Night of Knives

For the uninitiated, the book is an extension of Steven Erikson’s Malazan Book of the Fallen sequence. The review will probably make little sense to those who aren’t familiar with the series, and while attempting to encapsulate the series would be a book in itself (one I wouldn’t mind researching/writing, at that!), to those who haven’t read it (and for some reason haven’t stopped reading this blog post), I would sum it up thusly:  it is, quite simply, a major work in the Epic Fantasy pathos, a work that I have often described as something equivalent to taking all the Shared-world, RPG-styled, PNP, game-based books, adding them up, and then retroactively adding editorial and creative evolution that didn’t really occur over the last twenty years, and what you have is this era’s answer to sword and sorcery but with the day-time dramatics that epic fantasy inserted into our medium over the same time period. In short, it’s a hell of a lot of fun and utilizes a portion of fantasy that I’d thought had told all the stories it could.

I mentioned some words above that have stigmas attached to them, which in some eyes would be in fact extra separate stigmas in a genre that suffers from a stigma as it is. One of these is “prequel,” a term that has come to almost have a negative connotation itself due to its use in film. The danger of a prequel (so-called or not) is that not only is the work going to be compared to the source material, but it is also going to have to satisfyingly depict events that have been interpreted, imagined, and rendered in thousands of different way by thousands of different minds. One of the more successful prequels I’ve read is The First King of Shannara by Terry Brooks, a prequel that took elements that occurred in previous books and tied them together. Interestingly enough, this was actually one of my favorite entries in a much-maligned line. Some readers absolutely hate it, which, admittedly, occurs whether a book is a prequel or not, but I surmise that essentially semi-retconing gaps filled in by the reader in an unsatisfactory way had a lot to do with it.

Now let me deviate for a moment….

NOTE: I’m not a big spoiler warning advocate, but if you haven’t read the book or the Erikson books, you may want to stop now. I’m going to mention what most functional people would have gotten rather quickly in the series but for the wide-eyed–you are warned!

Erikson’s Malazan work features perhaps the largest relevant cast I have read in fiction. Through reading the first eight books and constantly finding new favorite characters chapter after chapter, two have risen to the top for me as the most intriguing. Erikson’s lynchpin is a military company of humans (and its descendants) that keeps the series grounded amidst a real high magic, high wonder, incredibly expansive environment. However, the two I choose as the characters who catch that human quality most to me are two newly “ascended” gods:  Shadowthrone and Cotillion. This duo I count already amongst the most intriguing fantasy characters in recent times. They are the Pullo and Vorenus if they achieved godhood; Odysseus; Roddenberry striving to go where no man has gone before. Two hustlers with a long view who took over an island, carved out an empire, gave up what most would describe as the pinnacle of what mortals could achieve, and ascended to godhood–and damn it not by accident, they planned it! So much of the series is fist-raising and screaming “don’t fuck with humanity,” and these two go beyond simply that, they traverse the path of “Gods, you don’t want me to fuck with you.” These two are you and your buddy when you were teenagers. You were all friends but you and this kid saw eye to eye, an unspoken understanding between adolescent minds ready to take on a world you didn’t fully understand, but you carved a path to achieve that goal anyway.

Back on track….

Among other things, Ian Esslemont’s Night of Knives chronicles the long crawl to the first step for the duo of Shadowthrone and Cotillion: achieving the mantle of immortality. The aura around this event is established in Erikson’s novels; their assassinations the subject of rumor, intrigue, and multiple truths. To most characters they are simply dead victims of an internal coup; to some they are travelers of planes, to others they have taken on an almost mythic quality, and fewer know they are now part of the pantheon playing the same game they always have–their own, and they cheat. The choice of title and its relation to “The Night of Long Knives,” I think, speaks easily enough for itself and plays out in the other plot threads of the novels that will give readers a view of even more last first steps . Through the eyes of Temper, you will see a soldier’s and a friend’s reflection on one Dassem Ultor, a character we know in the Malazan universe as the former First Sword of the Empire–these two men even make the new gods nervous when in proximity. We also see Kiska, a girl who is always trying to follow destiny, and the two guide us through a night called Shadow Moon. It is again apt that it takes place in Malaz city, ending where it began. Our two guides offers us distinct, even opposing looks. One is a young female finding her path and wanting to be noticed. The other is a veteran trying to hide his tracks; but whether rushing in or away, neither can avoid a convergence or fail to be drawn into what is not just a chapter of the Malazan experience, but rather the prologue best served after, or the half-told epilogue that grows in stages. In this I may have underestimated the book on my first read–it is a echo, and what echoes depends on the place from whence you approach Night of Knives. The more books you read by Erikson, the more pertinent this Esslemont chapter becomes.

It is unavoidable to compare the two writers, and in this Esslemont and Erikson are much like Kiska and Temper in that they offer us unique perspectives to what we are all drawn to. The choice of–aside from flashbacks–having a book that takes place in one locale and over the course of one night is is exquisite. In a strange way, what is unbalanced in terms of pacing adds to the atmosphere of the novel; this is one hectic night, and I haven’t event mentioned the overlapping of shadow and reality, or the forthcoming storm of magical, alien-like wave riders! It feels like surplus, but I think Esslemont captures the moment adeptly, chronicling acts that we know are grandiose but giving them the mundane feeling such events have when they actually occur, no matter how legend they become later. It’s a mess, and it reads like one.

In various opportunities and forums, I have remarked that my view of Night of Knives is that it was a potentially great short story made into a slightly above-average novel, and now I wonder if the standard was unassailable to begin with. The best it could have been was being one of the great stories never told that became a good story revealed. The revelation, obviously, is not the draw in the first place; the enactment of those events, and the connection of the dots we the readers created ourselves, were.

