By Alan Moore and Kevin O’Neill

Knockabout / Top Shelf

Hmmm, this review was meant to appear before Century 1969 came out. Except, had I have written it after just reading 1969, with Moore and O’Neill’s reduced team of Extraordinary Gentlemen in swinging, psychedelic London, it would have been a confused, frustrated review, as taken in isolation, on that first read, 1969 isn’t particularly satisfying reading at all.

But, as you’ll find if you can bear with me through what promises to be a far longer review than I initially thought, it’s something that can’t be taken in isolation, and certainly shouldn’t be read just once. It’s something that eventually yields the possibility of greatness. And be warned, this is a long, sprawling journey through the League thus far, and when I eventually get to 1969, there are spoilers, but nothing you probably haven’t already read pretty much everywhere online.

But before we get to 1969, lets look at the problems I found first time round, problems that have been getting worse throughout the LOEG volumes…..

LOEG started out, at least to me as a reader, as a simple wish fulfilment thing…. a “wouldn’t it be cool if all these great fictional characters got together and had some adventures” sort of thing.

Volumes 1 & 2 are beautifully constructed, great reads, with some fantastic art from O’Neill – as we share the adventures of Moore’s disparate band of Victorian misfits: Mina Murray, Allan Quartermain, Captain Nemo, Dr Jeckyll (and his monstrous alter-ego), and Hawley Griffen (The Invisible Man).

Two great adventures with the League battling against threats to the Empire, whether it’s the mysterious M (do I really need to avoid spoilers 11 years after publication?) using secret anti-gravity Cavourite to do battle with Fu Manchu in Volume 1 or the League versus HG Wells’ Martian Tripods in Volume 2.

But in addition to the story, we had the extra elements – Moore’s brilliant stories, together with O’Neill’s great artwork sat atop a fun little game of look at all the extra stuff that writer and artist have loaded into their pages to make it more interesting. So much so that Jess Nevins got a book out of each volume, detailing every last significant and not so significant literary and cultural reference Moore and O’Neill had included. (Nevins’ extensive online annotations are referenced at the end of this review).

But somewhere it seemed to switch and instead of the story sitting over the fun extras, it seemed to have become some sort of massive pop culture, genre fiction test, with every page so packed with obscure references to all manner of weird genre fiction characters. Somewhere along the line it just felt like the basic idea of telling a great story with all the extras as a bonus had been forgotten.

So ….. I read Century 1969.

Then I went back and read 1910, just to get a better idea of what was going on. And it just felt so frustrating, the narrative simply swamped by the details and references and I found myself continually losing the flow, thoughts wandering as the questions came thick and fast.

So I went back. I picked all the prior Leagues off the shelf and sat down to revisit them, without benefit or recourse to any annotations, just reading them as is, just concentrating on the story as I see it. And I’m right, there’s definitely a shift in the priorities of the League over the development of the series. Volume 2 is where the problems begin, where there are just a few too many instances of the reference overwhelming the narrative in a panel. But it’s not overwhelming, probably due to Moore doing most of the really reference heavy stuff in the enormous Almanac text section at the back.

Then we get to The Black Dossier and suddenly it all gets very complex very quickly – suddenly we’re playing spot the reference all too often. Except, I have to admit, this re-reading of The Black Dossier immediately after the first two volumes, and with the events of 1910 and 1969 fresh in my mind really opened it up for me – and suddenly, having freed myself from continually questioning my knowledge of who, what, where and why – it turns into a really good book – far, far more enjoyable read than I remembered from the first time round.

In fact, freed from worrying too much about what I’m missing and concentrating instead on just enjoying what is right there in front of me, The Black Dossier turns out to be a cracking mystical espionage thriller as a rejuvenated Mina and Quartermain join Orlando to pick their way through a crumbling post Orwellian Britain of 1958, hunting “The Black Dossier”, doggedly pursued by analogues of James Bond, Emma Peel and Bulldog Drummond, all working for the new “M”, Harry Lime.

And once the espionage thriller of the comic bits fell into place, all the non-comic bits got a damn sight more interesting without constantly fretting I was “reading them right”.

Now, maybe it’s just the novelty of “getting it” at last, but I’ve got to say, on this read through, I actually enjoyed The Black Dossier a little more than the first two volumes, the density of the material didn’t plague me so much, the enjoyment of Moore and O’Neill’s work was there all along, it just needed me to finally read it for myself rather than be overly concerned about everything extra.

Again, as with Volume 2′s almanac, the dissociation of the text heavy, reference laden material from the main comic story is what really makes it a great book.

Which then brought me right back to Century. It’s got none of that dissociation – everything is right there in the main story – and frankly it suffers because of it. The effort needed to stop yourself analysing every tiny detail in both text and art is frankly incredible. The way both 1910 and 1969 are written makes it so hard just to treat them as simple comic narratives.

But, but, but, but, but……. the thing is, having deliberately gone through the previous three books with a devil may care, get what I can and enjoy it for that attitude, my mind was in the right place to do it again, even though it did require a lot more work to stay focused on the actual story, since every panel screams out “look at me, what does this mean, who is this meant to be, what clever, real world pop fiction, counter cultural reference are you missing here?”…….

