of a 208-page hardcover graphic novel that he’d written and drawn titled The Fracture of the Universal Boy, I jumped at the chance to get a copy for myself. At the same time, though, I’ll admit that a voice in the back of my head warned me not to get too excited. Zulli wrote two of the three chapters of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Soul’s Winter back in the day (Stephen Murphy is credited as providing the script over Zulli’s story for the first third) and while the art was amazing, the story never quite came together. So it was with that slight hesitation that I finally sat down to read The Fracture of the Universal Boy to see just what I’d helped pay for.

First, there’s no doubting that The Fracture of the Universal Boy is a deeply personal work for Zulli. Billed as semi-autobiographical, the book follows its main character going through a great deal of grief as he questions the universe around him. That in and of itself isn’t a problem. The main sticking point with The Fracture of the Universal Boy is that I feel that because Zulli was so close to the subject matter, he was unable to be objective about if it worked as a narrative. Unfortunately, I don’t think it does. It’s a disjointed series of pages with the protagonist regularly yelling or thinking angry thoughts about different symbols and concepts. If that doesn’t sound riveting, your inner hunch is quite correct. The writing portion of The Fracture of the Universal Boy feels less like an actual story or book, and more like a therapeutic exercise that someone went through to purge themselves of dark emotions, but failed to then dispose of properly. By the end of The Fracture of the Universal Boy, the urge to skip the narration boxes entirely was quite strong; while there’s no doubt in my mind that The Fracture of the Universal Boy fulfilled its purpose for Zulli and also makes perfect sense to him (since his own mind can fill in any narrative gaps), it’s a book that I don’t think will work for most potential readers.

With that portion of the finished book out of the way, though, there is no doubt in my mind that this is some of Zulli’s best artwork of his career. The amount of detail that Zulli has poured into each page is astounding; hundreds of little pebbles and blades of grass on every panel set outdoors, careful trickles of blood mapped out just right across a face, the shading and texture of tree bark in a swamp. I actually found myself relieved that Zulli chose to create The Fracture of the Universal Boy in black and white instead of color; while his color comics (usually applied directly to shaded pencils) is attractive, there’s a crisp nature to the finished pages here that lets you get a much better look at every last pen stroke. I could look at his black and white drawings of roses for hours, easily.

Zulli handles the stranger aspects of The Fracture of the Universal Boy well here. This is a book with harpies, leopards with human heads, even strange bipedal lizards with crowns. In each instance, they’re perfectly integrated into the story along with the more mundane portions of the book. They’re just as recognizable as an ever-filling ash tray, or a falcon soaring overhead. The book’s oversized dimensions are also a big plus here; it lets you get up close and person with the art and get a strong feel for what’s going on. While the story itself never quite works, strictly as an art book The Fracture of the Universal Boy is a gorgeous purchase, one that you can just study for hours.

I wish that I could wholeheartedly recommend The Fracture of the Universal Boy, but I feel like this is a book that could have benefited immensely with the help of an editor or co-author. I understand that this is, as I said before, a deeply personal book for Zulli, and as such I get why he wouldn’t have gone that route. That doesn’t change the fact that it’s ultimately a frustrating book. As a narrative story, The Fracture of the Universal Boy doesn’t work. As a series of amazing drawings from Zulli? If that appeals to you, then whenever The Fracture of the Universal Boy becomes available to a larger audience, I’d recommend it. Those who adore Zulli’s art will definitely find enjoyment out of the book.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com

Farm 54 is one of those books that quietly straddles multiple categorizations, almost silently defying you to try and place it somewhere. It’s autobiographical, but also fiction. It’s a graphic novel, but it’s based off of three prose short stories. Even the fact [...]]]> Written by Galit Seliktar
Art by Gilad Seliktar
128 pages, two-color
Published by Fanfare/Ponent Mon

Farm 54 is one of those books that quietly straddles multiple categorizations, almost silently defying you to try and place it somewhere. It’s autobiographical, but also fiction. It’s a graphic novel, but it’s based off of three prose short stories. Even the fact that it’s two-color instead of full color or black and white will no doubt perplex some readers. But if you’re willing to cross the boundaries to examine Farm 54, you end up with a curiously enjoyable experience.

