Monitoring Moon Knight #1

Or a look at the use of style to convey narrative in Moon Knight #1 
by Jeff Lemire, Greg Smallwood, Jordie Bellaire, and Cory Petit; Marvel Comics

Moon Knight #1 is the kind of comic I usually steer clear of. It's a relaunch of a series that has just been relaunched several times. I fairly recently read an iteration of the series that I *really* enjoyed as a cohesive, complete experience. I don't really have strong feelings about Moon Knight as a character, and since reading a little Cerebus I'm having some trouble taking him seriously ("Unorthodox Economic Vengeance!"). And yet... Jordie Bellaire only seems to work on good comics, Jeff Lemire has created several comics I enjoy, and Greg Smallwood's artwork is immediately, obvious good. So it's really on the strength of the creative team that I even tried this comic. And I am pretty glad that I did.

Moon Knight #1 is also the kind of comic I love to write about: it is a very accomplished comic that uses a number of stylistic elements to convey narrative information and create an immersive reading experience. Which I'll try and unpack below.

There will of course be *SPOILERS*.

One of the choices I really like about Moon Knight #1 is the use of very wide white gutter spaces. This choice gives the entire comic a soft, almost hazy feeling. This effect is apparent throughout the issue, but is particularly obvious in certain pages which actively use the white space to show Spectre slipping in and out of consciousness, whiting out in what feels like a slow and muzzy way. Overall, I suggest the passive and active use of white margins works to create a sense of floating, semi-conciousness that really adds to the ambiguity of the comic and sense that the narratoring perspective may be unreliable. It's great stuff.

Another of the stylistic choices in Moon Knight #1 that I find so effective is the dual colouring styles used in the issue. The comic opens on a pair of pages of Marc Spectre exploring an Ancient Egyptian temple as part of a hallucination/vision. This sequence features a grainy, sketchy colour palette that uses 'painted' highlights and specks of pigment to create a decidedly artificed world.  By which I mean, the stylistic choices of this opening sequence manages to look like something created by an artist (a fictional environment) but also extremely granular and high resolution (a hyper-realistic environment). The more mundane elements of the comic which tell the story of Marc Spectre committed to some sort of mental hospital feature flat colours and a much more conventional comics look. This creates an immediate codified demarcation between the fantastical world of the comic and the mundane world.

Part of what makes this colouring choice so powerful in the comic is how it works to collide the supernatural/insane elements of the comic with the mundane. When Spectre becomes Moon Knight or hears the voice of his god Kohnshu elements of the scratchy, granular colouring creep into the comic, creating an emotional contrast between these elements. This also creates a palpable sense of dread/power in the supernatural elements: they feature distinct colouring so *something* must be happening, maybe Spectre isn't insane...

And then there are the pages where the divisions break down and the flat colouring of the mundane world and the gritty, sketchy aesthetic of the supernatural collide. Where Moon Knight is free to attack the nurse/jackals that have been imprisoning and seemingly abusing him throughout the comic. This is depicted wonderfully in a flurry of small, circular panels that chaotically capture individual moments of violence. It's a page out-of-control and unhinged, and manages to capture a maniac fury in a clear and visually interesting way. Collectively, it's a great choice that I think manages to establish this incarnation of Moon Knight as dangerous and which implies that there is potentially an element of supernatural power about the possibly insane man.

I think this double-page spread is my favourite use of the supernatural/mundane colouring. The page depicts New York apparently mixed up with some sort of Ancient Egyptian-inspired hellscape. While I can spot elements of paint splatter and sketchy colours, these elements are subdued compared to panels and sequences that are more clearly entrenched in either Spectre's mind or the possibly hallucinated. Instead this page features mostly the more flat colouring of the mundane elements of the comic, despite the impossible thing being depicted. The white margins also fall away for the first time in the comic, making the page feel bigger, sharper, and more real. This creates this wonderful moment of ambiguity: is this all a hallucination of Spetre's? Could this really be happening? The colouring, which has been used to codify this, is unclear. And so by establishing, utilizing, and then subverting the colour conventions of the comic, Moon Knight #1 manages to call into question what in the comic is even really happening. Which is great.