(Sing along everyone… to the tune of “Mack The Knife”, Moore and O’Neill revisit familiar Whitechapel themes in Century 1910)

A quick recap on Century: 1910: A now reduced League of Mina, Alan and Orlando (by now a trio in the bedroom as well as in the adventure game) are joined by gentleman thief AJ Raffles and the supernatural detective Tom Carnaki in an attempt to avoid the birth of a potential anti-christ moonchild.

We follow their frankly rather bumbling attempts at investigating, meet Captain Nemo’s daughter, enjoy a little Brechtian musical accompaniment as potential Whitechapel fiend MacHeath is back in town (brilliantly adapted by Moore, who’s never been afraid to dazzle us with a song or two in his time), and discover that Oliver Haddo (the League’s Aleister Crowley) is the guiding hand behind a “moonchild” that may be the potential end of the world.

The end of 1910 is a downbeat, dour thing, promising much misery and bleakness to come…

(The end of Century 1910, as the seeds of the League’s discontent are clear. From League Of Extraordinary Gentlemen Century 1910 by Moore and O’Neill)

And now, we’re (finally) bang up to date in Century 1969 (you knew I’d get here eventually).

The trio of Mina, Alan and Orlando, having at least temporarily diverted Haddo and the forthcoming apocalypse, are in swinging, end of the 60s London, with the hippy dream starting to dissolve and the flower children finding that things aren’t as rosy in the garden as they’d thought, even with all the Tadukic Acid Diethylamide flying around.

London’s full of gangsters (although all of them seem to be some facet of Reggie and Ronnie Kray), and even the young, beautiful pop stars are being found face down in their pools. Of course, this being the world of the League there’s a 50/50 chance of it being drugs or evil black magicians, back from the dead.

Alerted by Prospero to the possibility of Haddo’s cult having another go at the whole moonchild thing, Mina, Alan and Orlando decamp to the headquarters Mina used during her disastrous early 60′s super-team League phase….

(A stripped down League sit in the depressing shell of Mina’s failed 60s superteam HQ, from Century 1969, by Moore and O’Neill)

Basically, now we’re in the realms of copyright and out of the public domain, there’s a lot of disguising of names, with Moore doing literary cartwheels to find the analogues he’s after… so welcome to the world where Oliver Haddo (Crowley) is jumping from body to body as he needs to, still threatening to bring about the apocalypse at some point. Except here he’s thinking it might be a good idea to utilise the puffy lipped lead singer of pop combo The Purple Orchestra, who’ve recently finished their recording of “Infernal Eminences“.

(So that’s Jagger and The Rolling Stones, fresh off “Their Satanic Majesties Request” with Jagger written as Terner, as in Turner, the character Jagger played in the film “Performance”…. yes, it does get complicated, but stay with it).

Haddo’s obviously been doing this for a while now, and has numerous plots on the go. But it’s the “Performance” era Jagger who he settles on as the perfect vessel for his transference ritual, a means to keep his spirit alive, and it’s during their performance at the Hyde Park festival he’s going to make his move (and here, it’s Hyde Park named after Edward Hyde – only a little thing, but it’s these little things, throughout the entire League storyline that really begins to impress, as it becomes obvious that Moore really does have everything, absolutely everything, perfectly cross-referenced and working as one giant, continuous storyline).

Meanwhile the League is falling apart because Mina, always it’s stable, controlling influence, is falling apart. She’s tired, she’s bored, she’s struggling to cope with growing old without actually ageing. And frankly, all the lycra super-suits, casual lesbianism and drugs in the world aren’t helping. Mina’s trying to shrug off her Victorian past and get with it, desperately trying (and failing) to gain some traction on her never changing life…….

(Mina’s terrible portent of the future, both her own immortal one and that of the League, mirrored beautifully by O’Neill’s art – the eye popping colours of the League HQ a mere escape from the drab, dreary outside world)

For a great deal of the first half of 1969 we shift between Haddo’s plotting and Mina’s group wandering vaguely around London, name-dropping old haunts and being all referential for the sake of it, with far too many panels seemingly consisting of the League in the background and a game of spot the character reference happening in the foreground.

And all the way through, a certain Jack Carter, just prior to heading up north (if you haven’t already, go and watch Get Carter, the Michael Caine one obviously) is put on a collision course with all this magic stuff. His boss happens to be the gangster with his hooks into Basil Fotherington-Thomas of the Purple Orchestra (he’s the one who ended up face down in the pool thanks to a little black magic in the first few pages, obviously a Brian Jones reference, but the name comes from the brilliant Molesworth books – keep up, keep up).

(Just before he heads up North, Carter has one last London job to deal with…. from Century 1969 by Moore and O’Neill)

You can see how it’s all tying together can’t you? And I’ve got to say, Moore, as you’d expect. weaves everything together pretty bloody marvellously, as the various strands of the story are drawn slowly together.

But there’s always that feeling that it’s all too reference laden, and despite really trying hard, there were times when it did all get a little too much. The weird thing with this particular volume is that although it’s reference laden, these contemporary, pop culture references are actually far easier to get, especially for us Brits.

But the problem is still there – the references you do get are great, but because it’s the League, you’re always looking for more,and it’s the looking that yanks you right out of the story.

(Car wash trouble with the super-spies, from Century 1969 by Moore & O’Neill)

Take the scene above…. a conflagration of super-spies having a shunt at the car wash, with Lady Penelope’s Parker in attendance, the ominous Mogul corporation ever present in the background.

