Fantasies of Tokyo and New Orleans

It seemed only fair to include Japanese manga in my science fiction and fantasy graphic novel challenge, so I bought a two-volume omnibus of Ranma ½, a series several of my undergrad friends had enjoyed. Dojo master Tendo has three daughters but no son, so he and his friend Saotome agreed that Saotome’s son Ranma will marry one of the Tendo girls and inherit the dojo. Ranma’s had lots of martial arts training, most recently, in China, where he fell into a cursed spring and is now doomed to turn into a girl whenever struck by cold water (hot water turns him back). Perhaps less fortunately, his father fell into the Spring of Drowned Panda. No one in the younger generation is thrilled about the prospects of arranged marriage, particularly Akane, a skilled martial artist herself.

It was a bit of an adjustment reading left to right (and, at times, telling the three daughters and she-Ranma apart), but it didn’t take long before I was speeeding through the pages. It’s fun and silly, and I can see how it might be fun to be part of its fanbase – like being welcomed into the characters’ family, always affectionately teasing. The stark authority the two patriarch have over their offspring is undercut by the elder Saotome’s frequent transformations into a (large and nonverbal) panda. Ranma ½ seemed to have more in common with the old spirit of a comic strip (though it takes at least a few pages to play off a joke) than the other graphic novels I’ve read. There’s definitely an evolving story, but it was already seeming to repeat itself (with just slightly different fights and opponents) in the seventeen installments I read. There are a lot of boobs-are-funny jokes and the story’s tendency to make the highest stakes conflicts those between he-Ranma and his male antagonists (although the later chapters introduced a female villain and possibly a more Akane-centered storyline) make me feel the books are a little less progressive than some female fans might want to think. There are many volumes of Ranma ½, but Ranma and Akane seem so clearly destined for each in a Beatrice-and-Benedict way that I’m almost surprised author Rumiko Takahashi is able to stretch out what seems to be an inevitable pairing. I’d put my money on a happy ending, but I don’t think I’m going to read the full series to find out.

***

Six pistols with occult powers, when brought together, will end the world – and remake it with guidance from whoever holds The Sixth Gun. Drake Sinclair seems to be on a simple treasure hunt when he shows up at the Montclair ranch, but soon pistol-toting strangers are attacking the ranch, Pa’s dead, and Becky Montclair wields the mystical Sixth Gun. Did I mention the guns can change hands only with their owner’s death?

Gunfighter with a shady past, orphaned girl forced to leave home, Civil War veterans, evil Conferate generals, mysterious religious orders, supernatural weapons, four deadly horsemen: while it all comes together in its own particular way, none of the elements are really anything that hasn’t been seen before on TV, in movies, or in books (whether Westerns or other genres). What really stands out is the impressive artwork, detailed and vividly colorful, from a spooky early image of a Gallows Tree to the impressive arrival of a thunderbird. Illustrator Brian Hurtt excels at crowded action scenes, like the fight in a theatre/saloon that ends Chapter 2 and the closing’s extended Battle at the Maw.  

Book 1: Cold Dead Fingers tells a full story that comes to a strong ending (that nevertheless makes it clear further adventures are on their way). As Becky travels with Drake and must decide whether to trust him, she evolves from engenue to adventurer. We get a little bit of Drake’s past. Becky, Drake, and jovial sidekick Billijohn O’Henry start out fleeing the forces of undead General Hume (led by his wife Missy and four evil gunmen), but eventually decide they must take the offensive. When they discover Hume’s hidden fort, built over a sinister seal in the earth, they find allies in Hume’s former prisoners, led by freedman Gord Cantrell – but they are quickly beseiged by Hume’s soldiers, living and dead.

Although I felt the characters were more types than individuals, the great art and fast-moving action made me curious enough to buy Book 2. (Slippery slope; I ended up with all six volumes that have been released so far.) Book 2: Crossroads, set in New Orleans, was a particularly strong installment. Becky, Drake, and Gord come to the Crescent City to recuperate from the battle and plan. Becky is wooed by an Owen-Wilson-lookalike cowboy. Gord researchs dark manuscripts to find a way to destroy the guns, while Drake takes a more active approach, venturing into the swamps to find occultist Henri Fournier. The drawings of the swamps, infested by alligators and loa, are intense, as are later battle scenes (including an attack by owls).