I wonder if vanity has concealed a good book from me, and further I wonder if Ammanas and Dancer…I mean, Erikson and Esslemont, have hoodwinked me, push and pull.

* This review originally appeared at my old blog, the now-defunct Bodhisattva, in 2007. It and many of the reviews I did there have been and are going to be relocated to BSC. My personal blog has since moved to Vogue Immunity–a collecting blog. It’s presented unaltered, excluding being edited (believe me, it needs it) for clarity, and minus some intro material that now would no longer be applicable.

How can a great and wise civilization have destroyed itself so completely? Perhaps by being materially great and materially wise and nothing else.

A Canticle for Leibowitz was written in 1959, and it should be noted that its original form was that of 3 novellas.  It takes place in a post-apocalyptic Earth setting, predicated by a nuclear holocaust (referred to as the Flame Deluge) that Miller suggests occured in the 60’s of the same century. The novel is told in 3 segments, each taking place further into the future than the prior, with the first “Fiat Homo”several hundred years in our future (however, from a technological sense, it more parallels our Dark Ages). After the holocaust the majority of survivors blamed people who possessed specialized knowledge, or any learned knowledge at all.  In a momentous fervent movement fed by admittedly questionable common sense and a tremendous amount of spite, they practiced what is basically a reenactment of the Spanish Inquisition (with equal zeal if not the supposed spiritual cause), hunting down and executing scientists, engineers, etc., that the luddite populace blamed for the fall of civilization and for their personal plights. This movement is called “The Great Simplification.” In all three segments, the Church is the resident to monks–men of antiquary, who live monastic lives preserving memorized knowledge to duplicate them in a time when such actions are more tolerable to the population. I will briefly touch on the contents of the 3 segments, then touch on the novel as a whole.

In “Fiat Homo” (I always wondered when those Latin courses would serve a purpose:  “Let there be man”) we meet one such monk, Brother Francis Gerard, a faint-hearted man who, as part of his vocation, is in the desert (Utah) fasting for 40 days at Lent. He will meet an old man, who may be an apparition, a rare traveling pilgrim, or perhaps Leibowitz himself? After practicing his aim in rock-throwing at Francis, the old man helps him unlock the hiding place of a former bomb shelter dating back to the pre-holocaust days that will contain manuals and documents that belong to Leibowitz, a man for whom Brother Francis’s abbey is dedicated, who is close (if not exactly impending) to being canonized as a Saint. The dated evidence Francis finds proves to be instrumental in ending some lingering doubts of Leibowitz’s nomination for Sainthood. Leibowitz was man from the time of the Flame Deluge, and one of those executed in the aforementioned aftermath, and revered by the abbey for his dedication to knowledge. This first section is lighter in tone to the subsequent segments, and offers some moments of ironic comedy, such as Francis visiting the Papal Seat of power, New Rome, and the first appearance of what is the only recurring character between any of the segments, the aforementioned old man, who, because of his constant “presence,” is the most intriguing character in the novel for me–and in SF, for that matter (more on him later).

The second segment, “Fiat Lux” (“Let there be light,” which is related to the original novella title “And the Light is Risen”) picks up several hundred years after the end of “Fiat Homo.” Here we see the beginning of scientific curiosity in some segments of society; we will see the first rudimentary lamp made. We see the first steps of science, the pursuit of it becoming more important and taking more precedence to some groups than other ideals. We meet a man who is noted as somewhat of a prodigy as a thinker, Thon Taddeo, in a time that a schism is caused by an Empire desiring expansion and autonomy from the Church, and a single superpower is born, Texarkana (damn Texans). I really like the dialogue in this section between Taddeo and the presiding Abbot of the Monastery of the time, Dom Paulo, concerning society/religion/science. Again we see the old man dismissing perhaps the most enlightened man of the time (Taddeo)–“it’s still not him”–as he gives a lecture to the abbey, a telling statement. We also are introduced to a one-eyed Poet who’s an extremely thoughtful character whose verbal confrontation with Taddeo offers some of the most thoughtful dialogue in a novel rich in such passages.

The final segment, entitled “Fiat Voluntas Tua” (“Thy will be done”) takes place several hundred years after “Fiat Lux,” and civilization has now passed the levels of technology that surpassed the period before the Flame Deluge. Continuing the prevailing theme that history does repeat itself, the world is a volatile place full of political tension, and war seems imminent. This chapter touches on many subjects such as euthanasia, suicide, and the value of life. The abbot of the time, Father Zerchi, prepares for the end of the world, and while doing so tries to save a single life and has a philosophical discussion with a member of a organization who “humanely kill” those that infected with radiation at mercy camps.  The monks picket these camps with signs proclaiming a Dante inspired warning:

“Abandon Every Hope Ye Who Enter Here”

Zerchi takes steps to ensure the Church’s survival and that of the documents found by Bacon in the first segment. We also see a very intriguing and rather brilliant instance at the end of the novel of the only female character in the novel (which was puzzling to me as I read the novel), and Zerchi’s and perhaps mankind’s final understanding and realization.

My impression of A Canticle for Leibowitz is one of profound admiration. A well-written social commentary examining religion and knowledge, the effects it has on mortality concerning both each individual and society as a whole. All 3 segments were separate yet extremely enjoyable due to the ways Miller connected them, while often making the well-known point that some knowledge is lost over time and the myths that sometimes we take for religious canon are incomplete and skewed from the original versions. The novel is not dense and should be very accessible for readers who may avoid Sci-fi novels because they fear dense passages and overly exhaustive uses of description regarding technological issues.  At the same time, the statements and symbolism in the dialogue are profound, especially if you’re gifted with a small amount knowledge regarding Latin, and have some knowledge of passages from literature (the Bible, mostly). The choice of even the name of Leibowitz as being the Saint is a nice stroke. The old man I was referring to is obviously a reference to the Wandering Jew, who in Christian mythology is told by Jesus “go on forever till I return.” The character is absolutely a stroke of genius. The novel probably is the best mix of accesibility on the surface and incredible peripheral symbolic meaning, often characterized by a couple of words in Latin, or choice biblical scripture.

