Genre Fare, Neither Dark nor Forbidden

A gothic horror romance starring Deadman? Think about it. A match made in Nanda Parbat, right? Shockingly, no. Deadman: Dark Mansion of Forbidden Love mostly focuses around Berenice, a woman who is sensitive to, and can observe, ghosts, with Deadman underwhelmingly being used as a plot contrivance. Writer Sarah Vaughn provides a standard offering to the genre: murder, lost love,
unrecounted love (inexplicably gay love at that; a plot element tacked on seemingly to satisfy a quota and never explored or explained), and the unsurprising return of a dastardly villain steeped in the dark arts.

As for the art? Lan Medina showcases slick, detailed visuals that, when paired with digital painter Jose Villarrubia, transcends the typical graphic novel medium, look more akin to storybook art than superhero. Berenice is rendered as a normal, standard woman that definitely, and refreshingly, stands in contrast to the super-human existence of Boston Brand.

The art also contrasts against the staggering commonness of the story itself. Vaughn and Medina work together to produce a few genuinely creepy moments, but those are quickly forgotten and generally dulled down by a slow-moving plot complete with meaningless internal dialogue that would certainly have Frank Miller screaming at the walls of his studio in frustration. If anything, Dark Mansion of Forbidden Love shows that nothing is scarier than longing looks at an antique store.
Right.

Thanks to DC Comics and NetGalley for the ghost of a chance to read the advanced collector’s edition. This is a genre ripe for the taking in the magical DCU; it just needs to be properly grabbed.

As Always,
theJOE

A Procedural of Firearms from the 1930s

Somewhere within this concrete block of a novel, under the preposterously-macho dialogue, away from the run-on sentences filled with description upon description upon description, not to mention chapters worth of the intricacies involved with breaking down firearms, there lays a cool, fast story of historical fiction playing out a hard-as-balls Agent and his hunt of a wilily, rascal of a bank-robber. To find that story, brother, break out the chisels and jackhammers, as it’s a deep dig.

G-Man places the fictional character of Charles Swagger right into the state of play between the burgeoning FBI and a series of public enemies on the prowl in the early 1930s, such as the likes of John Dillinger and Baby-Face Nelson. Author Stephen Hunter adds to this narrative a present-day tale of Swagger’s grandson, Bob, and his quest to uncover the mystery of his grandfather. Both tales, alone and inter-twined, make for great pulp, crime fiction. Hunter unfortunately burdens that plot, something that should be hip, and light, and full of that post-1920s swing, with the procedurals of an old man telling a young whippersnapper the right way a task should be done.

Maybe this is simply Hunter’s style
that I, as the reader and reviewer, have not previously been privy to. However, as a reader and reviewer, I found his unyielding verbiage to be unnecessarily weighty, making for a dull read. And a release from an author named Hunter, featuring a character named Swagger, and with the cover boasting a fedora-clad agent bearing down with a Tommy gun, should be anything but dull.

A hail of bullets in thanks to NetGalley for the ARC.

As Always,
theJOE

A Short Story Slowly Expanded Upon

In a strange set of circumstances, Neil Gaiman’s Neverwhere is a novelized adaptation of a BBC miniseries he co-created. Working backwards, as opposed to having a written work adapted for film (Stardust) or TV (American Gods), Neil fleshes out the everyman hero of Richard Mayhew and delves deeper into the fantastical and eye-winkingly comical land of London Below, complete with black friars and elephants within castles, and where Richard, looking for an exit back to his terribly-mundane and beautifully-predictable life, is essentially trapped after helping the injured Lady Door. The question being if such elaboration was entirely required.

Certainly, Neverwhere is completely Neil Gaiman. The worlds are imaginary, the characters are rich of back-story and tales, and his intricate writing style flourishes with grand, beautiful descriptions of settings, feelings, and thoughts. Through all that, Neverwhere is also too long, too slow, many of its scenes are missing the pop of a fast-paced television series.

Neverwhere could have been a fantastic, longer entry in Trigger Warning, Gaiman’s 2015 collection of short-ish stories, or even a novella akin to Ocean At The End Of The Lane. The complete novelization of Neverwhere makes a tiring marathon out of what could have a pleasant afternoon jog. Absolutely, an enjoyable, magical read by a master, but shorter can sometimes be sweeter.