Book 3: Bound starts with a dramatic fight on a train speeding west that ends with Becky and Drake being separated. The volume then stagnates a bit as the members of the secret society Sword of Abraham try to keep Becky under their wing. We learn probably a little more than we need to about Mystery Mummy Asher Cobb, as well as the more cogent backstory of Gord Cantrell, who travels South and confronts his past in an effort to find more information about the guns.

Happily, the action picks back up again in Book 4: A Town Called Penance. A stranger rides into town – and it’s Becky, dressed in pants, a brown jacket, denim shirt, Drake’s bowler hat and packing heat. While I initially thought Becky was bit too damselly, she does begin to develop, especially in Books 4-6. Here, she’s looking for Drake, who’s being held by the Knights of Solomon, yet another of those pesky clandestine organizations. (Drake’s knife and gun wounds from the train battle are miraculously healed, but we do get to enjoy him being tortured for a chapter or so.) It’s not clear how the inhabitants of Penance are connected to the Knights, but the townspeople are clearly not normal and they’re warring among themselves. Eventually, Becky finds her way into the Knights’ Goonies-like stronghold, and she blasts her way in to rescue Drake. I’m not sure whether I think it’s cool that the chapter dealing with the rescue is dialogue-free (Becky’s hearing has been damaged by an explosion), relying on action and the character’s physicalities or a little bit of a gyp that Becky’s been literally silence, unable to exchange repartee with any of her opponents or verbally gloat. Drake gets some of his own back by beating up Jessup, a Knight of Solomon with whom he seems to share some history. At the end of the book, we see Jessup being rescued by lizard-men and catch up with cowboy Owen Kirby Hale, who’s back on the trail of the guns.

Book 5: Winter Wolves seems to take us further west than we’ve yet been. Drake and Becky seek supplies and allies at Fort Treadwell, but accidentally cross over into a spirit world of deepest winter, where the fort is abandoned and a powerful, hungry spirit in wolf form stalks outside. We learn a bit about Drake’s past, namely that he at one time worked with a blond woman, possibly the sister Jessup believe Drake killed. Meanwhile in the physical reality, Gord, mummified Asher Cobb, and Kirby Hale meet up and decide to team together, at least for the moment, though all ultimately have different goals for the guns. Just when it seems Drake, Becky, or both must die to end the unnatural winter, their erstwhile companions are effect a bargain to free them – but not before, in a precursor of things to come, Drake has sustained a more permanent injury.

With Drake ill from his adventures in Book 5 and Becky unconscious after trying to take control of the Sixth Gun’s power, the band of misfits encounters a band of Native Americans in Book 6: Ghost Dance. Initially threatening, they soon prove to be allies of a sort, insisting that Becky undertake a vision quest along the Winding Path in order to recover. This Ghost Dance (which I’m pretty sure is a historically and culturally inaccurate use of the term) will show her many possible realities that guns could create – or perhaps have already created. It’s a bit annoying to get two spirit world storyline back to back, but in addition to drawing out the storyline, it gives another opportunity for Becky to lead while exploring an idea Drake had expressed that perhaps he’s already used the Sixth Gun to remake the world. Also, of course, for the writer and artist to have fun – giving us a primitive world with a Conan-like Drake and a medieval one with a castle besieged by dragons, where Drake is a black knight and Becky wields a sword. For more psychological conflicts, Becky dines with General Hume in a world reshaped to his pleasure and encounters a reality where she shacked up with cowboy Kirby Hale and started a family. On the physical plane, Missy Hume has recruited a band of natives (shapeshifters) to disrupt Becky’s journey. Gord, Kirby, Asher, and new allies Nahuel and Nidawi break the shapeshifters’ focus and bring the battle back to earth. While the victory over the shapeshifters combined with Becky’s seemingly successful Ghost Dance, it’s a little disappointing when Missy is ultimately killed by her mother-in-law Griselda. The final chapter ends with a sinister hint that Becky and Drake may be more changed by the guns they bear than they’ve yet come to suspect. The epilogue implies that the next book may find Drake, Becky, and company besiege Hume’s home, opposed by Griselda and her new champion Jessup.