Galit Seliktar originally wrote the three short stories that make up Farm 54, all about her life growing up in Israel. Galit Seliktar freely admits in author’s notes for each chapter that while they’re all based on real life, she made fundamental changes that deviate them from reality. (After all, in the first one she tells us about the death of her brother, Farm 54 illustrator Gilad Seliktar.) What matters the most about these stories isn’t the fine details, but rather the overall feel of growing up in rural Israel during the ’70s and ’80s, and that’s what Galit Seliktar’s stories deliver in full.

Take, for example, the opening story "The Substitute Lifeguard." On its surface you might take away that it’s about a horrible death of a younger sibling of Noga (Galit Seliktar’s alter ego). But as you read "The Substitute Lifeguard," it’s the smaller details and emotions that will grab your attention and stick with you. Elements like teenage yearning and hormones are universal, after all, and Noga’s infatuation with Dror is easy to understand. Swimming in an old manure pit as a pool, though, or even sitting shiva for the deceased might be moments that are new to a reader, though. And when Galit Seliktar ends the story with the line about her father calling her a murderer, it’s done in a way that could refer to one of two different events, even as it disturbs the reader by the raw emotion that brings "The Substitute Lifeguard" to a close. All three of Galit Seliktar’s deal with change and death of some sort, even as we watch Noga grow older and eventually enter the military. The end result is that we get three snapshots of Galit Seliktar’s early life, in a way that will stick with the reader that a simple "this is my life" narrative might not have achieved.

Gilad Seliktar illustrates and adapts Farm 54, and it’s a strong effort on his part. His characters are drawn with a minimal number of lines, using the second color to add depth and often boundaries for his forms. At a glance they initially appear delicate, and not detailed, but the more you look at Gilad Seliktar’s art the more you realize how expressive and strong it is. The glimpses we get of not only the farm that the Seliktars grew up on, but places like Palestinian settlements bring Farm 54‘s stories that much more to life; the buildings, the cluttered rooms, even the streets make me feel like we’re looking at actual snapshots of these earlier times.

It helps that Gilad Seliktar doesn’t use panel borders, instead always drawing across the page and then stacking these moments one atop the other in a column. It ends up making Farm 54 at times looking almost like an especially thoughtful sketchbook, each illustration bleeding into the next and walking us through the world of Farm 54. Gilad Seliktar’s notes about how he adapted his sister’s stories are especially interesting, addressing the fact that a lot of her prose was turned into illustrations rather than being turned into narration, and adjusting the pacing so that it would work in comic form. There’s a lot of thought put into the final product, and it’s a reminder that a strong adaptation is not necessarily the most literal; there’s a real art form to the shift in medium, and it feels like Gilad Seliktar knew exactly what he was doing.

Farm 54 feels in some ways almost as much of a travel book as biography. I felt at the end like I’d managed to travel back some 30-odd years in time to this earlier Israel, with the Seliktars providing that special gateway to those three moments in time. Farm 54 might quietly buck your expectations of this book, but it does so in a welcoming manner. If Galit and Gilad Seliktar plan on working on another collaboration down the line, I’ll definitely be reading it.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

As much as I love Studio Ghibli’s films, occasionally they’ll sneak past me in the movie theatres. That was the case with The Secret World of Arrietty, an animated movie based on the novels of The Borrowers that was released in North American earlier this [...]]]> By Studio Ghibli and Hiromasa Yonebayashi
200 pages, color
Published by Viz

As much as I love Studio Ghibli’s films, occasionally they’ll sneak past me in the movie theatres. That was the case with The Secret World of Arrietty, an animated movie based on the novels of The Borrowers that was released in North American earlier this year. While I continue to wait for a DVD release, though, I’ve found that yearning at least partially satiated by The Art of the Secret World of Arrietty, a book detailing the artistic creation of the film.