Now, Parker’s easy, ST would be Simon Templar (the Saint), and that Aston means the blue jumper wearing, golf club wielding bloke is Jimmy Bond.

But the bloke on the left? The flat capped onlooker, another M? What can it all mean, what can it all mean, what can it ALL mean, WHAT CAN IT ALL MEAN? – you see how it’s so easy to get dragged out of the storyline can’t you? (Answers to at least some of those questions at Jeff Nevins’ annotations).

It’s not the question here of whether or not you get the references, it’s just that you feel there are so many of them, it makes the task of sticking with the story itself difficult. That’s the problem with Century 1969.

(Oh, they should worry Mina, they really should. From Century 1969, by Moore and O’Neill)

The second part of 1969 is O’Neill’s playground, with Mina and Haddo battling each other across the astral plane whilst Mina’s in the throes of a full-blown devastating Taddy/acid trip, all the horrors of her life and the weight of her depression and longevity brought to vivid, psychedelic life in her tripping mind.

It’s beautifully drawn, with O’Neill joined in his exuberance by colourist Ben Dimagmaliw and letterer Todd Klein having a great time being as eye-poppingly psychedelic as possible.

Meanwhile, in between the acid trip moments, the Purple Orchestra play on, with Terner delivering a subtly different version of Sympathy For The Devil (beautifully done by Moore, perfect fit to the original, another example of just how damn good he is at fitting everything to his particular need).

(Sing along time again… this time it’s “Sympathy For The Devil”, Moore and O’Neill bring all the elements together in Century 1969)

But Moore can’t resist throwing in a last gasp of cultural reference, and this is the one that’s probably got the most commentary thus far, as Moore literally riddles his way around a young man who’s “familiar with all the great magicians” and who eventually becomes the final resting place of Haddo’s spirit before popping off through a wall just short of platform 10 at Kings Cross. It smacks of wish-fulfilment, a game of link up every evil wizard we can, up to and including he who can’t be named.

Despite that slightly clumsy (at least I thought so, others are declaring it a genius inclusion – what do I know?), I did think the climax, fought on the astral plane and in the seedy environs of London, is fantastic, perfectly paced, with O’Neill’s visuals matching Moore every step of the way.

It builds and builds, until the brightest yet thematically darkest bit of League history comes crashing down for a 70s punk epilogue, and O’Neill shifts to a 70s palette of dour, cold, dirty protest browns.

Next time it’s Century 2009, but will there be a League around to experience it?

(Shhh… you know who. From Century 1969, by Moore and O’Neill)

So, here we are….. and having read the entire League a couple of times during this, and having read 1910 and 1969 God knows how many times, I have to say I’ve completely changed my view of the whole League series.

In fact, I’ve just, in preparation for winding this up, read 1969 once again. And it’s just damn brilliant stuff. It rewards me each time, with each re-reading, with something else, some minor part falls into place, it just builds and builds and builds and builds into something really wonderful.

It is truly a wonderful, magnificent comic. Not that I’d have known on that first, frustrating read. And I fully expect, when Century 2009 eventually rolls round (meant to be Spring 2012, but expect it to shift to later in the year) to find the same frustrating first read and a book that just gets better and better and better with repeated reading.

Sure, there are faults with it all being too draped in references, but hopefully, in the course of reading this far, you’ve been witness to how, provided you actually read it for yourself rather than being overly concerned that you’re getting it all, it’s something that really rewards repeated readings.

It’s not the best thing Moore’s ever written, but bloody hell, it’s close. And I’d never have said that after reading 1969 for the first time, what seems like so long ago.

I shall leave you, dear reader, thanking you kindly for staying this long, with a little treat, an image borrowed from The Mindless Ones recent (and as always, quite brilliant) look at some of the greatest League moments – as we meet the League in Volume 2, stepping from their carriage to face the threat of Martian invasion. Quite simply perfection in comic form:

Okay, having got all that over with, I must admit, I did succumb to one further reading of the whole damn thing, this time with a laptop and various annotation sites open. And although I hope I’ve shown you it’s not, as I once thought, essential to do so, it does open the whole thing up even more. Should you wish to do the same, here they are:

Jess Nevins is pretty much the go to guy for your League annotations: Volume 1, Volume 2, The Black Dossier, Century 1910, Century 1969.

But with this latest volume several other mad souls have stepped into the breach, all with something worth reading…. The Mindless Ones blog annotations to Century 1969 are excellent: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 (and a fourth to come). And Newsarama have produced a cheat sheet for our US chums, who may be a little bemused by all the Brit-centric stuff.

Luchadoras

By Peggy Adam

Blank Slate Books

“It’s bleak, it’s brutal, but it’s also an utterly compelling work of fiction set against the shocking truth of everyday life in this Mexican town.”

“Luchadoras was chosen as part of the 2007 Sélection Officielle at the Angouléme International Comics Festival. And dammit, when you read Luchadoras, you can certainly see why. It’s brilliantly put together, a visceral assault on the senses, a challenge to understand just why these things can continue, a plea that they must be stopped, a superbly crafted personal tale, powerful, emotional, draining, real…. Luchadoras is all that.”

