by David Hughes

Jonathan Cape

David Hughes is too close to fifty, out of shape, drinking way too much and really needs to get out and take some exercise. At least that’s what his doctor tells him, Hughes isn’t so convinced. But his family come up with a perfect Christmas present in the shape of Dexter, a wire-haired Fox Terrier and the idea was that the daily walks would accomplish just what the doctor had ordered.

But they may not have considered that the dog walking may have triggered something else in Hughes and Walking The Dog, this huge graphic novel, is the result.

(Hughes’ visits to the doctors, just one of a series of framing devices used throughout Walking The Dog. Published by Jonathan Cape, © David Hughes)

We join man and dog on their daily walks, with Hughes venting along the way about all manner of life’s annoyances and documenting all of the disconnected thoughts that occur when the mind is allowed to wander (and always carrying that ubiquitous accessory of the modern dog owner; the lovely plastic poo-bag). It’s full of delightful, bizarre introspection and prone to wandering off as stray thoughts and stray dogs often do. We get to meet the other dog-walkers, the joggers, the morning strollers and the passers-by, most of whom seem fascinated by Dexter, even if they can’t quite get his name right:

(“What’s his name?” “Dexter” “Hello Hector” “Hello Chester” “Hello Fester”. The conversations you can have whilst out walking the dog. Walking The Dog published by Jonathan Cape,© David Hughes )

And it progresses like this for quite a while; dog walking, doctor’s visits, thinking, reflecting, dog walking, meeting people, more dog walking. And it’s fascinating, wonderful stuff, handled with a lightness and jocularity that means pages just breeze gently by.

There’s a playful lack of structure in Walking The Dog that works beautifully well in these early stages, both in the art and the narrative. Hughes’ artistic style lends itself remarkably well to the tale, all simple, scratchy and inventive lines, exaggerated figurative work as people and features morph from grotesque to childlike forms within a few moments. There’s a clever use of the page and the horizontal panel to create a sense of never-ending motion as Hughes stretches the work across both pages, allowing we the reader to share in the extended walks and thoughts that Hughes is detailing.

(A perfect example of Hughes really using the page well to create that never-ending sense of travel with his dog, plastic poo sack in hand. Walking The Dog published by Jonathan Cape,© David Hughes )

But after the lightness of the first movement, Hughes moves on to darker things, all triggered by the introduction of Hughes’ alter ego, John Crawford. He’s also walking his dog, but this alter ego allows Hughes to veer off and begin documenting his fantasies and obsessions; dark disturbing fantasies involving murder, death and much more. And in adopting an alter ego Hughes then starts playing fast and loose with his characters, his narrative and his artwork, everything gets very complicated, fragmented and complex very quickly from this point in.

(Enter John Crawford, Hughes’ alter-ego. From Walking The Dog published by Jonathan Cape,© David Hughes )

And to be honest, very quickly it all becomes a little too much; the lack of structure, so endearing and intriguing early on, simply becomes wearing and confusing. And after 150 or so pages of this I found that I’d completely lost patience and interest in whatever Hughes was trying to accomplish here, and once that happened I found myself trudging through the remainder of the book and finished with a sense of profound relief.

But on finishing Walking The Dog I started to wonder about what it was that I’d just read. I had a nagging feeling that I was actually missing something deeper and important that Hughes was trying to say about obsession and redemption.

So I read it again and didn’t get anything the second time either. And now I’m left questioning whether I read it right, which is a ridiculous position to be in. But the paranoia had kicked in at this point, particularly when the only other analysis of Walking The Dog that I could find at the time of writing this was from Paul Gravett:

“I’m steadily savouring Hughes’ 304-page journey right now for review in the TLS. I’m already convinced that, while it may be published in the UK on New Year’s Eve, it will be one of the greatest graphic novels of 2010. As Jonathan Cape publisher Dan Franklin put it to me, this is “the Finnegan’s Wake of graphic novels.”

So, was I reading it wrong? Am I not smart enough to understand it? Or is it just one of those books that some will get and love and others, including me, will feel completely let down by? Or perhaps, just like Finnegan’s Wake, it’s something that skates the fine line between genius and utter drivel, something that few will ever understand and only slightly more will ever be able to get all the way through without throwing their hands up in frustration?