Studio Ghibli fans will no doubt be the most interested in the early concept design sketches, which are split between director Hiromasa Yonebayashi and Studio Ghibli founder Hayao Miyazaki. They’re rough but beautiful in their own right, with soft, gentle colors and lines as you get to see the looks of the characters of The Secret World of Arrietty slowly form. It’s interesting to see some characters go down different paths at least initially. Yonebayashi’s early sketches of Arrietty have her looking like more of a warrior than an every day girl, for example, until Miyazaki vetoed the idea, and Miyazaki initially envisioned Pod looking very Germanic. It’s actually a little fascinating to see how much Miyazaki’s originally envisioning of settings like the mansion or the home of Arrietty translated into the final product; the sketches might be rough, but everyone involved still seized on the details that are still present and brought them to life.

Beyond those earliest production sketches, though, there’s a lot of other interest packed into The Art of the Secret World of Arrietty. There’s an essay talking about the changes made from the books to turn it into a movie, discussions on shifting everything to the tiny size of the characters, and even explaining how they got around the fact that the home of the little people should have been pitch black since it wouldn’t have a window to the outside world. It’s a surprisingly thoughtful write-up of just about every aspect of creating the film, save for voice acting (which of course the art department would have nothing to do with), and even without having seen The Secret World of Arrietty yet for myself, it’s still interesting.

And of course, there’s a lot of art reproduced from The Secret World of Arrietty, even beyond all of the (increasingly detailed) production sketches. Even something as simple as a still from the movie looks fantastic; then again, this is a Studio Ghibli film. The images of the exterior of the house are breathtaking, and if anything it makes me want to see The Secret World of Arrietty even more. We also get to see a lot of the production art side-by-side with the actual scenes from the film; while the finished product is crisper and more polished, it’s once again a little surprising to see how closely the film followed those early paintings.

The Art of the Secret World of Arrietty closes with a printing of the entire script of the film, which is a surprising bonus. (As tempting as it was to read it, I’m going to hold off on that until I finally get to see the film for myself.) The Art of the Secret World of Arrietty is the first Studio Ghibli Library art book on my shelves, but I’m already planning on getting a lot more; especially the ones for my favorite films like My Neighbor Totoro. The Art of the Secret World of Arrietty does the near-impossible; it managed to plunge me deep into the world of a film I’ve yet to actually see. That’s no small feat.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

When R. Kikuo Johnson’s Night Fisher graphic novel was published in 2005, I remember a lot of people proclaiming him to be the next big thing in comics. The book and Johnson got their fair share of awards, but since then there’s been remarkably little in [...]]]> By R. Kikuo Johnson
40 pages, color
Published by Toon Books

When R. Kikuo Johnson’s Night Fisher graphic novel was published in 2005, I remember a lot of people proclaiming him to be the next big thing in comics. The book and Johnson got their fair share of awards, but since then there’s been remarkably little in the way of new creations from Johnson. I think I was as surprised as anyone else when The Shark King was announced; a book for young readers was almost certainly not where I’d expected him to show up next. This retelling of a Hawaiian myth, though, is going to enchant readers of all ages.

The Shark King is in many ways one of those classic mythological stories; a woman who is seduced by a god, then raises their child and tries to find a balance between his human and divine sides. Nanaue, as a half-human/half-god, comes across as a charming character in Johnson’s retelling. This is a good thing; if you look at the character from a clinical perspective, I can see where it would be easy to make him unlikable. After all, this is a kid who steals from the fishermen around him and is increasingly stubborn. Here, though, you want him to succeed anyway. He’s got a certain sweetness and innocence about him, and that’s a perfect balance to his other actions.

His mother Kalei comes across a little less developed, although she’s most certainly just a supporting character in The Shark King. She’s there to deliver a child and warnings, but while she comes across as a bit naive from time to time, I found myself appreciating her spirit. Her position in The Shark King is not an easy to be in, but Johnson had me liking her a great deal as the book progressed, for her spirit as much as her warmth. Even the little details of The Shark King stick out, be it introducing the reader to a sea mollusk known as the opihi, or the idea of the shape-shifting Shark King himself. It’s ultimately an enjoyable book, one that made me feel like I did when I’d first learned about Greek and Roman mythology; it makes me want to seek out more in the way of the Hawaiian mythos.