Reading up on Miller, I found that he is man who has always struggled with his own faith, and in 1997 he commited suicide. I knew this before I read the novel, and that’s why a line ending a chapter in “Fiat Lux” struck me:

Those who stayed behind had the easier part. Theirs was but to wait for the end and pray that it would not come.

A Canticle for Leibowitz is an incredible legacy, and well deserving of the the words commonly associated with it, like “classic” and “timeless.” It is a rare novel in that it seems almost impossible not to enjoy, and it lives up to its reputation as a masterpiece of speculative fiction.  I would recommend it to all who have taste that any value can be attributed to. It’s a true classic not of science fiction, but of speculative fiction, and can in my opinion be appreciated by astute fans of any subgenre.

So what is Crystal Rain?

An accumulation of adventurous tropes, familiar to Dirk’s and Indiana’s alike, in a fantasy setting reminiscent of Barsoom, that hints at being a familiar but misplaced world, spiced with a science fiction element, including nanotech and the effects of a past war occurring in a not-too-distant technologically advanced past, that, accompanied with a sense of cultural recognition, perhaps exposes the author as fan of early Sterling efforts. The planet of Nanagada has the feel that it could have very easily been part of the Gaen Reach; it is a lost colony turned melting pot by the survivors and descendants of war that effectively isolated the planet and all of its inhabitants from a greater galactic community. A tenuous peace, or more aptly, a period lacking anything more than chance skirmishes, is put to an end as the Teotl, alien remnants from the past war posing as gods for the tribal Azteca, mobilize their followers for invasion. Separated by a natural barrier, and constantly patrolled by the mongoose men – a mix of bush scout/warrior units – the people of Capitol City are unaware that the Azteca have committed to a century-long project of bypassing the mountains. The invaders, with the element of surprise, sweep through the countryside toward the capital, reaving and sacrificing as they advance, displacing families and inhabitants in their wake.

‘The existence of forgetting has never been proved: We only know that some things don’t come to mind when we want them.’ – Friedrich Nietzsche

Nearly three decades ago a man was washed to shore and claimed a new life; even if shrouded in a dissociative fugue, he married and fathered a child. John deBrun did not recollect his past, and his amaranthine youth reflected that time itself neglected him from its memory even as it left its noticeable mark on everyone else. Separated from his family, he is captured and waiting to be sacrificed when he is rescued.

Oaxyctl, an Aztecan ‘quimchtin’ – meaning mice or mouse – is a term Mesoamerican’s used to denote a spy. His is a journey that is by far the most compelling of the novel. An operative given a mission by his god, he is told to find a man who carries the secret of the Ma Wi Jung. Pursued by his own people, he earns the man’s trust, finding brief moments of commonality with him in missing his home and family, and will accompany deBrun to Capitol City and beyond.

Capitol City awaits the invasion; a fractured government led by Dihana, the Prime Minister, and the veteran General Hadrian trade instances of distrust with each other and each with the vodounesque Loa, who, like the Teotl, are aliens who survived the cataclysm and who have resorted to hiding in the subterranean depth of Capitol City, from both the coming army, and their own shame in not preparing their followers adequately.

Pass the Pepper…

Another searches for deBrun. A spacecraft crashes down to earth, drawing the attention of Refojee-Ten hunters; they witness its lone occupant:

He wore a top hat, a long trench coat, and black boots. His eyes were gray, his dreadlocks black, and his face ashen. It was as if his man had not seen the sun in all his life, but was brown once.

Pepper is aptly named, the spice added to the sancocho Buckell is brewing. He has purpose. While John and Oaxyctl are given tasks, their path one that requires constant self-evaluation and reflective contemplation – a struggle within themselves – Pepper’s motivations are acted upon with no such digression. He knows more about deBrun than anyone alive; indeed he has known deBrun longer than most men have a right to live. He seeks not three wishes, but one, to find John, and the ruby reds the Ma Wi Jung represents, with perhaps a slight preference to instill those he encounters with a respect for their old fathers, when considering his ass-kicking display.

“Look! You see, The Cliffs of Insanity!” – Vizzini

On the whole, Buckell’s dialogue choices add to the exotic setting. A steampunk fantasy world where airships are the lasting echo of a greater technological past, where both aliens and humans stand stranded in a world that’s surviving legacy is a people of Caribbean flavor, with all the diversity that applies. The instances of the dialogue may seem a nuisance mostly borne of unfamiliarity at first, but assimilates into the act of reading 10 pages or so in. Some of the names seem odd choices; the multiple mentioning of the Wicked High Mountains at the beginning of the book may cause for hesitation, and sure the Ma Wi Jung sounds like something Jack Burton would find in the sewers of San Francisco, but don’t we all love Big Trouble In Little China? Sure, the dialogue could be tweaked, and at times – while I thought Oaxyctl served as the story’s vehicle for viewing humanity – he felt overextended, as Buckell used him in some manner to represent the possibility of a sympathetic quality in entire Aztecan nation, a condition that would have had more power if gifted with other examples. He seemed to wield too broad a stroke in this regard, bigger than the character, that sometimes drowned what is otherwise a very effective character struggling with his personal hierarchy of loyalty concerning his faith, family, friends, and home.