I read Moon Knight #1 because of the creative team, but will read #2 on the strength of the execution of the first issue.

Previously:

Moon Knight #5 and brutal violence

Moon Knight #2, layouts, and snipers

Deep Sequencing: Timely Layouts

Or a look at how layout is used to make nifty time travel effects  in Trillium,
by Jeff Lemire; Image Comics

Trillium is a psychedelic time-travel love story. Trillium sees a wounded World War 1 soldier and a traumatized Scientist from a future where a sentient virus is eradicating humanity come into contact and fall in love through alien intervention. It's a nifty Sci-fi comic worth checking out.

Trillium is also a comic that does some interesting structural things with layout to make some of its more exotic timetravel elements work. And it is worth taking a closer look at.

There will be extensive *SPOILERS* for Trillium below.

The first issue of Trillium existed as a flipbook. Read in one direction and orientation the comic tells the story of Nika, the future Scientist, while read in the other direction it tells the story of William, the solider of the past. (Sadly, these two chapters just run as sequential subchapters of in the Trillium collected edition.) This formatting decision creates a clear physical separation between the two storylines and timelines, they are completely separate eras and therefore completely separate stories that do not intersect or overlap. It is an interesting gimmick and an effective storytelling choice.

However, due to the intervention of an alien pyramid Nika and William find themselves travelling through time and meeting in the past. Their narratives intertwine and begin to function as a single storyline that works like a normal comic. It's a structural, layout indication that their stories have melded and become a single narrative due to their time travel. And yet, the comic still takes steps to remind the reader that timetravel is in effect. Like, this double page spread where Nika and William break into their era's respective timetravel-pyramids. In this case their parallel situations are reflected in parallel drawings, yet their different chronological locations in history are indicated by inverted orientations. It is immediately apparent that despite standing in the same apparent rooms, these two characters exist in non-linear narrative spaces. It's a neat idea.

Due to some misguided damage to the time-travel pyramids Nika and William find themselves flung into the time stream and lost, essentially in each others lives. Nika awakes to find herself a recovering soldier in a steampunk London following a much different alternate history WW1. William, meanwhile, finds himself living the life of a far-future survivor of the sentient plague wiping out humanity. And so our two heroes find themselves relegates to separate eras and narrative streams. This time this aspect of the comic is represented by chopping each page in half, devoting equal space to either narrative, and flipping the orientation of the images between the stories. This does some interesting things. For one, it emphasizes the separation between the two stories: the different orientation cements each story as occurring in a different historical location and that the two stories do not narratively overlap. And yet, this layout construction allows the two narratives to play off each other and to emphasize the parallels between the two stories. Whats more, this setup also creates a... common narrative timeline, let's say. While the two stories are in different eras, this layout allows the reader to order the events narratively between the two stories such that story blocks occurring on the same page take place, narratively, at the same time. It's a really interesting and effective layout approach.

As Trillium progresses, Nika and William remember each other and, displaced as they are, begin to work their way back to the time-travel pyramids. Panels from different eras still have flipped orientations, but now they are interspersed, providing a structural indication that the two narratives are drawing back together. It is layout being used to show that while the events are happening in separate time spaces, there really is one story taking place on any given page. It's another very effective choice.

Trillium continues to do interesting things with layout. On this set of pages, Nika falls through a gateway between her current timeline and a into a new, different location and era. The layout here does a great job conveying this. For one, this layout is a double page spread that is flipped on its side, a particularly rare construction that helps convey just how special and impossible the event of Nika's time-tumble is. This layout is also remarkable in that there are two different panel planes at work here. The page enters in a sideways orientation, with panels moving along the tallest aspect of the page, and yet, when Nika falls into the machine, the orientation swings back into a conventional approach. Which, given the association with orientation and time-era in the comic, tells the reader that Nika has been transported from one chronological location to another, that timetravel has happened. Which is all information conveyed using layout, which is pretty impressive.

