Author: Andrew Wheeler

The Venice Chronicles
By Enrico Casarosa
Atelier Fio/AdHouse, November 2008, $19.95

Sometimes it seems like people live in completely different worlds. For example, I live in an America where a guy named Andy can marry a girl named Chris, have a series of decent jobs in book publishing, and go on occasional vacations to theme parks.

But there’s also a world made up of people named Enrico – who have cool movie-industry jobs, like doing storyboards for Pixar – that marry equally cool-named people like Marit – a modern dancer – and go on long vacations to Venice with her parents, zoom across Italy to meet his parents, and have dinner with Hugo Pratt’s daughter along the way.

I’m thinking it’s the names: Enrico just goes with Marit in a way “Dave” or “Bob” doesn’t. If I’d been named Siegfried or Joao, my life might have been as interesting as Enrico Casarosa’s.

And, speaking of Casarosa’s life, we finally come to his new book, [[[The Venice Chronicles]]]. It’s a diary, in watercolor over pencils, of that trip to Venice (and other points in northern Italy) – which I think was in the summer of 2007. It has the look of a sketchbook, but most of the pages were drawn after the trip – though there are sketches and watercolors drawn at the time mixed in as well.

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There have now been eight generations of teenage boys to thrill to the exploits of [[[Conan]]], one for each decade since he first appeared in [[[Weird Tales]]] in 1932. The oldest cohort is likely mostly dead; the youngest one will mostly wander away once they get drivers’ licenses or beer-purveying fake IDs. But Conan endures – some of those fans do stick around, and there are always new ones. And, even though Robert E. Howard – remember him? The guy who created Conan and wrote the stories about him that were actually good? – has been dead for more than seventy years, Conan stories keep appearing.

Why, I have one right here:

Conan, Vol. 6: The Hand of Nergal
By Timothy Truman and Tomas Giorello
Dark Horse, October 2008, $24.95

Dark Horse, when they got the Conan comics license some years ago, rebooted the series, to follow Howard’s hero starting with his earliest adventures and to adapt or include Howard’s original stories along the way. (The intentions of the long-running previous series, from Marvel, had been intermittently the same, but twenty-three years leaves room for a whole lot of “more or less,” and they’d gotten pretty far in Conan’s life. I’m not sure why there’s no love for the older Conan, King of Aquilonia – especially since Howard’s very first Conan story was about that part of his life – but, in comics, the preference has always been for the young, half-naked barbarian.) [[[The Hand of Nergal]]] reprints issues 47 through 50 of the Dark Horse series – along with one of those most bizarre manifestations of the modern comics scene, the “#0” issue published much later than #1 – and sees Conan still quite young.

Hand of Nergal is based on a two-page, two-part untitled fragment – the title is from Lin Carter, when he “adapted” it into one of his own third-rate Conan stories – that’s currently available in [[[The Coming of Conan the Cimmerian]]]. I’ve just glanced at it myself – it’s two bits of atmosphere, with no plot: Conan finds an unconscious hot babe on a battlefield, and gloms her with his sweaty paws, while, meanwhile, a city named Yaralet is vaguely uneasy about nothing that gets described.

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Berlin, Book Two: City of Smoke
By Jason Lutes
Drawn & Quarterly, September 2008, $19.95

More than ten years ago, Jason Lutes began serializing his long graphic novel [[[Berlin]]] in a comic of the same name. Making long-form comics is long, hard work – more like an ultramarathon than any other art form – and this year finally sees the publication of the second part of that story. Even now, the end is still probably four or five years away –although we can certainly know what will happen in Berlin, and guess what will happen to these people, as 1929 slides into ‘30 into ‘31.

Berlin is a dense, complicated story with a large cast of characters, told in a naturalistic, cinematic way, without identifying captions or explanatory notes. That keeps from slowing down the reading experience, and the characters are always recognizable – but it does make it hard to review the book, when I realize that “the Jewish orphan girl” was probably named twice in the entire two hundred pages. (And with two different names at that.)

Berlin takes place in the last days of the post-Great War Weimar Republic, and its implicit theme is the battle between fascism and communism. (Given the time and the place, one need not even pause a moment to guess which side Lutes comes down on. This is unfortunate, though – and more so the more a reader knows about history – since we all know the fascists will win, and that things aren’t going to get better for a long time. And even if the Communists flee to the Soviet Union, they won’t escape the Nazis that way – much less escape oppression, war, and mass death.) The characters are mostly at the lower end of middle-class, if not outright poor, with some secondary characters higher up the income ladder, and they also tend to be outcasts and bohemians of one sort or another: musicians, reporters, artists, lesbians, Jews, tramps, black Americans. Again, one notes that these are all people who will not fare well under Nazi rule.

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Aya of Yop City
By Marguerite Abouet and Clement Oubrerie
Drawn & Quarterly, September 2008, $19.95

[[[Aya]]] was one of the surprise pleasures of last year, a slice-of-life story about three young women and their families and friends in the neighborhood of Yopougon in late ‘70s Ivory Coast. The title character was actually the least involved in the plot, adding to a slight suspicion that the story was partially autobiographical. (Abouet did grow up in Ivory Coast, though she left in the early ‘80s at the age of twelve – so even Aya’s story couldn’t be directly hers. My personal theory is that Aya is based on an older sister or cousin of Abouet’s, one of her strong connections back to her homeland.)

By the end of Aya, Aya herself hadn’t been much changed, but her friend Adjoua had just given birth to a baby she claimed belonged to Moussa, the unmotivated son of local rich man and business owner Bonaventure Sissoko. But it was also clear that Moussa was not the father of Adjoua’s child, and that Bonaventure strongly suspected that.

[[[Aya of Yop City]]] begins almost immediately after the end of Aya; it’s a continuation of the same story rather than being a new, separate graphic novel. (And so the title is appropriate, like a [[[Babar]]] or [[[Madeleine]]] novel, or a line-extending superhero comic: [[[Aya]]], [[[Aya of Yop City]]], [[[The Adventures of Aya]]], [[[The Amazing Aya]]], [[[Yop Comics Featuring Aya]]], [[[The Spectacular Aya]]], and so on.) So it begins with a full-page close-up of Adjoua’s baby Bobby, who is very cute…but also looks absolutely nothing like Moussa.

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The Mammoth Book of Best Crime Comics
Edited by Paul Gravett
Running Press, August 2008, $17.95

Every genre or medium has a great schism – the thing that practitioners and fans argue about when they can’t think of anything more substantive. For “speculative fiction,” it’s the battle between science fiction and fantasy. For “crime fiction,” the battling parties are cozies and hardboiled novels. [[[Manga]]] is divided shonen against shojo, and romances are contemporary or historical (with select ninja bands fighting for particular historical periods or contemporary subgenres, like the Regency or the prairie romance).

For comics, the essential question is: writing or art?

Oh, sure, we’re all supposedly grown up now; we don’t fight over that anymore. We can have both! we say, whether we’re indy geeks or Marvel zombies. But during those late nights at convention bars, and on obscure message boards, the knives come out, and we rumble.

At times like that, I always come down on the writing side. That’s my tribe; I came to comics from the SF/Fantasy world, and even now I read more pages of words without pictures than with. And the editor of [[[The Mammoth Book of Best Crime Comics]]], Paul Gravett…well, I suspect him of running with the art crowd.

Maybe I’m wrong – it could just be the material that gives that impression. But [[[Best Crime Comics]]] has a total of five of its stories (out of twenty-four) credited to an unknown writer, a suspicious number. And Gravett’s story introductions always list the artist first.

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