The Valley Of Fear: A Sherlock Holmes Graphic Novel

Adapted from the original novel  by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, illustrated by I.N.J. Culbard, text adapted by Ian Edginton

SelfMadeHero

“Oh, this is a joy. An absolute joy. I’ve enjoyed every one of Edginton and Culbard’s Holmes adaptations so far - The Hound Of The Baskervilles, A Study In Scarlet, The Sign Of The Four. And this fourth is no disappointment, in fact the only fault I can find is that, since it adapts the last of Conan Doyle’s Holmes novels, we may have reached an end of these adaptations.”

Pinocchio

By Winshluss

Knockabout Comics

“This is no simple retelling of the classic story, not of the Disneyfied feel good tale we all probably know, nor of the darker original by Collodi. This is every bit the dark, twisted fairy tale, with a dash of underground sex and violence and a hint of the giggling imaturrity that goes along with making familiar childhood characters do the vilest of things.”

Obselete

By Mikkel Sommer

Nobrow Press

“The short story is almost wordless – less than 100 words across it’s 24 pages. But Sommer carries the book with tight graphic storytelling, all the while creating an evocative and emotional story of one man’s return from war, plagued by ghosts of those he’s seen killed, ghosts of those men, women and children he may well have killed himself.”

By Winshluss

Knockabout Comics

Oh, this is gorgeous. Even before cracking it open, Knockabout’s production of this massive full colour book hardback is first class, and everything about it, from it’s reassuringly expensive heft to the gorgeous Chris Ware-ish cover design through to the thick matt feel paper that imbues a satisfying tactile feel as you turn each page, all creates an impression of something important, something excellent.

This is no simple retelling of the classic story, not of the Disneyfied feel good tale we all probably know, nor of the darker original by Collodi. This is every bit the dark, twisted fairy tale, with a dash of underground sex and violence and a hint of the giggling imaturrity that goes along with making familiar childhood characters do the vilest of things.

The book opens with the line:

“the following story has been very freely adapted from the eponymous novel by Carlo Collodi”.

Very freely adapted indeed. It takes all the familiar elements of the tale and completely reinvents them; set in some hideous post-industrial, quasi-modern world of Victorian dark, satanic mills, where child labourers are ruled over by heavy set industrialists, and mechanisation runs out of control, we’re down amongst the underclass existing in fetid streets outside the factory, where life is cheap, food is scarce and human decency is almost completely lacking.

There are few, if any, cheery, happy characters in Winshluss’ Pinocchio. Very freely adapted doesn’t really begin to cover it.

(Definitely not the Pinocchio you think you know. From Pinocchio by Winshluss, published by Knockabout)

Winshluss is French comic artist Vincent Paronnaud, and it’s possible that he’s best known for cowriting and codirecting the animated version of Persepolis with Marjane Satrapi. Winshluss’ Pinocchio won the 2009 Angouleme Fauve d’Or prize for the best album – essentially their comic of the year. And upon reading it, that comes as no surprise, the whole thing is quite simply magnificent.

In Winshluss’ version Pinocchio is a creation of down at heel inventor Geppetto still, but Geppetto’s creation is less wooden boy, more perfect little mechanised killing machine and his only wish is to see his invention playing across the fields of war, hardly the loving father:

(As Geppetto pimps his robot boy to the military, Mrs Geppetto finds other uses for those adaptations. From Pinocchio by Winshluss, published by Knockabout)

Losing the extending nose, Winschluss replaces it with a flame-thrower, and that’s what sends this innocent robot boy out into the world, leaving the smoldering wreck of Geppetto’s house and the charred remains of his grotesque, lascivious wife behind. The manner of her passing is not the first depraved act you’ll see in the pages of Pinocchio – Winschluss never falters in his descent into all manner of depravity, and in walking the fine line between shock and titillation he manages (just) to stay the right side.

Geppetto clears up Pinocchio’s accidental homicide, and sets off in pursuit of his creation, whilst Pinocchio spends his time throughout the story wandering; a lost, innocent little boy still, but one whose mere presence causes destruction, brutal murder, rebellion and huge change for all involved. He is the catalyst for so much, even when, halfway through the book, he spends nearly fifty pages dangling from a giant metal candycane whilst the various characters play out their various and fascinating stories.

Jiminy is stil here, although his portrayal, in glorious scratchy ink, as a drunken, philandering, foul-mouthed cockroach who takes up residence in Pinocchio’s metal head, pretty obviously a nod to Winschluss himself, is a far cry from anything even resembling a conscience. Jiminy’s pages are the only words in the book, but Winshluss doesn’t need words, his storytelling is so good you don’t even notice they’re missing until you get to the scenes with Jiminy. And then the words are almost a shock to the senses.

And then there’s the supporting cast; a littany of vile characters, twisted familiars of those we recognise; Monstro is a mutated, radioactive fish, the fox and the cat become drug addled tramps, selling Pinocchio to the factory for the price of a hit. And Winschluss doesn’t limit himself to characters from just one twisted vision of a Disney infused story, he also brings in Snow White and a very depraved, leather clad set of dwarves who see a far more tawdry role for Snow White than just keeping house.