The book is a page-turner, a brisk fantastic adventure set in a greater SF backdrop.  Although it has bunched instances of information-dumping in the latter portions of the novel that betrayed a need for greater space, they were not of the variety that draws maximum annoyance, as deBrun’s revelations serve to connect the dots on issues the reader essentially has figured out and thus serves as a bit of pat on the back to readers, effectively goading them to forget the manner delivered. The ending itself perhaps betrays the novel, seeming a bit hokey in execution, but what I found to be perhaps the most emotionally enduring segments of the novel were of Jerome, deBrun’s son, who is in a place of safety (but not from his thoughts of his family), and the revelations he learns of his father, and about the world’s past and his own future. Jerome evokes the most personal quality in the novel – a quiet time to ponder – during a time of world-changing events.

In the end, I view Buckell’s debut as a success; atmospherically piquant, and spry in its pace, it serves as both a fun jaunt and asks the question of what condition would drive a man purposely to murder himself, via killing his own past.  Although at times the writing reveals Crystal Rain is Buckell’s first effort, it doesn’t have the effect of making one cringe at the very thought of more. A new author, who I think has some more tales to spin, whether connected to the timeline and/or setting of Crystal Rain or otherwise.
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Originally posted at the Bodhisattva in 2006

“To ignorant and to be deceived are two different things. To be ignorant is to be a slave of the world. To be deceived is to be the slave of another man. The question will always be: Why, when all mean are ignorant, and therefore are always slaves, does this latter slavery sting so?” – Ajencis,The Epistemologies

It had been increasingly difficult to remain a fan of epic fantasy with any enthusiasm not motivated chiefly by nostalgia. We are speaking of a sub-genre that has for decades has represented the largest and most financially successful segment of Fantasy publishing, and yet the majority of its fans still point to a work completed some 60 years ago as the pinnacle of the sub-genre. Tolkien’s shadow of course looms, and for years after fans of fantasy had to almost unknowingly suffer, due to simply not knowing our options, the catch phrase of epic fantasy most often heard: “well I know it’s not exactly well written, and it’s predictable, but it’s light reading in between other books I read.” That’s a fair enough reasoning, and certainly I am not passing judgment on what others look for in some of their reading choices. That the comment itself would be an endorsement that has granted numerous titles and authors status as bestsellers, instead of what one would think is implied–a mere deviation from more quality written work–is what I find disturbing. Thus one comes to the conclusion that these reads are simply not “what is read on the side,” but are actually widely read, but for some reason, people don’t want to admit the unspoken stigma that R. Scott Bakker himself recently may have most aptly observed:  “They’re afraid of being laughed at.” In this case the fear is simply unwarranted, as Bakker is not only among a handful of contemporary practitioners of the epic tradition who are surpassing and recasting what had distressingly become the accepted possibilities the epic fantasy sub-genre had to offer, but he also is, in my opinion, quite possibly on the brink of even a greater accomplishment.  Not only should he be considered among the authors writing superior current epic sagas (with Martin and Erikson), he is actually about to complete his trilogy, a rather elusive accomplishment among his current peers, and offers the prospect of eventual finality that allows us to envisage the series’ potential station in the pecking order of epic fantasy. The Darkness That Comes Before is merely the first book in a trilogy that will come to an end in January of 2006 with the release of The Thousandfold Thought, a concluding chapter I have not yet read but hope to in coming weeks; however, having read, and recently in anticipation reread the first two installments of this series dubbed The Prince of Nothing, I am in awe, and as a fan rather excited about some very obtainable possibilities. As it stands now, two-thirds of way through the series, R. Scott Bakker, in his debut effort, not only has a legitimate opportunity but–even further–looks to be primed to accomplish the scribing of the most noteworthy epic fantasy sequence in almost three decades. Truly a reason to take note, and in such a manner not deemed as necessary since I believe, 1979, with the publication of Patricia Mckillip’s Harpist in the Wind, the concluding piece to her Riddlemaster trilogy. A bold statement? Perhaps, but the more I ponder the notion, it’s not exactly an unarguable position. When I consider complete sequences since, the most recent I can think of is Robin Hobb’s Farseer trilogy, which ended in 1997; a series I enjoyed, but through two installments I think Bakker’s work trumps Hobb’s strength (characterization) and offers more in the way of virtually every other element, not the least of which is prose, without burdening me with guilt for not recycling. Stephen Donaldson? It seems to me, Thomas Covenant is not yet done populating pages for us to read. Tad William’s Memory Sorrow and Thorn is definitely a worthy series, perhaps the most direct precursor to the epics we enjoy most today, but where Williams has instances of lag, Bakker fills with keen insight and philosophical ponderings. Guy Gavriel Kay? An exquisite writer; however, a writer whose more recent work I appreciate the most. A poster at Fantasybookspot.com made an interesting comparison between the two Canadian writers, one I had not previously considered. In my opinion, Kay stretches the limits of fantasy with his application of familiar history, while Bakker is showing us a character’s objective manipulation of our own through a looking glass. Both are supremely adept writers, Kay more seasoned, but both exhibit power. It’s hard to decide between someone telling a masterful story, and one who is forcing us to look at our own. This is admittedly a toss, but I just happen to favor Bakker, and as I said Kay’s greater works are in my mind stand-alone or unfinished sequences. We reach a bit of a stumbling block, as we run right into nothing less than a legendary writer of not fantasy, but fiction. Ursula K. Leguin is one of the most important writers in speculative fiction history, whose overall relevance may truly be equaled by only one SF/F writer alive, Michael Moorcock. Fortunately for me, her seminal work is not her popular epic fantasy Earthsea cycle, but are part of her “Hainish” work including landmark Science Fiction works like The Left Hand of Darkness and The Dispossessed. At any rate, I believe here is a severe difference in quality of the early Earthsea work, and the subsequent works released much later (which I prefer, but I do admire the sequence as a whole as well). More recently Gene Wolfe wrote a epic fantasy offering, his duology, The Wizard/Knight, which is of the quality one would expect from Gene Wolfe; however that duology is essentially one book, and suffered a publisher split. Which leads us to my standard, Patricia Mckillip’s Riddlemaster, a bona fide trilogy, that is both simplistic–although deceptively so–in the sense of what we appreciate from epic fantasy of that era, and gifted with beautiful, lyrical prose that would come to be a trademark of Mckillip. This sequence casts an emotionally worthwhile story (imagine an epic fantasy that writes a powerful and effective depiction of a bard character), a classic that contains all the elements of epic fantasy while not losing what would become an element around the same time in other works–a lack of individual thought and more importantly voice to illustrate the thought. The term Epic Fantasy had become oxymoronic to what it was describing, neither very epic in scope (yet still, somehow in physical size), and not fantastic at all, merely retellings of another’s fantasy so many times that somehow the fantastic had became the chief predictable element of the work. A more veracious category title would have been Pablum Fantasy. Potential readers have no reason to worry of being laughed at, as The Darkness That Comes Before not only begins a rare epic fantasy for the more discerning fan base, it’s a reason for those who had given up on the sub-genre altogether–including perhaps those who have nourished their epic appetite only via Westeros–to dive back in with the realization that epic fantasy isn’t and wasn’t literally dead. There are in fact, new and worthwhile voices–amidst the doppelgangers that desire for fans to mistake maladroitness and repetition for homage and nostalgic value.