Finally at the climax of the comic a number of impossible and psychedelic things happen in Trillium. Nika and William, in an act of sacrifice that potentially saves the human race, steer themselves into a blackhole. As they are consumed by the singularity they are dragged across the page in another exciting tilted doublepage spread. The pair relive their lives here and then on the next pages, we see the characters reach into their moments of greatest trauma, and save each other. These pages again rely on the previously established convention of using opposite page orientations for events occurring in different narrative spaces and eras. It's a beautiful and perectly communicated moment. A moment that leads into another beautiful doublepage spread that shows the timetravelling lovers, finally at peace, stretching off into infinity. It's a great ending that uses layout to communicate just how impossible and significant these final moments are.  It's a great ending.

Trillium is a structurally interesting comic. The way it uses layout and panel orientation to convey story structure and time setting is a really cool feature of the comic that is really worth checking out and studying. It is really effective. It also makes me wonder about what other techniques may have been used in addition: how would Trillium have looked and worked if, say, colour or panel design were also altered between timelines? Would it have been more effective? Given how prevalent timetravel is as a trope in genre comics, it might be worth thinking more about the strengths and potential areas for improvement in Trillium.

Also, read Trillium, it's pretty good comics!

Post by Michael Bround

Previously:

So I Read Trillium

So I Read Trillium

A 250 word (or less) review of Trillium
by Jeff Lemire; Vertigo Comics

Trillium is a Science Fiction time travel story that explores love in the face of human extinction. In the distant future Nika is a Scientist tasked with exploring the planet Atabithi. On this planet is a temple filled with white flowers that are a potential vaccine for The Caul, a sentient virus that has wiped out nearly all of humanity. Nika seeks to make peaceful contact with the aliens of this planet to secure the cure before her compatriots resort to force. But doing so will cause something inexplicable to occur. In the past, in the year 1920, William is a veteran of the First World War trying to find meaning in his life following the trauma he suffered. In search of adventure he and his brother set on a quest to South America to rediscover The Lost Temple of The Incas to find riches and fame and excitement. But when he arrives at the temple something unexpected happens. Our two protagonists find themselves caught in some sort of phenomenon that causes them to become unstuck in time, meet and experience each others lives. Trillium explores whether these two damaged time travellers can save humanity from extinction and whether they can find love in the face of trauma. Trillium is an interesting comic filled with a classic Science Fiction story told with empathy and constructed with Lemire's evocative style. The comic also features some interesting experiments using layout and structure to delineate different time streams. It’s well worth a look.

Word count: 250

Post by Michael Bround

Deep Sequencing: Hunting Wild Game

Or breaking conventions to enhance storytelling in Sweet Tooth: Wild Game
By Jeff Lemire; Vertigo Comics.

One of the essential characteristics of comics is that they follow a series of rules. The story is broken into images that contain text in a number of formalized boxes and balloons. The sequence of images, for American comics, run from top left to bottom right, moving across the page and then down a row. The pages are arranged in an order that goes from front cover to back cover. The point of these conventions is that everyone, readers and creators all, understand the basic structure of the narrative so that readers can focus on the story itself instead of exerting effort trying to figure out how to read it. It means that you and me can read a comic and pay absolutely no attention to how the comic works and still get a really great story.

The thing is, sometimes the conventions are not the best way to tell a particular story or sequence of events. Sometimes more dramatic information or atmosphere can be conveyed by breaking the rules and making comics that present the sequence of events in unpredictable and interesting ways. Of course, the trick to doing this is to create unconventional comics that don't confuse the readers. Sweet Tooth: Wild Games has a couple great examples of breaking the rules to make interesting comics.

This post will contain *SPOILERS* for Sweet Tooth.  

This page breaks the rules in a really simple, but effective way. The magic here is that instead of moving from the top left corner to the bottom right, the comics page has characters and events move from the bottom of the page to the top against the flow of conventions. This is pretty neat in that we literally get to travel up the ladder with the characters along a tall thin panel. The way this page leads readers through the unconventional ladder climb is pretty interesting too. Basically, this trick relies almost entirely on the speech balloons as a visual guide: in the bottom left panel, the speech balloon peaks into the tall middle panel which guides into the right starting point for the ladder climb. Then of course the speech bubbles along the climbing route keep everything on track. This sequence is rule breaking comics that elegantly enhances the moment, all while leading the reader through the page. It's simple, great comics.