But even with a large cast, absolutely nothing, no minor plot element or character, is wasted. Take Wonder; one of the two tramps, blinded in childhood when a stranger stole away his eyes, played as comic relief for much of the book, a foil for his sighted, drug addicted companion. But his salvation comes from the liberated mechanical eyes of the factory, destroyed, inadvertently (of course) by Pinocchio early on. A sickening union of blind boy and machine leads Wonder to a moment of realisation – God has spoken:

But even here, Winschluss twists the knife. Wonder isn’t allowed peace, his actions become that of a fanatic, he condemns his former companion to the heretic’s death on a burning pyre and moves on, finding a compliant accomplice and ending in the surreal spectacle of Wonder setting a suicide bomber penguin (brought inadvertently by Geppetto from the belly of Monstro) on the path to martyrdom. Just one more connected and ever so strange moment in a book absolutely full of them, right to the very end.

Everyone, no matter how inconsequential they seem at first, has a role to play here. Winschluss keeps a tight rein on his story, a throwaway character may walk in and out of the scene early on, only to have some major role a hundred pages later. Everything and everyone is important, and Winschluss tells so many stories that it’s no surprise, come the conclusion of the book, that there are multiple endings, as the fates of the extensive cast are revealed. I wont be spoiling anything by telling you that few of them have the Disney style happy ending.

And speaking of endings, what of poor Pinocchio, the robot boy who walked through this book, unaware of the depravity and chaos going on around him. Well, he gets perhaps the most chilling of all endings; and I don’t feel I’m doing you wrong by sharing this, he finds his way to a proper family, where the mother, driven insane by a stillbirth, tucks the robot boy into bed, and turns out the light…. and all that’s left is the frankly chilling sight of the robot boy staring blankly, incomprenhendingly, directly out of the page, straight into our eyes. That will stay with you for a long time after you close this book:

(Goodnight and God bless indeed)

Winshluss’ artwork throughout is simply sumptuous, albeit in a very, very nasty style. Or rather, styles. Winshluss mixes it up a treat; from simple, scratchy black and white for Jiminy’s pages, through undergound European, Disney style, and much, much else…. there’s so much going on in Pinocchio, and one imagines Winshluss manically splashing ink about the page, feverish with invention, switching between a hatful of styles and working methods, pen and ink, paint, watercolour, but every single one of them, no matter whether the scratchy line or the lush watercolour has a malevolent, disturbing touch to them.

This really isn’t a wholesome tale at all. And it’s only the dark beauty of Winshluss’ artwork that really keeps it from the tawdry.

But as a book, Pinocchio is a truly great thing, from cover to cover, Winshluss’ control over the page is magnificent, his artwork gorgeous. I don’t think I’d like to live in Winshluss’ world and there will be some for whom his corruption of a childhood tale is a most unforgivable sin. But for my money, it’s a sin well worth experiencing.

“We’ve also seen the UK comics channel expand with the fantastic efforts of Self Made Hero and NoBrow – which now sees the market and distributors primed to be more knowledgeable about comics in general – which can only benefit us all. We shouldn’t forget Fanfare or Knockabout either – Fanfare garnered 5 Eisner awards last year which is unprecedented for a UK publisher and Knockabout, long a dormant ‘giant’ of UK comics, have woken from their slumbers and now have editions planned of Maarten Vande Wiele’s collected Paris and the brilliant Pinocchio by Winshluss. All this activity is a bit of a surprise given the economic picture but a raft of publishers covering all ends of the comics spectrum is what the UK scene has needed for a long time. I think some of us who have worked in the business a long time have always thought it would emerge before this but barring some excellent attempts like Slab-O-Concrete it never really happened.

Now almost spontaneously there are a load of new publishers all working at it at the same time. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a time when it’s possible a coherent scene could emerge which is interested in producing comics of quality in the UK, without hoping the moment they got their break they would be on a plane to the DC offices. The surprise is that the major book publishing houses haven’t been the catalyst for this – they have access to the cream of the US production but someone like Cape who should be dominating and growing the UK market aggressively, seem to have paddled their canoe up the cul-de-sac labelled ‘would-be literary progressive’. So those who care about the narrative splendour of comics have decided to get on with it themselves,” Kenny Penman on the Blank Slate site.

It’s true, it does seem to be a very exciting time here at the moment; as I’ve been editing the guest posts for our annual Best of the Year I’ve already seen Blank Slate and SelfMadeHero titles cropping up and as you can imagine while I am editing these guest posts I’m also mentally making notes of the long and doubtless rambling list I’ll be writing up of my own favourites from 2010. And I can tell you Knockabout, SMH and Blank Slate are all figuring heavily in my list. And I’m not just saying that because Kenny is my boss – I think most of our readers know us well enough to know that when any of us on the blog post our thoughts on books and comics we give our honest opinions. I’ll be picking some works by these publishers because they genuinely were among the finest works I read this year. And while you know we do our best to try and bring you news about the wide world of comics and wonderful works from around the globe, I hope you’ll also forgive me for being so delighted that this year I can honestly say some of my best comics reading came from homegrown talent published by homegrown publishers who clearly enjoy bringing us interesting new works that deserve to be seen.