War breeds necessity; almost as much war itself seems necessary.  A Holy War begins, the new Holy Shriah, Maithanet, summons for a mass convocation of the Great Names of the Seven Seas to assemble for an Inrithi crusade to retake the occupied holy land, and most importantly, Shimeh, holiest of cities. Some come for faith, others for profit–both personal and Imperial in nature–some to extend their age-old rivalries to the bigger stage such a war offers. Like most Holy Wars, unholy unions are made as the Shriah reaches accordance with one of the heretical schools of sorcery, allying the cause of the Tusk to the power of the Scarlet Spires. Others come…

Drusas Achamian, a Mandate schoolmen and spy. He witnesses the Shriah’s call for war, and follows the crusade at the behest of his school, always in search for sittings of the near mythical Consult, a surviving cabal of powerful sorcerers consisting of followers of the No-God, who work to bring forth the Second Apocalypse, and the return of the No-God. Drusas, like all Mandate Schoolmen, is reminded of his charge (or mandate, if you will) in horrific dreams of the first apocalypse every time he sleeps. He will find the harbinger of the Apocalypse, but is the harbinger also the only hope for salvation?

Ikurei Xersius III, the Emperor of the Nansur, with aims to bend the Holy War to extend his own Empire, holding logistically important supplies; and his nephew, possibly the greatest military strategist of the age, the vain, yet not without reason Exalt-General of the Nansur, Ikurei Conphas.

Nersei Proyas, devout and pious Prince of Conriya, a ranking member of the Crusade, and former student of Achamian. He will support the elevation of a Scylvendi Barbarian to lead the crusade in its battles against the heretic Fanim.

Esmenet, a prostitute in search of her Mandate Schoolmen lover, to lessen the burden of his guilty soul and in hopes find her own.

Cnaiur, a Scylvendi Barbarian, a warrior of brutal ferocity, and a strategist of rare quality. Outcast by his people after a definitive defeat at the hands of the brilliant Nansur Exalt-General, he will find himself leading the greatest call to arms since possibly the First Apocalypse; a host that brands him both barbarian and heathen, that includes the Exalt-General himself. He accepts this charge driven solely by his hate and fear of a single man, who haunts his thoughts, his single purpose and motivation is the slim possibility of finding him, and even a slimmer chance of killing him. When he arrives at the marshalling Inrithi army he is not alone…

Anasurimbor Kellhus, a Dunyain…although not a constant presence in the book, this creation of Bakker represents one of the single greatest character creations in current fantasy, in my opinion. He is an enigma, he is Bakker’s amoral Riddlemaster of Hed in search of the ultimate answer; he is the most dangerous of men–who knows and gleans all answers except to the one question he most desires; he is Bakker’s Kwisatz Haderach, which true enough in Hebrew means “jump of the path,” the premise of Kellhus’s and Dunyain methodology, the Logos:

What comes before determines what comes after. Dunyain monks spent their lives immersed in the study of this principle, illuminating the intangible mesh of cause and effect that determines every happenstance, and minimizing all that wild and unpredictable…

And to know what would come after was the beauty that stilled, the hallowed communion of intellect and circumstance–the gift of the Logos.

Cultivated and trained for a task in a manner that will deem him peerless, except to his own blood when his education is over, Kellhus is a master of manipulation, which is not to say a master of deceit as much as he is truth, with the perspective to analyze personal and cultural conditioning for both blind spots and that which is considered straightforward reality, that he uses as levers; he is the embodiment of absolute truth to some, thus the greatest of living lies–he is the Prince of Nothing. A title which, of course, can possess dual meanings; a prince of nothing may indeed command nothing, or perhaps, it means not to be relegated at all; indeed, still in fact a prince not at all–but a King all princes bow to. Kellhus searches for his father, in the company of the one man who possibly wants to find him more, a Scylvendi Barbarian. To do this they will see Empires fall, move worlds, and perhaps trigger the Second Apocalypse.