And will I be planning to read the next volume? Yep, I gotta say I’m looking forward to it.

Alex Bledsoe and the Tufa of Tennessee

Because of library availability, I read The Hum and the Shiver some months before its sequel, Wisp of a Thing. They’re unusual without being idiosyncratic, flirt hard with a number of stereotypes, and I liked them both, possibly more than I should.

The Tufa live in Cloud County, nestled in rural East Tennessee’s Smoky Mountains. Though they’ve dark hair and eyes and dusky complexions and have been living there, it’s asserted over and over that they’re not Native American. Which means, of course, that they must be fairies. Even when I initially thought they might be Native American fairies, I had the Tufa pegged as supernatural. I recognized the resemblance between “Tufa” and “Tuatha” (the Tuatha de Danaan or Children of Dana appear in the oldest Irish mythological cycles). But even for a reader unfamiliar with the Irish, it’s clear from very early in both novels that magic is to be taken seriously. For one, too many characters do for them to all be unreliable narrators, but there are also clear demonstrations: in just the first pages of The Hum and the Shiver, the locals magically turn away a hord of paparazzi. The odd thing is that, despite this, the novels are in many ways structured like mysteries, with an outsider trying to figure out the real heritage of the Tufa. In The Hum and the Shiver, it’s preacher Craig Chess, who takes an interest in the protagonist, and part-Tufa newspaperman Don Swayback. In Wisp of a Thing, it’s protagonist Rob Quillen. 

So, as a reader, there’s this build-up of characters trying to find out information you already know, and even if there are a few details you’re not clued in yet, they’re really not so significant that they really matter enough to make you turn pages. There are some smaller character moments – decisions, attitudes – but really, a lot of the appeal of the books comes down to atmosphere. And that’s not unproblematic, either. Bledsoe lovingly describes Needsville, TN, and its surroundings, trying not to idealize. Sure, there are plenty of solid, salt-of-the-earth folks. And there are bullies and drinkers and violent cops; farmers, motel owner, gas station attendants, mechanics, EMTs, and folks who seem to mostly just hang around. At times, it seems Bledsoe has found the sweet spot of humanizing without changing often-stereotyped figures. At other times, he seems to venture perilously close to James Dickey territory (several of his narrators even make Deliverance jokes). At first, I’m refreshed that’s he’s drawn women who actually have a sex drive; then I start wondering, wait a minute, am I really supposed to believe these women spend this much time worrying about men? The Gwinn family as described in Wisp of a Thing are grotesques – mean, skinny young men and fat, fist-fighting women. And later in that book, there’s a scene where the bad, bat-winged fairies (who, except for an evil Lothario, are ugly, unwashed litterers) gather at their homebase, drinking, rutting in public, making dischordant music, distilling moonshine, and cooking up meth.

What saves the novels, and really provides their hearts, in the authentic care and affection Bledsoe shows for the area, for the people described, for small-town life without the rose-colored glasses, and especially for the music. Haven’t mentioned the music yet? A deep love of and interest in bluegrass/country/folk music is tied up in these novels and the magic of the Tufa. And I just may need to check out Kate Campbell.

The stories themselves: The Hum and the Shiver follows Private Bronwyn Hyatt, returning home from Iraq a wounded hero. They tell her she killed numerous enemy combatants before she was injured, but she doesn’t remember, and she’s afraid she’s lost her ability to play music. There’s a haint who seems to have followed her home, and ominous death omens targeting the Hyatt family suggest Bronwyn’s mother may soon die, leaving Bronwyn with mystical responsibilities in the Tufa community that she’s resisted her whole life. Meanwhile there’s the troublemaker boyfriend she had hoped to get away from, his little brother who’s giving her mandolin lessons, and the handsome new preacher. It all builds up to a series of conflicts that includes an unexpected stabbing at a local bar. Bronwyn’s very enjoyable as a main character, though I sometimes questioned the storyline; while Bronwyn comes to a decision of sorts at the novel’s end, in some ways other characters drive more of the action, and some heavily-hinted-at conclusions seemed to me to require a little more build-up and interaction to be truly believable.