A look down at some of the artists on BSB’s 2011 slate has me equally excited for my reading prospects next year: Peggy Adam, more from Darryl Cunningham and Mawil and Oli East, Warwick J Cadwell, Line Hoven and more. SMH’s catalogue for next year has me similarly excited; I’m now getting the buzz of anticipation over some of our homegrown publishers that I normally get from perusing the catalogues of D&Q, Fantagraphics or Top Shelf. I think we’re going to be talking a lot more about titles from these publishers next year…

(Gungle, one of the forthcoming BSB releases for next year, by and (c) Warwick J Cadwell, borrowed from his blog)

As Kenny notes further on though, for this growth in Brit comics publishing to continue it needs two things: to expand internationally (which has already started with Darryl’s Psychiatric Tales being sold to US and Italian publishers) and to get support from readers. That means buying books from them; at the end of the day that’s how they stay in business and that’s how they keep on picking out great new works to publish for us to read. And I’m not saying buy them just because you should be supporting the homegrown talent who are trying to do something here, I’m saying buy them quite simply because they are good books by interesting artists and you’re going to enjoy them.

by Brick

Knockabout

Tom Freeman is not a well man, not a well man at all. What starts as a dull ache in the balls soon turns into something far, far more painful. And author Brick delights in showing us just how painful with panel after panel of fire down below, debilitating cartoon lightning strikes and much more. It’s impossible, as a bloke, to read these pages and not shuffle just a little in your chair, imagining just how hideously painful, and utterly terrifying this must have been.

Obviously the first thought is that it has to be Cancer, but being a very typical bloke, that all important trip to the doctors is put off, and put off, and put off. Holidays, work, anything to avoid the diagnosis that he dreads.

In fact it takes 41 pages of avoidance before the doctor finally gives him a diagnosis he just wasn’t expecting (but we, having read the back cover blurb, knew all along was coming):

(It might not be Cancer, but the big D is every bit as devastating in it’s own way. And like the T-shirt says, something so terribly common. From Depresso by Brick, published by Knockabout)

Yes, Depression. Of course. Instantly, all the moods, the inexplicable tears, the anger, the isolationism make sense. Even the 6 foot tall white lizard who follows him around cracking jokes and making snide comments all the time – everything gets explained by depression.

Depression is such a wide ranging, incredible illness, as anyone who’s felt their lives touched by it will tell you. Just do a little googling around and you’ll be amazed at some of the symptoms it can throw your way.

Dementia stalks my family, and we’re now on the third generation of sufferers with my mother. But before the official diagnosis of Alzheimers, all the psych nurses and the docs had it down as Psychotic Depression, and all the symptoms fitted perfectly. In the end, it proved a mis-diagnosis, but it could so easily have been right – like Brick’s character Tom Freeman discovers, depression can do so many weird, strange and profoundly fucked up things to both body and mind.

And of course, at this point we may as well drop the pretence. Depresso may have a character called Tom Freeman but make no mistake, this is Brick’s story. Sure, artistic license may be at play, and bits of it are fictional – but this is very much the story of the author’s fight with depression.

(That helpful White Lizard, ever present, always there to point out the madness in Brick/Freeman’s life. From Depresso by Brick, published by Knockabout)

The diagnosis is merely the start of his problems, and Depresso chronicles the entire struggle of Freeman/Brick against the disease, from those first strange aches, to near breakdown, looking at just how crippling it can be, how devastating for the sufferer and those around them.

But it’s more than that, because Freeman is determined that he wont be seen as mere victim, he’s determined to fight. When modern medicine and treatment doesn’t do the trick he’s quite prepared to try anything. Or at least he would, if only he could get off the sofa thanks to being turned into a zombie coutesy of those lovely anti-depressants.

Along the way, as we venture through Freeman’s life coping with the disease and putting up with the White Lizard we follow him through the UK and off to China, and Depresso becomes more than a simple autobiog tale, branching out into a book that’s got sections of exquisite travelogue and what seems like a whole history of “mad medicine” as Brick finds himself swept along by the vagaries and ridiculousness of the modern British health system’s treatment policy on depression.

Anyone interested enough to get this far will most likely be aware of the other, recent book about mental illness; Daryl Cunningham’s quite brilliantly affecting Psychiatric Tales. Comparisons are inevitable yet somewhat unfortunate, because the books couldn’t be more different if they tried, the only thing they share is the illness. Where Cunningham’s Psychiatric Tales was introverted and reflective, brilliantly low key, emotive reportage, Depresso is manic, vibrant, frenetic cartooning all done in first person, directly to the reader, a real fighter’s story of Brick’s struggle with, and more importantly, against the disease. The really impressive thing with both books, accomplished in radically different ways, is how well they manage to draw us into the world of the sufferer, to paint a vivid and utterly believable portrait of what it must be like.

(Brick’s manic cartooning at work – perfect for those terrifying moments of complete loss of control . From Depresso by Brick, published by Knockabout)

The art in Depresso has a feel of classic, old school British cartooning style, reminiscent of so much; Hunt Emerson, Viz, Leo Baxendale and many more, it’s all in the mix somewhere. The cartoony style, full of manic intensity like the page above really manages to get over that terrible feeling of losing control so well, but also keeps a lightness about it that’s unexpected in a book with such a terrible subject.

But Brick’s not afraid to mix it up, throwing in strange page layouts and visual effects where they’re called for. Sensibly though, these are used sparingly, as a counterpoint to the cartooning style, designed to make an immediate and very striking visual point. And it’s something that works quite brilliantly, keeping the visual attention sharp and focused, dragging the reader further and further into the work.