Bakker gives epic fantasy enthusiasts a prize setting with Earwa. He does what few else do, in that Earwa is not merely a labeled map that we get the walkthrough of. It’s organic; we live in it through the perspectives of each character. He gives it substance, not only a physical fact, but also one that has existed and has historical significance before the time of the characters we follow. It’s a fantasy setting gifted with a seemingly innate historical feel, by the strength of Bakker’s prose–from name choices to seamless philosophical and religious depth. The setting is not the whole made up of parts–-the setting is a part of the whole. Bakker has stated this physical worldbuilding draws inspiration from Tolkien, coupling it with the intrigue of Herbert. The idea is certainly not an original one, as Robert Jordan aspired for the same creation, very conscious–and aptly so–of the possibilities of such a union; however, although Jordan was certainly up to the physical creation of the setting, I have always felt he attempted to work a canvas too large for his ability as a pure writer. A second-rate chef with the best recipe, and the finest of utensils and ingredients in hand; his overwhelming vision failed by lack of skill to apply it. Bakker suffers no such deficiency. This is a sub-genre that rewards mere ideas much too often, and although ideas and creativity are certainly a necessity, they should not be lauded in the absence of competent application.

“There are three, and only three kinds of men in world; cynics, fantics, and Mandate Schoolmen” – Ontillas, On the Folly of Men

In Earwa, Magic is very much a reality but considered heresy among the Inrithi, and the majority of sorcerers are members of various Schools. Collectively they–those who have, or the potential to have magical ability–are called the “few.” As mentioned above, Drusas is a Mandate Schoolmen, a Gnostic school; although it is not as large as others, all schools seek the secrets of the Gnosis. The influential and powerful Scarlet Spires, rulers of High Ainon, join forces with the crusade to eliminate their rivals the Cishaurim, a school whose sorcerers can walk unseen among other schools’ adepts. Others are The Imperial Saik, loyal to the Nansur Empire, and the Mysunai, a school not highly thought of among the few, as they are mercenaries who sell their services. I love the fact that magic simply doesn’t exist without exerting outside influence or opinion. The few are considered abominations of faith by the overwhelming majority of the populace, a belief that cuts through both past camaraderie and friendship. The schools are able to exist–and flourish to some extent–simply because…well they can simply kick enough ass to make any overt attempt (other than another school) at eliminating them a less than worthwhile endeavor, much less a plausible or sane one.

Where does Bakker fail? Depending on one’s view not just on this particular reading, but reading in general–he doesn’t. Bakker is in a strange situation, in that he is an extremely gifted writer in a sub-genre that’s fan base largely doesn’t care about quality writing. To some, he commits the crime of writing a product that isn’t the most accessible of works to fans exclusive to a sub-genre that has grown accustomed to being spoon fed from the same Gerber jar. Bakker not only has a story to tell, he also has the ability to tell it; it’s not overly erudite, but represents a much more dense read than what is typical of the sub-genre. Bakker has the ability to give all the sequences in The Darkness That Comes Before a unifying quality of being a part of a single epic event, without ever forsaking the import and the relevance of any single moment. The chief detraction I see most often, and one that just completely baffles me, involves opinions regarding Bakker’s choice of names for both his cast and locales. Are you kidding me? Do people read out loud? Unusual names bother people? Do people not travel anymore? You are reading a book–you are halfway there–use your brain, you just have to know what or where it is when you see it again–not how to repeat it. I never understood this particular gripe with any book; I have seen dozens of threads on message boards dedicated to nonsense like how to pronounce “Drow” (which oddly enough I learned when I was pretty young watching an episode of Colombo–and in fact still pronounced it the way I wanted to), not even bringing up a dictionary–does it really matter? Even if you don’t know, and it becomes a source of personal disturbance and perhaps remains elusive forever, how does it detract from a book? Finally, to add to the number of people who will insist on missing out on this fantastic series: If you have ever stated, “I couldn’t sympathize with any character,” after reading a book, and thinking that it’s sign of sub-par writing instead of the opposite–don’t bother.

The last two superior completed series I have read are Jeffrey Ford’s Well-Built trilogy, and Neal Stephenson’s Baroque Cycle. I have hopes that upon completion, I will be able to point to the The Darkness That Comes Before as the start of an equally worthy series–a rare epic fantasy sequence that can, with no shame, be measured against the other finest recent efforts of fantasy as a whole, not limited with the perception of merely being one of the few standouts in a otherwise lackluster and mediocre field. Bakker’s debut is intoxicatingly unsentimental, habitually readable, darkly poetic, emotionaly enrapturing, and features a character that has the rare quality of being ominously present even in–and perhaps especially in–scenes he is absent from, and that threatens to join the other iconic figures in fantasy’s pantheon of memorable characters.

I hate seemingly just hyping a work, but The Darkness That Comes Before is not just the beginning of one of most enjoyable series I have read, it makes me wonder what crime Bakker committed, in that if we are nominating and awarding works in the mold of Lois McMaster Bujold’s The Curse of Chalion and Paladin of Souls (both of which I enjoyed, as I do most all of Bujold’s work, whether Science Fiction or Fantasy, but let’s be honest, Paladin of Souls was not the best book in 2003, nor near it) and not his?  How the hell has Bakker been largely under the radar? No one can accuse me of not being aware of and even acknowledging the fact that the overwhelming majority of the superior works and creative talent in Speculative Fiction is definitely not coming from traditional fantasy (i.e., epic fantasy, sword/sorcery fantasy).  The Darkness That Comes Before is essentially–albeit in its most simple form–a quest book with a looming prophesized threat, indeed, in the same manner of numerous other series that many, including myself, have come to despise and at times ridicule (and most of the time I believe rightly so); but what is the purpose of the greater genre community if not to make sure quality works are properly recognized, no matter what sub-genre they are pigeon-holed in? Admittedly, an author writing a series handicaps his or herself from potential recognition from the beginning, so as a fan of quality fiction–damn just epic fantasy–and since this series is nearing closure in January, I thought it worth a Bodhisattva Second Look, as it’s a prime choice for readers who like to wait for an entire series to be released before investing both their time and money into it.