I don’t know whether’s it’s just that it’s the more recent read, but I think I actually preferred Wisp of a Thing. I was surprised to get a new protagonist, because I thought for sure The Hum and the Shiver was setting up for more tales told from Bronwyn’s point of view. (In some ways, however, ; slightly-less-than-satisfactory because the author is being subtle endings being preferable to slightly-unsatisfactory because the author is bogarting the good stuff for the sequel ones.) As Wisp opens, however, we meet Rob Quillen, singer/songwriter/guitarist who recently appeared on American Idol, I mean “So You Think You Can Dance?”, but left when his girlfriend died in a plane crash en route to visit him at the set of the show. He’s come to Needsville because a mysterious stranger told him he’d find a song that could cure heartbreak, but so far he’s come across only strange superstitions and a feral girl who may be under a curse. Rob’s story may be somewhat more satisfactory because as an outsider, he can break the Tufa rules and do all the things I kept waiting for characters to do in the earlier volume: take cell phone photos when something strange appears,;call the police, or at least question why no one else is calling them, when a local threatens him with a baseball bat or leads a tourist into the woods; and take on malevolent old man Rockhouse Hicks.

***

While I’m posting about fiction that treads the borderlands of fantasy/literary fiction/modern fairy tale/magic realism, I should mention Some Kind of Fairy Tale by Graham Joyce. A woman shows up on a couple’s doorstep on Christmas Day, claiming to be their daughter who disappeared twenty years ago; the only explanation she can give is that she’d been taking from the woods by the fairies but only stayed with them for six months. I’d not have picked this one up based on the premise; I figured the whole book, and nothing much of note would happen but it would draw the question out to the ending until giving some kind of answer, but probably not (leaving it up to the reader in much, much-hated Henry James style). But, the book was recommended, and although my expectations were pretty accurate, I enjoyed it.

I think the reason is that the men Tina Martin left behind her, brother Peter and ex-boyfriend Richie, are such likable characters it was just pleasant spending time with them. (Some Kind of Fairy Tale is English without having an attitude about it. There are some great descriptions of bluebells in May.) Peter and Richie were best friends in high school, playing together in a band, but haven’t talked to each other since Tina disappeared and some fingers pointed to Richie. Peter’s now a family man who couldn’t find a job with his Master of Social Work and so became a farrier, while Richie remains a musician who never made it big; in some ways, the heart of the story is how they reconnect. Of course, we also get the details of Tina’s Otherworld story and the analysis of it, borrowing on Freud and Jung, by local psychiatrist Vivian Underwood. There’s a welcome bit of a twist to the psychiatrist’s storyline, but the with the author having given, I believe, pretty clear evidence in favor of one explanation (in fact, though I really hate to fault a writer for being unambigous, the last few chapters may even give more information than we really need), he ultimately leaves the reader to give her own explanation for Tina’s disappearance. Chapter epigraphs on the historical court case of an Englishman who killed his wife, believing her to be a fairy, and by many, mostly familiar (Campbell, Bettelheim, Chaucer, Shakespeare) but some not (John Clute, Marina Warner) authors on nature of fairy tales may not be essential to the story but add a bit of resonance. I generally like my fantasy with more over fantasy, but I may have to read more by G. Joyce.