Perhaps it’s because of the nature of the author? Is it really and truly an artists book? I certainly can’t argue with it’s artistic merit; the styles and techniques are sometimes quite staggering to behold – although if I’m honest again, I found myself growing wearisome of the continual artsitic trickery and effects and many a time found myself wishing Hughes would just try to stick to one style for more than a few pages.

And am I going to be alone in wishing that Hughes had tried just that little bit harder to be a little more understandable, a little more cohesive and clearer in what he was going to say?

I’ve no doubt that a lot of people are going to disagree with me on this one (Paul Gravett for a start). And if you all want to point out to me how stupid I am that I didn’t get it, feel free. But all I can go by is my enjoyment of reading the book and that fizzled out around halfway through.

Richard Bruton.

It hits you in the face. Regardless of taking sides, who is right, who is wrong, who committed what atrocity on which side (and sadly there are enough of those to go around all sides), regardless of creed, colour or any other supposed differences, a mother’s pain over the harm to her child is universal and its impossible not to feel some of it. I had to stop reading it for today at that point. I’ve often thought Sacco quite brave for putting himself into areas where most of us wouldn’t dare to tread even with an SAS bodyguard, yet he goes and stays in them and talks to the people there; it reminds me a little of the legendary photojournalists I’ve admired like Robert Capa who knew there was a story there that had to be told. But reading that chapter my estimation of him rose, not for the bravery of going to a land where death is so very easy but for being able to face the emotional cost like this too. That chapter’s bloody hard to read; I can only imagine how much harder it was for the artist to be there, talking to that mother in a rubble strewn street, looking into her eyes and having no answers for her. Parts of it can be very hard to read, but it deserves to be read.

More on Footnotes as I go along.

The 1st prize was awarded to Vivien McDermid with her story “Paint”. Described as a “vividly captured and tender story” that was a “touching portrayal of mother with a small toddler“. Vivien will receive a cheque for £1000 at the ceremony at the ICA at 2.30pm on Sunday 8th November.

(The 2009 winner of the Observer/Cape Short Graphic Story competition: Vivien McDermid’s “Paint”)

Second place and winner of a stack of graphic novels and a check for £250 was Joff Winterhart with “Days of the Bagnold Summer” which they described as a “hilarious and achingly realistic portrait of a mother and teenage son”

(Joff Winterhart’s “Days of the Bagnold Summer”, runner up in the 2009 Observer/Cape Short Graphic Story competition)

Congratulations to both winners and to all that entered – the article talks of the fantastic quality throughout the entries this year, something we’re beginning to see online with various cartoonists posting their entries on various sites and blogs already. More on those later in the week.

Guardian /Observer: Every Picture Tells A Story article.

Days of Bagnold Summer is available to read here: page 1, page 2, page 3, page 4.

Paint is available to read here: page 1, page 2, page 3, page 4, or online here.

by Bryan Talbot

Jonathan Cape

“An anthropomorphic steampunk detective thriller” – Bryan Talbot.

Which pretty much sets the scene for Grandville quite nicely. Talbot’s no stranger to steampunk, having given us the trailblazing, way ahead of it’s time Luther Arkwright, but Grandville takes it a step further and mixes his beautifully rendered steampunk visions with the anthropomorphic illustrations of nineteenth century French illustrator J.J. Grandville and the retro-futuristic inventions and architecture of fellow Frenchman Albert Robida. And, like Talbot says in his frontispiece, “Not to mention Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, Rupert The Bear and Quentin Tarantino”.

That triumvirate may seem a little at odds with each other, but here in Grandville Talbot actually pulls it all together rather well. This isn’t, as you may have worked out, something as deeply serious as Luther Arkwright, Tale Of One Bad Rat or Alice In Sunderland – this is pure fantastical rollercoaster ride stuff – manic races through London streets, vicious gunfights and a plot that fair races along the meticulously detailed cobbled streets of Grandville.

(Detective-Inspector LeBrock getting his Tarantino on. From Bryan Talbot’s Grandville.)