Johnson’s art in The Shark King is beautiful, using soft, graceful lines to block out characters similar to the way artists like Peter Snejbjerg and Gilbert Hernandez draw their comics. Watching Nanaue run around the island is fun, and the scenes with Kalei and the Shark King having a surprising amount of body language on display; you get a strong feel for their personalities by the way that they carry themselves. The best part about The Shark King‘s art is probably how Johnson draws the setting, though; Hawaii bursts to life in gorgeous landscapes, and the number of aquatic animals that Johnson draws can’t help but enchant the reader. Even something as simple as the constellation of the Shark King is perfectly executed, in a way that creates a memorable image that the reader will certainly take away from the book.

Toon Books regularly turns out excellent graphic novels for kids, but The Shark King is definitely up in the top part of that list. I’d cheerfully read a series of Hawaiian tale graphic novels from Johnson (hint hint); this is the kind of book that I think parents would enjoy reading together with their children as much as the kids would. For people all ages interested in mythology, you can’t go wrong with The Shark King.

Purchase Links: Amazon.com | Powell’s Books

Written by Jan StrnadArt by Richard Corben32 pages, black and whitePublished by Dark Horse

When I think of a creepy old mansion with family members who refuse to leave, Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher immediately leaps to mind. It certainly feels like the initial spark behind Jan Strnad and [...]]]>

Written by Jan Strnad
Art by Richard Corben
32 pages, black and white
Published by Dark Horse

When I think of a creepy old mansion with family members who refuse to leave, Edgar Allan Poe’s The Fall of the House of Usher immediately leaps to mind. It certainly feels like the initial spark behind Jan Strnad and Richard Corben’s Ragemoor, a new mini-series from Dark Horse Comics. But where The Fall of the House of Usher quickly chronicled the end of the House of Usher (both in terms of the family line as well as the physical structure), Ragemoor is a construction that quickly proves itself to have quite a bit of life left in it.

The early pages of Ragemoor #1 open fairly simply. Herbert explains to his uncle and cousin that they should not have returned to Castle Ragemoor, at first hinting and then outright stating that the Castle drives people (including his father) mad, and that the Castle is somehow alive. And from there, amidst the doubt of Herbert’s relatives, Strnad plunges directly into the horror that is Ragemoor. Considering that this is just the first quarter of the overall story, it’s impressive on how it’s able to shift so rapidly from hints and insinuations into something that’s impossible to ignore. It’s around the halfway point of the first issue, when Herbert starts to describe the creation of Castle Ragemoor, that Ragemoor feels like it’s shaken off the shackles of that initial spark of inspiration and moved into a decidedly different direction, and I like it.

Ragemoor under Strnad’s direction becomes as much Poltergeist as a gothic horror; moments of terror that lunge into the scene with no warning, even as it’s hard to shake a larger feeling of dread hanging over the entire construct. I think that’s ultimately what sold me on Strnad’s writing for the comic; anyone can have things pop into view and scare the audience, but in some ways they almost serve as a deliberate distraction from the big picture that continues to creep up on you as the comic progresses. I’m not sure where Ragemoor will go with three more issues ahead, but Strnad has firmly grabbed my attention.

As much as I’ve loved Corben’s recent collaborations with colorists like Jose Villarrubia, his black and white work here is exceptional. Corben draws Herbert almost as if he’s carved out of stone in that initial glimpse, a living gargoyle of Castle Ragemoor. As the comic progresses, Herbert gains a little life (and to be honest, occasionally looks more like a Muppet than a person), but every time Herbert draws back in anger and fear to explain to his uncle the danger that is Castle Ragemoor, it’s a beautiful gothic moment; all we’re missing is one of the Bronte sisters to complete the scene. But while Herbert and the servant Bodrick are straight out of those classic pieces of literature, the uncle is drawn in a foppish, cartoonish manner. It’s hard to tell if Corben is trying to signal how out of place the uncle is (even cousin Anoria fits in well enough with her new surroundings), or if he’s simply being played for comedy. Either way, though, the character certainly stands out in an interesting manner, and his presence is certainly bothersome whatever the reason.

Ragemoor #1 is a good opening issue. It establishes the setting of Castle Ragemoor and its few inhabitants well, and both presents a mystery and then immediately moves it into new territory. There are a lot of possibilities for the remaining three issues, and based on what Strnad and Corben have shown us here, it should be a fun ride. Ragemoor is an unexpected little treat of horror and dread. Those who like horror comics should definitely take a gander.