What is refreshing about Bakker is that we don’t have to wait for him to learn how to write; he already can, and we are just waiting with each future project to see what he chooses to write about, which is a welcome deviation from dozens of other efforts every year (especially regarding series), where it seems as fans we seemingly have become accustomed to suffer through a debut (and sometimes more) book as if it were an on-the-job-training. I don’t want to invest for the pleasure of watching “Author X” grow into (or not) a competent writer–my purchase of a published author should entail that he/she is at least competent already. Bakker takes on a huge and most admirable risk with both this book and this series; not so much in regards to innovation or imaginative power, but a gambit directed at the epic fantasy fan base itself. I think it would cast a promising and progressive reflection if it is a wager Bakker ends up winning.

I’m not sure if it’s going to end up being the seminal, completed epic fantasy sequence in almost 30 years–but it will probably be close enough that by this time next year I won’t have to invoke the 70s when citing a model of greatness for comparing future works of epic fantasy.

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originally reviewed at the Bodhisattva in 2005

Anyway, off the Star Wars topic and on to the subject of the review, as it merits a great deal of attention and is quite profound.  I have said many times recently that Stover’s Blade of Tyshalle is probably the last book featuring to some large extent Elves that I felt was an elite work in the genre. Not since Michael Swanwick’s fantastic Iron Dragon’s Daughter has there been, in my opinion, a novel nearly so good that depicted the traditionally present elves in works of fantasy. Heroes Die precedes the story in Blade of Tyshalle, but the former does not have to be read to appreciate the absolute mastery of Stover’s brand of storytelling in the latter. (By no means am I saying not to read Heroes Die, it’s only slightly less impressive to me, and highly recommended to read; I myself read Blade of Tyshalle first simply because I procured it first). Like Swanwick’s aforementioned effort, I consider Blade of Tyshalle one of the finest examples of elite storytelling in recent fantasy, nothing less than a welcomed and much-needed contribution to a segment of the fantasy, and more aptly speculative fiction, fan base that was yearning for a work that was equally intellectually and graphically intense.

The staging ground Stover creates for Blade of Tyshalle takes place in two distinctly different settings, which act as what can be described as parallel realms. One is Overworld, in essence a setting fans of traditional fantasy will be familiar with inhabited by human factions, elves, Gods, and magic, that serves as a source of entertainment for the “real world,” a dystopic Earth where actors are sent and recorded live for audiences in the real world. How was Overworld and the opportunity it presented viewed? One character, Kris Hansen, says:

“It is a billion dreams come true. I burn for it. I lust for Overworld the way a martyr dreams of the arms of God.”

Most fans, I think, will feel more at home in Overworld, and although the idea is fascinating, Stover’s vision and execution of the depiction of the real world is the grander of the two. It is a strict caste system that is protected by the faceless yet ever-present Social Police.

As in Heroes Die, Hari Michaelson aka Caine (or perhaps the other way around) is present and through Stover’s gritty narrative becomes in this novel one of the most memorable characters, and character studies, in recent fantasy. The beginning portions of the novel (mind you, it will never be confused with a novella or filler novel, it is a very dense 800 pages) go back to before Heroes Die and chronicle what happens in an institution that prepares them for Overworld, split into two schools, Battle Magik and Combat. We see the events that will occur and a friendship forged that will propel a flunking Hari into an Icon. Hari is a CEO at the Studio now (the Studio runs Overworld), after his wound suffered in the prior novel ended the career of the most popular character in Overworld’s history, Caine. Hari lives a life with his daughter and wife (a god when on Overworld) and has a most interesting amicable relationship with his greatest Overlord enemy Ma’elkoth (a sovereign and god in Overworld’s past, whose memory is still worshiped there).  He stumbles upon a plan that threatens to destroy Overworld, and he sends his wife Pallas Ril to Overworld to stop the spread of plague wiping out the population. In doing so she becomes bait in a plan of vengeance against Caine. The story in its most basic form is about Caine attempting to save his family and Overworld.

I want to stress that such a simplification in explanation fails to give credence to the Stover’s writing, which studies and scrutinizes from many different perspectives topics like family, power and practicing in power, morality, relationships, ethics, and individual philosophy, among others, but most importantly an untainted knowledge of self. Did Hari just act like Caine? Or was Caine in fact the real man as we see him in his youngest form at school? Ma’elkoth’s opinion:

“I fear Michaelson not at all. Michaelson is a fiction you fools. The truth of him is Caine. You do not comprehend the distinction; and so he will destroy you”

Stover is able to deftly touch on subjects with a narrative that although clever also seems oxymoronic; but it’s as apt as it is deftly blunt, and in your face. Like someone shooting a blind man with an arrow in the eye from point blank. It’s a novel about human weakness and human strength and how many elements of each are shared by both, the difference only a thin line and circumstance. As aforementioned, it’s about power,  and in Blade of Tyshalle Stover illustrates many types, from the fantastic power of mages, drawn from ‘”flow,” and the power of the concepts noted above.  One passage perhaps denotes the most relevant; again Ma’elkoth’s speaking of the crippled Caine:

“He does have power. One power: the power to devote himself absolutely to a single goal, to be ruthless with himself and all else in its pursuit. It is the only power he needs – because unlike the great mass of men, he is aware of his power, he is willing, even happy to use it.”