This double page spread does something even more unconventional and dramatic. In short, a trap is sprung that sees a series of hidden explosives destroy an incoming militia convoy. The convention breaking razzle-dazzle to this spread is the fuse, which does some pretty cool things. Rather than have the fuse go from left to right into the page gap seam, the fuse goes right to left, travels up the page, and then left to right across the top of the page. This does three really cool things. First it drags out the moment: like a real fuse which races breathlessly to an explosive the fiery line depicted here is so long that it holds the readers focus for the length of a real fuse. Second, the fact the fuse line in the comic runs from its origin to the explosion actually lets the audience trace the path of the burning fuse, which imparts a sense of time and motion to the fuse which adds so much drama. It's like the comics equivalent of the camera panning along the burning fuse in a movie. Third, this approach makes the explosion itself much more dramatic: by taking the reader the long way to the next page, the fuse stops the reader from getting to the explosion too quickly. Moreover, the fact the fuse breaks rules and requires extra reader concentration helps make the explosion pay off more... it's like a form of delayed gratification. This is a really, really great rule breaking sequence that hugely improves the sequence depicted.

So there you have it two convention shattering sequences from Sweet Tooth: Wild Game that exemplify the value of breaking the rules sometimes and how to do so in way that keeps reader in the loop. It's great comics.

So I Read Sweet Tooth: Wild Game

A 250 word (or less) review of the sixth, and final, collection of Sweet Tooth
By Jeff Lemire; Vertigo Comics

There will be mild *SPOILERS* for earlier Sweet Tooth collections. For a *SPOILER* free review, please go here.

Sweet Tooth started as the story of Gus, a deer/human hybrid, and Tommy Jepperd, a hardened human survivor, as they attempt to stay alive in an apocalyptic future that sees humanity ravaged by a mysterious plague. As the comic progressed we learned that Gus may be more than another strange kid born after the plague, but may instead be an important factor in solving the origin of the disease. Sweet Tooth: Wild Game is the final chapter in the story and sees Gus, Jepperd, and their adoptive family finally reach Alaska and the secret government lab that Gus originated from. In this collection we see all mysteries solved, all scores settled, and a pretty satisfying end to a great comic. Sweet Tooth: Wild Game is as creepy, tense, and as heartfelt as everything that came before and manages to make a great final statement on the meaning of family in the face of adversity. I love a good ending. If you haven't tried Sweet Tooth yet, you owe it to yourself to give it a shot. The whole series is waiting for you.

Word count: 183

Previously:
So I Read Sweet Tooth Volume 1-4
So I Read Sweet Tooth: Unnatural Habits (Vol. 5)

So I Read The Underwater Welder

A 250 word (or less) review of The Underwater Welder graphic novel
By Jeff Lemire; Top Shelf Productions

There is something deeply fascinating about the comics of Jeff Lemire. I don't really know how to articulate it better than that, but... there is just a haunted, askance simplicity to his creator ownederish comics that I could just look at and read endlessly. The Underwater Welder is a pretty great example of what I mean. The comic tells the story of Jack Joseph, an underwater welder working on an oil rig in small town Nova Scotia who is also an expectant father. The Underwater Welder also tells the story of Jack as a boy and his relationship with his own father, a salvage diver by trade. Really though, The Underwater Welder is about isolation, doubt, and depression and, well, the obligations of fatherhood. All of which is delivered in this really spacious, expressionist depiction of the ocean as a visual metaphor: The Underwater Welder is really a visually striking and fascinating comic. This description probably makes The Underwater Welder sound like a heartbreaking, sad-inducing stereotypical art comic, which is pretty misleading because while you will experience some feelings, this comic really doesn’t wallow in misery and definitely contains some remarkable moments of triumph and humanity. It’s haunting in both the tragic and wondrous sense. At the end of the day I’d say that The Underwater Welder is an emotionally challenging and rewarding comic built around an accessible and profound story delivered by downright expansive artwork. And like much of Jeff Lemire’s comics work, I am endlessly fascinated by it.