Grandville is a world populated almost exclusively by walking, talking animals. The only humans here are found in France; simple things that could have just walked off the pages of a Tintin album, they’re disparagingly called “doughfaces” by the French: “a hairless breed of  Chimpanzee that evolved in the town of Angouleme“. Yes, Angouleme; site of France’s prestigious comics festival – Talbot throws these comic in jokes our way all the way through the book, never to the detriment of the tale, but if you know your comics you’ll be smiling at some of the wilder ones. Except for poor, drug-adled Snowy Milou of course, having his opium dreams of crabs with golden claws and being on the moon “with the doughface“. Then it’s just melancholic and rather touchingly sad.

(Oh, Snowy, poor, poor Snowy. Here in Grandville he’s just another tragic drug victim dreaming of all the things he might have done in another life.)

Here in Grandville France is a major world power, having only relinquished their hold on Britain a few decades back. The new Socialist Republic Of Britain is a minor player in world affairs, hated in France for the atrocity that was committed on the Robida Tower in Paris in the name of British anarchists fighting for independence from France.

Detective Inspector LeBrock of Scotland Yard, aided by his rat assistant Detective Ratzi, finds himself involved in the investigation into the murder of Raymond Leigh-Otter, respectable diplomat. And the trail of the crime will take LeBrock to the highest levels of French society and a conspiracy in the heart of Grandville that goes all the way back to the Robida Tower atrocity.

(LeBrock finds that the folks of Grandville are non too keen on the English.)

Along the way we get all of the influences Talbot was talking about; Rupert crops up early, as does Sherlock Holmes, when LeBrock does his best Holmes impression at the murder in Nutwood that starts the whole investigation off. It’s brilliantly done, perfect establishing stuff – with LeBrock’s instant genius detective credentials established. (And there’s even a Rupert cameo in the background.) Once we’re over in Grandville the action kicks up a gear and the Tarantino aspects kick in, just like Talbot promised, guns, knives, explosions – the works.

(Detective-Inspector LeBrock’s welcoming committee. Cue eight pages of perfectly choreographed violence from Bryan Talbot.)

As you’d expect from Talbot the art is meticulously detailed, although at first glance it’s easy to be taken in by the big and bold figure work, with his characters tending to dominate the page. But take a while on a second and third reading to look beyond the characters and look at the whole page – some of the backgrounds are beautifully detailed works in their own right. And then there’s the design; from the beautifully retro cover to the “art-nouveau steampunk” endpapers and very playful Grandville font and you have a very satisfying package indeed.

Grandville may not be Talbot’s best work, and some may be disappointed at it’s lightness, but take it as it’s intended; as a bold, brash detective thriller that’s over far too soon and you’ll find a very fast, highly entertaining and just out and out good thriller.

Grandville will be published by Jonathan Cape on 15th October.

Richard Bruton

(cover to the new paperback edition of Tamara Drewe by and (c) Posy Simmonds, published Cape)

“I’ve loved Posy Simmonds’ work for a long time. I’ve got a tremendous cast and crew… Tamara Drewe is a terrific story. Fingers crossed, we can do it justice,” Stephen Frears.

Stephen Frears – The Queen, My Beautiful Laundrette and many others – is adapting Tamara, with production due to start this month at Pinewood and various external locations in the UK. Saint Trinian’s and Bond star Gemma Arterton (steady now!) will play the tempting Tamara, who becomes an object of both lust and hate as the story progresses. Gemma, currently working on the new version of Harryhausen classic Clash of the Titans,  will be joined by Green Wing and  Black Books’ Tamsin Grieg and Mamma Mia’s Dominic Cooper. The graphic novel made the best of the year list for many in the comics blogosphere when first published in hardback and deservedly so (a paperback edition is published this month by Cape) and as I said it struck me as a great ‘crossover’ graphic novel, perfectly suited for those who would generally never consider themselves comics readers; hopefully the film version will boost the profile of the medium further with the type of audience who probably avoid big-budget comics-to-film adaptations like Iron Man and let them see that the medium offers up a real diversity of work for all sorts of readers.