(The other aspect of Brick’s style in Depresso, where he switches page layout, or in this case, adds subtle visual effects to perfectly illustrate the moment of turning the corner, of a realisation that there is hope for the future. From Depresso by Brick, published by Knockabout)

When I started the book , I found myself slightly at odds with it, swept along with the fun of the cartooning, with the ridiculous nature of a man talking to his giant white lizard familiar and wondering why there just wasn’t enough misery. And then I slapped myself around a bit, accused myself of being a depression junkie and told myself that just because Brick’s ways of dealing with it, of rationalising it, of fighting against it, didn’t touch all those self pitying buttons I was expecting, it doesn’t negate the terrible times he went through in the course of his struggle.

And once I’d got to that point I started to relax into the book, appreciating the really funny stuff, the way Brick seems determined to ridicule himself, and by turns, the Depression. Sure, it’s horrible to suffer, it’s torture on those loved ones around you, but everyone has to find their own way of fighting it, their own way of saving themselves if they can. Brick’s way is to ridicule the problem, to rail against it, anger and comedy working together to rescue him from the worst of it.

(Near the end of the book, where we, the reader, is every bit as hopeful as Brick/Freeman that despite the regular slips, there’s hope and a future past the disease. From Depresso by Brick, published by Knockabout)

So by the time I reached the final chapters of Depresso, I was fully immersed in the struggles, right there with the author as he finally seemed to take those important first steps to recovery. Seeing him edge, closer and closer to what we laughably call “normal” was just as moving and triumphant as anything in Psychiatric Tales, but managed it with so much laughter, at himself, at the world, at the illness that you just can’t help laugh along.

It’s real success is all down to it being an eminently readable book, with characters you can’t fail to empathise with, whether it’s Tom/Brick or the ever-present, incredibly strong Judy, you’re with them every hard, hard step of the way. And when, at the end, there’s a glimmer of hope for the future, you share in the triumph.

Depresso is a great book, funny, angry, and overall, very uplifting and profoundly true.

For an in depth look at the making of Depresso, make sure you look at the director’s commentary we ran a few weeks back right her on the FPI blog.

(cover art for the second League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Century books, by and (c) Messrs Moore and O’Neill, to be published by Top Shelf in the US and Knockabout in the UK)

The Gosh blog notes that Kevin O’Neill is coming close to completing the artwork for the long-anticipated second volume of the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen: Century, with only 17 pages still to complete. Once completed the frenzied dance of sending to the publishers for colouring, lettering, various finessing and then actual printing will take place to a frantic tango rhythm and then, after trans-global shipping by dirigible and camel caravan, the finished books arrive in the comics stores of the nation and a grateful people can rejoice.

The second Century sees a thoroughly modern Mina and Co in the swinging 60s and I’m sure it will be fab and groovy; it will also be kind of fun to see these Victorian characters in that kind of setting, I think. Gosh goes on to note that Alan has completed the script for the third and final Century, something he confirmed at the Edinburgh Book Festival, although Gosh goes on to comment that given the size of an Alan Moore script, complete with notes and directions, it may be a while before Kev can draw all of that one too! To say nothing of Kev’s own famous attention to detail in his art meaning it all takes a lot of time, but it’s always worth it. And yes, of course we will tell you when we hear a firm release date from Top Shelf and Knockabout, although you may have to wretle various FPI staff who will be trying to get in line for their copy first, of course…

I’ve spent decades as a political cartoonist churning out highly controlled, heavily scripted comic pages designed to unpick and satirize the complex issues of the day (see Two Towers pdf here). If I was going to create a self-contained book, I’d want to adopt a more relax, free-wheeling approach to every stage of production, and I’d draw it up as I went along. It’s more fun that way, and having written two travel books (The Chalke Way and After the Gold Rush), I know all about the drag of a prolonged pregnancy.

But I didn’t set out to produce a graphic novel, any more than I set out to have what the medics call a ‘nervous breakdown’ or two. As it happened, Depresso began as moments of calm in days of torment when the drawing board seemed the only place on the planet where the world wasn’t out to shaft me. While others in crisis frequently turn to their diaries to expunge the trauma of the day, I scripted a few comic pages. Unlike them, I was obsessed with throwing away words.

To this end I bought the smallest practical notebook I could find, a stack of erasers and a 0.7mm propelling pencil. I wrote compulsively and small, on buses and trains, toilets and park benches, even at gigs. Rarely did I plan a layout, but equally I never wrote a speech, commentary or exposition without having a clear picture in mind married to it.

For example, a heavy conversation about emotional insecurity and psychological pain takes place while my two protagonists forage in a skip for wood for their fire. If the banter is thick with Freudian fug, the activity shows the reality of living on state benefits. It was an obvious marriage. After the state of our mental health, survival strategies are the major topic of conversation among nutters.  And by bringing the two together, I was able to climax with a gag!

For what it’s worth, below is a page I did plan out, largely because it’s a silent spread, followed by the finished result. (I strike a line through each page when the art is complete.)

Mostly I wrote and visualized without feeling the need to sketch. Just occasionally I scribbled a thumbnail, but that was mainly because the drugs were doing my head in and there was every chance I’d forget the idea by breakfast (see below). I wrote and rubbed out, rubbed out and wrote, and designed the page on the drawing board once I was happy with the sequence.