Word count: 250

So I Read Sweet Tooth: Unnatural Habitats

A 250 word (or less) review of Sweet Tooth volume 5

By Jeff Lemire and Matt Kindt, Vertigo Comics

Sweet Tooth: Unnatural Habitats continues Jeff Lemire’s post-apocalyptic story about a mysterious plague decimating humanity and the emergence of mysterious animal-hybrid children. Specifically Sweet Tooth focuses on Gus, a teenage human-deer hybrid, and Jeppard, a hard man and consummate survivor, as they try to unravel the mystery behind the plague. Unnatural Habitats is split into two stories. The first, set in 1911, tells the tale of an expedition to Alaska to rescue Jesuit missionaries which uncovers a horrible secret. The second chunk of Unnatural Habitats returns the lens of the story to Gus and Jeppard and their journey to Alaska for answers. This part of the comic feels like the conclusion of the second act: it concludes a bunch of lingering storylines and seems to set the stage for the conclusion of the story. It’s a satisfying read that pays off a lot of what comes before. Something occurred to me while I was working my way through this chapter: the juxtaposition of cartoony, animal-children with all the bleak and monstrous things in Sweet Tooth is CREEPY. I mean, the expressionist artwork of Lemire and Kindt is expressive and uncouth enough to generate a metric ton of atmosphere alone, but render some adorable pig and deer kids and suddenly there is this uncomfortable dramatic tension between the grim reality of post-plague life and the optimism, potential, and innocence of children. It’s an effective storytelling approach. Anyway, Sweet Tooth: Unnatural Habitats is a great chapter in a great comic.

Word count: 248

Previously:

So I Read Sweet Tooth: volumes 1-4

Spinal Tapestry Pt. 2: Bringing the Sexy Back

On the under-appreciated art of comic book spines.

I love purchasing collected editions of comics and displaying them as art objects. They're attractive, a visible expression of my interests, and a constantly present collection of some my favourite things. Also, when the Big Earthquake comes, I'll have a great collection of reading material during the daylight hours. 

In the last post I talked about the idea that comic book spines are important in larger formats like tradepaperbacks or graphic novels because on a bookshelf the spine is the most visible part of the comic. I also used the Brian K Vaughan comics to show some examples of what I consider good and bad spine design.

This time I want to highlight some of the best and most interesting comic spines in my slowly growing comics library. These are the book spines that clearly show their designers understand how important a book spine is to a comic's on the shelf appearance. (And perhaps on the importance of standing out on a bookshelf from a retail perspective.)

Phonogram: This is kind of the epitome of a good simple spine design for me. The "Phonogram" title uses the font of the cover title, with several logo elements incorporated. This clearly states the books identity in a clear and visually interesting way. Couple that with simple, agreeable colours that don't vary book to book and clean writing that is easily read and you get a great comic book spine. (By Kieron Gillen & Jamie McKelvie: Reviews)

Jonathon Hickman comics: This one is less aesthetically pleasing and more manipulative and clever. Every Jonathon Hickman book has a striped pattern on the spine. When rendered in black and white it is EXTREMELY eye catching (particularly when shelved as a group). The human eye is wired to pay attention to black-white-black lines and the illusion of movement these give off out of some mammals-of-the-savannah evolutionary quirk. So this Hickman block of books is super eye catching. While not the prettiest design, it is uniquely Hickman and identifies his work. More importantly, these books do not get lost on the shelf. (By Jonathan Hickman & Nick Pitarra, JM Ringuet, Ryan Bodenheim: Reviews)


(From a retail perspective this approach might be even more brilliant: only his books have this stripy pattern and its associated attention nabbing effect. If we accept the premise that the point of an eye-catching cover is to get a consumer to pick up a book, then this eye-catching spine design might represent a retail advantage.)