Mindspace Investigations

Prose-wise, over the weekend I enjoyed the first three Mindspace Investigations novels (Clean, Sharp, and Marked) by Alex Hughes. They’re quick reads, not too far from the urban/paranormal field despite being set several centuries in the future: first person POV, a telepath and recovering drug addict working for the Atlana police, generally with sexy workaholic cop as partner. I do see similarities to the Dresden Files (and to similar genre books), although frankly addiction & thought sensing are not quite as fun as monsters & magic. The post-Tech-Wars future, where the U.S. in particular is only slowly re-releasing advanced technology in the wake of disastrous misuse of networked and biological tech, has a lot of potential although at the moment it's a bit "fun tech like flying cars to establish a futuristic setting and low tech like lack of networked search capabilities for the average detective where it's plot convenient." Where Hughes excels, however, is in creating believably, frustratingly powerful antagonists (of both the cat-stroking and more interesting but infuriating it’s-all-just-part-of-living-within-a-corrupt-system varieties). I think it’s a little overly cute that we don’t learn our POV character’s name is “Adam” until the last page of Book 1, but it’s not really important to the story. While each book focuses on a primay case or two, there is some development overall of both the character relationships and of some over-arching conflicts. In fact, there are some surprising shake-ups in the third book that also lead to some significant character moments. (After reading these three titles, I stumbled across an online interview with the author in which she revealed that she’s sketched out a 9-book arc for the series, a detail I think bodes well for her continued ability to include procedural details without having the series seem to run in place.) In any case, clearly I’ve found the Mindspace Investigations novels to be pageturners so far.

Saga & Other Graphics

A Romeo and Juliet story where warring planets stand in for feuding houses and, instead of killing themselves, our fugitive heroes are just trying to make a life for themselves and their newborn daughter. Saga is straight-up space opera, where the horned moon-dwellers may work magic while their winged opponents invest in the latest laser and missile tech, but this is really a Clarke’s Law situation where the plausibility and pedigree of the deadly force matter less than how it’s used (especially against our protagonists). Instead of getting tied up in technical details, writer Brian K. Vaughan lets the details of his imagined future speak to the present-day. You see, planet Landfall and its moon Wreath have long since exported their war to other planets to minimize the damage to the homeworlds. We see a non-native Landfall medic who signed up in order to get permission to attend university on Landfall. We have a shady intelligence officer, calculations as to who qualifies as a “friendly,” and plenty of collateral damage. Both sides of the conflict occasionally use outside contractors, and our bounty hunter (with a heart of gold?) has to deal with his agent and his insurance company. Volume Three introduces us to a storyline that touches on the powers and freedom of the press.

More even than the present-day parallels, however, it’s the emotional truths that matter to the story. The illustrations by Fiona Staples do a large part of the work, drawing us in and conveying subtle nuances of expression (a grin versus an indulgent smile, sadness versus shame, surprise and fear). It’s exciting to have a couple worth rooting for, full partners: Alana the brash soldier-turned prison guard-turned deserter and Marko the conflicted pacifist and former detainee. Their relationship, like those of all the characters, is complex, with attractions and resentments and fights and sacrifices. Even characters who may seem relatively minor have developed backstories (like our royal prince with PTSD who also happens to be a robot – and the mechanics of these robot royalty I just can’t stop questioning, no matter that the story so far has little time for such nuts and bolts). I absolutely began to care for these people. (Spoilers be damned: I had a scare, but Lying Cat is alive and in the picture as of the end of Chapter 18.) This is a story about love and war and sex and hope, societal guilt and responsibilities, parenting and family, and even (with a nod, I’m convinced, to Samuel R. Delany) the importance of art. I can’t wait to read more of it (but I’ll have to, since Volume Four isn’t out yet … I wonder how the individual issues are being released).

OK, you may be asking, perceptive loyal reader: aren’t graphic novels a little out of my wheelhouse? Why am I writing about comics? Well, in large part because one of my Goodreads groups in hosting a science fiction and fantasy graphic novel challenge. I haven’t read a lot of comics or graphic novels (Maus, Perspepolis, and that’s it?), especially in the sci-fi and fantasy genres, and there are some classics I’ve been meaning to get around to for a while (Watchmen). Of course, when I got onto Amazon to look at titles, I found myself buying up mostly interesting-looking contemporary titles. (Yes, the library has graphic novels, although not a huge selection and generally a little battered. Also, I’ve worked at a public library, and I know which kinds of books have to be retrieved from the men’s restrooms at the end of a night.) Oh, I’m sure I’ll get to Alan Moore eventually. I may even try some manga. And although I told myself I’d just get some a couple of Volume Ones and borrow newer issues if I enjoyed the beginning, when the first issue of Saga arrived in the mail, I knew I’d want copies of the rest of the series. We’ll see if that trend continues for a couple of other series I want to try(Sandman, actually a classic; The Sixth Gun). Sheesh. I thought trade paperbacks were expensive; guess you gotta pay the illustrator. And colorists. But I think I’ll intersperse with some actual prose next.