As Always,
theJOE

The Exodus to the Promised Land Requires a lot of Hot Air

Robert Hobkirk writes dialogue. A lot of it. That is his craft. He truly gets into a story and how a character tells that story through well-written and believable, albeit sometimes terminally-long, dialogue. Yet in the midst of this talking and storytelling and crafting a character’s thoughts rather than action, the narrative is forcibly reduced. The characters become compelling, and not necessarily likable, which is a perfect echo of the relations of everyday human life, their stories believable, but their situation, their surroundings, falter as that external impetus does not become a driving force. Tommy’s Exodus, then, comes to close to basically being a collection of well-told experiences within an anthology-style framing sequence.

With Tommy’s Exodus, Hobkirk presents the titular character as a veteran back from Afghanistan and on a loser’s path in LA – nearly homeless, alcoholic, and penniless – who decides to hightail it back to the familial home in Sacramento. Hence the exodus. And in a Joseph Campbell by way of Homer fashion, our hero encounters a number of challenges that he must overcome, or, in typical 21st century slacker American standards, ignore until they go away. Chief among these challenges is the antagonist Pharaoh, after all, you can’t have an exodus without a Pharaoh to run from. Tommy’s next totally-relatable nemesis is even worse: the US healthcare system.

Through it all are Tommy’s many interactions; talk, the constant telling of stories be they relevant to the plot or not. And those that are not, which are plenty, as Hobkirk gladly, although kindly, plays out his ruminations and philosophy, including a prolonged spot of right-wing talk radio, lengthen that end game. Tommy’s Exodus often times reads like a script to a compelling play as the narrative is the character. Scripts, however, don’t always make for the most complete of reading experiences. 

Hobkirk beautifully builds within Tommy a unique, moral character who makes mistakes – plenty of them – and is also keen on changing his mind. Similar to a talkative co-worker or the guy behind the counter at Five Guys, Tommy is also annoying but wants to be heard. Hobkirk succeeds in giving Tommy that voice while demonstrating that the journey of the exodus might be more compelling than the reaching of the promised land.

As Always,
theJOE

Inconsequential Change

DC Comics’ Rebirth event, other than a marketing tag, really should be about the exploration of themes. A look at what makes the character appealing and an examination of those personal, internal forces while dealing with the colorfully-ludicrous external. Unfortunately, with the Rebirth collections DC Comics and NetGalley have graciously sent my way, there has not been a sense of regrouping, of growth, or internalization. The stories are an onslaught of constant motion opening with panel one and nary a chance for an asterisked footnote to a Wikipedia article let alone time for introductions, and no more so than Blue Beetle Vol. 1: The More Things Change.

Blue Beetle tries, sincerely, and sometimes achieves partial success, to be clever with the pairing of Jaime Reyes, the Blue Beetle, and his mentor/Alfred Pennyworth surrogate Ted Kord, the former, and formerly deceased, Blue Beetle. Their relationship is ripe with all the elements of great buddy-cop entertainment, but man, that fruit just ain’t ready to pick. Blue Beetle Vol. 1, again like other Rebirth titles, are full of these sudden starts, fits of action, with explosions of rat-a-tat dialogue, that don’t go anywhere and have no signs of resolution, which is extremely detrimental to, what should be, a contained graphic novel and an invitation to go further.

Keith Giffen, who created the Jaime Reyes character following the massive Infinite Crisis storyline, which began with the surprising murder of Ted Kord, presents dialogue-heavy issues and truly does wish to make Jaime as likeable and as important as his blue alter ego. After all, one of main reasons Spider-Man is immensely popular is due to the relational aspect of Peter Parker, as opposed, for instance, to the Hulk, where the very-human Banner can indeed come off as, well, puny. Alas, Giffen never gives that reader, and presumably a first-time reader at that, the chance to truly enjoy the character because the opportunity is never provided. The shark-like, always-moving-forward motion does not allow that pause for reflection.

Giffen and co-plotter/artist Scott Kolins present the Blue Beetle scarab as a threat to Jaime’s well-being, a plot element that will no doubt continue to grow as the series continues. Giffen allows Doctor Fate a co-starring gig in the title, and I, for one, always enjoy Giffen’s Fate. Kolins gives the character an updated makeover, but even the character’s inclusion is sparse and seemingly inconsequential as the mystery for his inclusion, and what should be a build up to this threat, is nearly trivialized away in an is-it-or-is-it-not dream sequence.

Comic books have a grand tradition of excelling at the slow burn. How many decades did Superman and Lois Lane flirt? Even Ted Kord’s own Blue Beetle title from the post-Crisis eighties had an over twelve-issue long b-plot that simmered, at varying levels, every issue. The problem with Blue Beetle Vol. 1: The More Things Change is there are too many simmering pots and not enough pasta. The old adage about waiting for that water to boil could very well result in no one bothering to pay attention when supper is ready.

As Always,

theJOE