DMZ: This is one of the most clever and aesthetically appealing comic spine designs I've seen. Let me explain, DMZ is the story of a modern civil war fought between the US government and an insurgent movement. A key aspect of this story, and how it works, is the use of Manhattan Island as a war torn battlefield. It creates context for the story and serves to illustrate the horrors of modern warfare in a familiar setting. As such, a key character in DMZ is Manhattan itself. The spines of the DMZ comics are a visually pleasing design that is white behind the title writing and black behind the author text. Brilliantly, a New York landmark is included at the interface between the top and bottom half of the spine. When looking at an individual volume, it's a sharp design.  When looking at the entire series, it creates a miniature and very recognizable New York skyline effect. It's clean, unifying, unique, and highlights a key aspect of DMZ. It's great. (By Brian Wood & Riccardo Burchielli, and others)


King City: This big, complete series trade shows off what you can do with the real estate of an extra wide collection. The letters that spell out King City, beyond being in an interesting and high catching graffiti-esque font, are also the frames of a tiny comic strips about a cat (presumably Earthling) stalking and dispatching a little cartoon man. It's silly, fun, really well thought out in this making-really-intelligent-use-of-space-and-storytelling kind of way, and pretty representative of the kind of comic King City is on the inside. The spine of King City is a better cover than a lot of covers. (By Brendan Graham: Review)

Also, just kind of as a case in point about the importance of interesting spine design, I've taken a picture of King City next to the extra-wide Echo The Complete Series collection. Echo actually has a pretty nice spine design: simple, has some pretty unique elements, and black always looks nice. But when you put it next to King City with its more creative use of space it kind of gets lost, doesn't it? (Echo by Terry Moore: Review)


Sweet Tooth: Okay, this one isn't about a good spine design... this is a little thing I noticed. So the concept of Sweet Tooth's spine is pretty solid: clean black spine, unique Sweet Tooth font, and a nice plaid pattern on the top bit of the spine. It catches the quirkiness of the series, and because a red plaid shirt is intrinsically tied to the design of title character Gus, it really catches the feel of the series. Trouble is, I think a mistake was made at some point during the design process. If we zoom in on the plaid pattern along the top you can see the plaid checker alternates between Volumes 1 and 2, but then doesn't ever change again. So instead of getting the checker pattern of a plaid shirt across the series (Vol. 1 and 3 matching and complement the opposite pattern on 2 and 4)... we get mismatched, unconnected plaid colours. Which all makes it feel like a great design that was compromised by a mistake or neglect. Hopefully it gets fixed on a future print? (By Jeff Lemire: Review)

In my opinion these are some of the better and more interesting comic designs out there. They manage to look good, make a statement about their series, and stand out from their competition. I certainly appreciate the extra effort.

So I Read Sweet Tooth

A 250 word (or less) review of Sweet Tooth trade collections 1-4

By Jeff Lemire, Vertigo Comics

When I first picked up Sweet Tooth, one of the staff at my comic shop described Jeff Lemire’s comics (particularly Essex County) as the comics equivalent of Tragically Hip songs: things are literary, expressive, and direly bleak in a Canadian prairies kind-of-way. Sweet Tooth to a certain extent fits this description. The story takes place years after the majority of humanity was wiped out by a mysterious plague and follows Gus, an animal-human hybrid (an apparent byproduct of the plague) leaving his home for the first time, and Jeppard, a violent man with questionable motivations, as they attempt to navigate through the dangers of their world. The mystery of the animal-hybrid children and the plague and… well, other things, are also integral to the plot, and the deliberate and relentless unfolding of answers is a huge part of what makes Sweet Tooth so engrossing. The interplay between characters is the other impetus to the book as,  cataclysmic plague and pseudo-science-mythology aside, Sweet Tooth is mostly about family and human connectedness even in the face of fantastic tragedy. Jeff Lemire writes a thrilling and visceral script filled with unexpected twists and downright merciless plot developments. His artwork; a kind of minimalist, sketchy, expressionism often suffused with soft watercolours; punches home the surrealism and bleakness of this plague ravaged world. I kind of feel Sweet Tooth represents a bridge between the more genre and literary based comics traditions: Jeff Lemire is a unique talent worth checking out.

Word Count: 245