***

Meanwhile, notes on a couple of graphic novels I got to before Saga:

Because I’m a fan of the Dresden Files books, I’d been interested in the graphic novels. Since the first, shorter volume (Welcome to the Jungle) is an original story by Jim Butcher, I thought it worth an investment. Overall verdict: pretty good. I like the art by Ardian Syf: it’s detailed and interesting and fits in well with how I’d imagined Dresden and the Chicago settings. (I did wonder what was up w/that scar over Harry’s eye and why it seemed to keep changing sides of his face before deciding those lines were really just there to give “craggy” facial definition and assist in conveying expressions.) In Butcher’s introduction, he writes, “I can honestly say that the representation of the characters found here is very, very close to the images of them that exist in my head. Harry is bang-on, in particular… .” There’s pretty much only one viable suspect to the mystery plot, but the visual reveal of the villain’s true form is satisfyingly creepy. (Also, just from the small tastes here, I can tell the vampires bits in this series are going to look really awesome.) There are some nice visual jokes (Harry’s run-through of the “usual suspects”), but in many of the action sequences, I felt like the text/narration from Harry got in the way of following the visuals. It’s a real challenge to balance a visual medium with a character whose distinctiveness is his wise-cracking inner voice, and while the volume is very readable, I don’t think it always finds the perfect balance with this. Fun, but it doesn’t necessarily have me rushing out to buy the rest of the graphic novels.

***

My other recent graphic novel read is decidedly not fantasy or sci-fi. I’d been reading a lot of film reviews (while half-heartedly trying to avoid anything too spoilery) and think pieces on Blue is the Warmest Color since it won the Palme d’Or at Cannes, and I’d been curious. But some of the potential problematic issues that had been mentioned (a prurient focus on sex, poor working conditions for the starring actresses, the originator of the story’s expressed dissatisfaction with the adaptation, power imbalance between the fictional lovers) tended to make me less curious. So, since the royalties would go to author Julie Maroh, and since I usually try to read the book before seeing the movie anyway, it made sense to check Blue is the Warmest Color the graphic novel.

The book tells a moving love story. There’s not a great deal of dialogue, though some narration is provided in the form of lines from an old diary read by one of the lovers. The watercolor-like art, in shades of neutrals with dashes of blue, draws in the reader and conveys both emotion and, where appropriate, eroticism. The frames sometimes “zoom in” to give emphasis or explain nuance. The story begins when Clementine, a French high school student, finds herself uninterested in the senior boy who wants to date her, fascinated instead by a blue-haired woman she glimpses in passing in the square. The woman turns out to be Emma, an art college student, who is intrigued by Clem but unsure about complicating her own life and relationships.

It’s true that there’s not much new or unexpected (arguably, apart from the gender of the lovers) to this romance; the value is in the sensitive and believable exploration of a particular relationship. (Happily, although at least one of the main characters becomes a teacher, this is not a student-teacher relationship, which is what several of the film reviews I’d read implied. Celebrating that kind of power imbalance in a relationship seemed to bother me more than the reviewers, who seemed to more caught up on the age difference itself. In the graphic novel, the four-year age difference between the lovers is never dismissed as unproblematic and is explored, I think, in a thoughtful and appropriate way.) I’m not sure whether I think the very sad frame story is necessary, though I’m more or less willing to accept that the author felt it was. I would have appreciated more information about the couple’s mature, adult relationship, but I think that would have been a different book. The heart of this one is in adolescent love, strong and unsure at the same time. It’s a beautiful piece, well worth reading whether or not I decide to rent the movie.