But there are odd pages in Depresso where I go off on one, like in the chapter where my anti-hero, Tom Freeman, takes time out in China (see below). Again I sort of knew what I wanted, and had the joy of scouring libraries and the net for suitable graphics. If none were forthcoming, I threw out the idea and dreamt up another. In this the imagery led the text.

So my approach was organic in the extreme. I knew I wanted to mix dramatic narrative with hardcore critique, snatches of history with outrageous fantasy, and I figured my passion for rock’n’roll and seminal movies would wiggle their way in somewhere.

I also knew it had to be a rib tickler because, trust me, there’s nothing quite so wacky as the terrifying experience of losing your marbles. But I hadn’t a clue where I was heading, let alone where the hell I’d been, except I knew my Tom would not emerge ‘cured’. It was all a bit of a shambles really, much like my life at the time, though I hasten to add Depresso is only partly autobiographical.

This modus operandi has huge drawbacks and is not recommended for aspiring comic creatives. There were pages or parts of pages I had to redraw time and again. I became a cut’n’paste wizard. Below are versions three and four of a spread where I struggled to depict what I wanted the imagery to say. I can live with the end result.

On the other hand there were sequences that now make me cringe; panels I knew could be improved but I had to walk away from, mostly because their chaos, intensity or sloppy draughtsmanship somehow imparted more about Tom’s state of mind than anything ‘finished’ would achieve. And, of course, once I’d realized I was knocking out a book, I had the nightmare of trying to pull all the disparate strands together. I’m told I’ve pulled it off, but only by remaining true to Tom and his partner Judy, and the reality of mental distress.

In terms of visual style, I’m with Orson Welles when he observed that the most vivid colour movies are those in black and white. I adore the spot work of Ditko and Eisner at one extreme and the lush paintings of Guarnido (Blacksad) and Sienkiewicz (Moby Dick) at the other, but that’s not me. I’m terminally colour blind and have struggled with the disability my whole career. My parody of The Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour is as vibrant as the original in my mind’s eye.

And I’ve never been big on flashy panel designs, baffling layouts or indulgent graphic devices that blitz the margins of the page. They kind of remind me of musicians who change guitars every number, serving only to prove they’re geeky collectors and need to take a walk in the woods. For the convoluted story of Depresso I’ve taken a leaf out of From Hell and only broken the mould where it’s really necessary.

Finally, for the trainspotters out there, I use an HB on 100 gsm laser copy paper and ink over the pencil with a Pentel Chinese fountain brush, a Paper Mate, a Pilot V5 and various super fine UniPins. I scan at a mere 500 dpi into Photoshop, reducing by 64%, knocking back to 300 dpi after applying the grey tones and any found images.

My current project is a humorous investigation into the infamous ‘Leonardo Bicycle’, which has a clear beginning, middle and end. So I treated myself to a slightly larger notebook.

You can see more of Brick’s work here; Depresso is published by Knockabout Comics this November and is available to pre-order now. He will be interviewed on BBC Radio Nottingham on Friday 8th of October around 2pm.

(wraparound cover for Dodgem Logic Number 3 by and (c) Albion Great Bearded Magus, Alan Moore, published by Knockabout; click on the pic for the larger version)

From the description: “While the popular primates that we promised you last issue have receded back into the mist, we’ve tried hard to alleviate your sense of cheated rage and disappointment by enlisting laugh-along Luddites-for-Literature supremo Robin Ince to smooth the gentle gradient of your furrowed brow. We also tracked down Josie Long through credit-card transactions in her brave but ultimately doomed Shawshank Redemption bid for freedom, so she’s back with us and doing what she likes best, if that’s being handcuffed to a radiator.

As for the thick wedge of extra pages that you’re paying through the nose for in this bumper issue, they contain a rare compendium of delights. We’ve got confessions of calamitous careers in the constabulary, step-by-step instructions for do-it-yourself diabolism and the rigorous recriminatory ruminations of a rogue town planner. We’ve got divine decadence and sultry San Francisco nights along with the exploits of troubled everyman Johnny Viable, some glamorous graffiti, and a tantalising T-shirt transfer from the crayon box of Dodgem Logic’s vendor of voluptuousness Melinda Gebbie. ”

Dodgem Logic Number 3, complete with it’s genuine Moore wrappings, should be hitting shelves towards the end of this month and you can pre-order it from our webstore now and of course we’ll have it on the racks in our branches.

The great Gilbert Shelton will be at Gosh! Comics on Saturday 14th of November from 3 to 5pm (check the blog for details) to sign copies of the recently published Fat Freddy’s Cat Omnibus from Knockabout; and stay tuned, hopefully have some more Gilbert related news for you in the near future.

Two bits of news in one here;

British publisher Knockabout have set up a website (finally!). Knockabout have been stalwarts of the UK publishing scene for the longest time, formed in the 80s, publishing some brilliant works from the likes of Alan Moore, Hunt Emerson and Gilbert Shelton and always, always remaining strong when customs and the police came calling. It’s a pleasure to be able to say add this to your bookmarks.

And there’s a new edition of Gilbert Shelton’s Fat Freddy’s Cat coming out – a huge 300+ page omnibus. Definitely one for your bookshelf. Out in September hopefully. Get it here from the FPI webstore at a great price.

The Knockabout website. Tony’s blog (come on Tony, more updates please)