(Gemma in delectable screen siren mode with Daniel Craig in Quantum of Solace, (c) Eon)

(a frame from last year’s Observer winner, Sand Dunes and Sonic Booms by and (c) Julian Hanshaw)

by Sarah Herman

Jonathan Cape

Here’s a strange one. What exactly is it that marks some proposal out for publication at one of those “proper” book publishers and not others? I ask this not to cast aspersions on I Like My Job but just to try to illustrate some of the thoughts that passed through my head as I was reading it. Because essentially I Like My Job is a beautifully packaged work that reminds me very much of various bits of small press comics I’ve read over the past couple of years. Not in it’s plot, not necessarily in it’s art but in it’s tone, it’s subject and it’s style. I could probably name at least half a dozen small press comics that I think are more worthy of the treatment Jonathan Cape have given to Sarah Herman’s graphic novel, but that’s really not the point of the review, just an interesting aside. However, I can see the sort of path Jonathan Cape are following with this, as the style is very similar to Simone Lia’s lovely Fluffy graphic novel they published a couple of years ago (see the review here as part of my personal best of 2007 list).

I Like My Job is a collection of seven  stories of office life, analysing the everyday boredom and monotony, the paranoia, the strange relationships, the complicated politics and the unexpected events of life in a situation many folks deal with on a day to day basis. Except I never have. My background is in comics retail and in education; two areas where the day to day grind of office life just had no impact at all. And I’ve often thought that that is the reason why I never found The Office that funny (well, that and a deep hatred of Ricky Gervais perhaps). And it may well be the reason I can’t really identify too much with the events in I Like My Job either. But if I can’t identify with the finer details of the Office life herein I can look at it on a relationship level, the interactions between workers, the inner thoughts of the central character and on this level it’s really pretty good.

(Drowning in a workload of post-it notes and the omnipresent know-it-all cat fairy. From I Like My Job by Sarah Herman.)

Artistically I Like My Job works remarkably well. The near stick figure visuals actually have a real warmth and emotion to them and Herman very cleverly and skillfully manages to get great expression and body language out of her simple forms – it’s all in the angle of a head, the tilt of a mouth, the raising of an eyebrow. It’s well done, but the sheer simplicity of the page does mean it’s a very quick read. Almost too quick.

Our narrator is coming to terms with the fact that she’s stuck in a big rut at work. She likes her job, but doesn’t love it, feels completely unfulfilled but also guilty that she’s been coasting for quite some time. It’s something we can all empathise with and Herman manages to just (but only just) steer herself the right side of annoyingly twee for the first few chapters. There’s a bit on the irritation that is the performance review, there’s a chapter on the joy of commanding a room for a presentation (and the guilt and self-loathing that comes from having to use Powerpoint to do it), there’s the look at the fallout from that email sent in anger and swiftly regretted. All nicely done, but just a little too light and cutesy for my liking. It’s gentle observational comedy and not much more.

(Oh that dreaded Powerpoint presentation. And that know-it-all cat fairy again. From I Like My Job by Sarah Herman.)

But after that cutesy first third of the book it all starts to get a little darker and considerably better. From this point we get stories dealing with the suicide of a co-worker, a chapter on leaving-do fatigue in a company that’s churning workers too fast and has no idea why and finally, best of the lot, the last 90 pages careers into that desperately unhappy place that is the promotion we just didn’t want and a growing feeling that we’re in way over our heads. Herman does a particularly good job in the final two chapters of the  unwanted promotion and eventual resignation and the deeply uncomfortable feelings and crippling terror of feeling we’re in way over our heads and it’s only a matter of time before everyone else realises we’re just as awful and rubbish at the job as we’ve known we are all along.

(Promoted beyond our comfort zone, terrified of being found out. And that cat-fairy again. From I Like My Job by Sarah Herman.)

And looking over those last two paragraphs in my description of the book I can see that I’ve perfectly summarised the good and the bad of the book. First paragraph, not involved – talking about the too twee and cute first half using “the protagonist” and talking in very general terms. But with the second paragraph and the descent into far darker and more interesting places and suddenly I’m using “we” and “we’re” all over the place. That’s my total involvement. Far more enjoyable in the darkness than the cuteness. If only the whole thing could have been the same. Then I’d have really liked it.

Sarah Herman’s website, extract from I Like My Job at the Guardian website.

Richard Bruton expects a fatwah to be issued on his head by the Ricky Gervaise Fan Club any day now.