Within Blade of Tyshalle Stover illustrates in several sequences why he is, in my mind, the current preeminent describer of action sequences in speculative fiction, depicting actions that produce gruesome results with uncanny and realistic precision. As with any novel of such relevance, his characters are not polarized to some senseless and truly fictional ideas of Good or Evil; they make realistic decisions and are governed by their own believable ideals that are established by Stover within the novel.

From beginning to end, Blade of Tyshalle reaffirms its rightful status as one of the most creative and imaginative efforts in speculative fiction. Stover’s impact is somewhat similar to perhaps my favorite current author, China Mieville, but in a different manner. Mieville’s work entrances and puts on a display ideas and imagery I haven’t thought of before and shows me the possibility of the ideas and imagination itself.  Stover invokes the same powers of imagination but through means that are right in front of our faces, which we admire because it is new to us due to the safety in our deniability. Blade of Tyshalle is a novel that deserves more accolades than it has received, even by its loyal (and admittedly rambunctious) fan base.

Blade of Tyshalle is highly recommended and a immediate purchase. Go and buy it now, do not rely on luck and happening on it at your local unstocked store, for, as Stover points out, “Luck is the word the ignorant use to define their ignorance.”

In the beginning portions of Revelation Space, the theme is one of alternation. Reynolds starts off with 3 POV’s, all in different locales, and within these POV’s we also experience shifts in time which the reader will do well to note in the headers of the chapters, to avoid getting the where and when mixed up. Due to these elements at the novel’s start, I have seen some describe the novel in a negative sense as disjointed, a notion I disagree with it – it is, however, annoying. I didn’t find it difficult in the least to comprehend what was going on, nor was I in the least bit in danger of getting “lost”. In fact, I truly appreciated this portion of the novel as later in the storyline the 3 POV characters share essentially the same setting. Thus the beginning of the novel affords the reader more diversity, in both description and character development, as the later central-shared experience, which although is interesting, at times doesn’t justify or warrant such attention – it just felt a little excessive at that point.

The 3 POV characters are Dan Sylveste, Ana Khouri, and Ilya Volyova. Sylveste has dedicated his life work as an archaeologist to the study of the Amarantin, a mysterious avarian species who once inhabited the planet, Resurgam, that he and a community of humans currently populate. Sylveste’s specific interest in the Amarantin is the study of the species’ last days, brought on by what is termed Even”. Even with the other aforementioned POV’s who get ample time, Sylveste is the chief character of the novel, and it would be a drastic understatement to describe Sylveste as merely passionate about his goals; it would still be such to say he was relentlessly tenacious, and resolute in his adamant, monomaniacal quest to unravel the mystery.

Meanwhile, Ana Khouri, a former soldier with a rising reputation as an assassin, receives a Brando-like offer. The early chapters with Khouri are among the ones I enjoyed the most, as through her we get a glimpse of the backdrop of Chasm City.  Although Reynolds shows a habit of untimely overloads with information concerning significant plot points that affected the novel’s pacing – just as many times, however, Reynolds exhibited admirable descriptive ability:

Once those skyscrapers had looked linear and symmetrical, until the plague made them grow madly, sprouting bulbous protrusions and tangled, leprous appendages. The buildings were all dead now, frozen into the shapes which seemed calculated to induce disquiet. Slums adhered to their sides, lower levels lost in a scaffolded maze of shanty towns and ramshackle bazaars, aglow with naked fires.

Admittedly, nobody is going to mistake the passage for a description of some segment of New Crobuzon, but it’s not dilettantish, either. Albeit too brief,  the look into a part of the society of Chasm City was also enjoyable. Khouri is an assassin in a city where it’s none too uncommon to get contracted by the proposed victim themselves, and where a large number of the wealthy continually sleep in cryocrypts, waiting for a more fashionably appealing time to wake and continue their life.  I was quite pleased to find out another work by Reynolds was called Chasm City , as the city’s description peaked my interest. Khouri infiltrates a lighthugger (spaceship), the Infinity, under the guise of someone looking for potential work to fulfill a mission, and in doing so hopes to restore a lost love and her past.

The third character is Volyova, an ultra, who along with being one of the three ranking members of a ship, is essentially the Infinity’s  weaponsmaster – which is nothing to scoff at as the Infinity’s armaments include thousands of weapons, many of which are more than capable of wiping out entire planets.  That said, some of the more powerful ones have not even been tested. Ultras are humans who revel in self-enhancements, whether blatant or unseen; ultras have become quite a bit more then what other humans have ascended to. The Infinity’s command crew (including Volyova) is called the Triumvir, currently being led by Sajaki, one of the most maddening characters in Revelation Space, because there are moments one would think this is the character who will give the story the extra edge, by either direct action or offering some revelation, but we have to settle for what in reality can be described as a series of wonderful cameo appearances.

A figure stood there, majestically silhouetted in the glare. The man was garbed in a black anklelength cloak and a vaguely defined helmet, the light making it resemble a halo cast around his head. His profile was split diagonally by a long smooth stick which he gripped two-handedly.

The Komuso stepped into the darkness. What looked like a kendo stick was only his shakuhachi; a traditional music instrument. With well-rehearsed rapidity he slid the thing into a sheath concealed behind the folds of his cloak. Then with imperial slowness, he removed the wicker helmet. The Komuso’s face was difficult to make out. His hair was brillaintined, slickly tied back in a scythe-shaped tail. His eyes were lost behind sleek assassin’s goggles, infared sensitive facets dully catching the room’s tinted light.

Sajaki is in command due to the Captain of the ship being infected with a particularly nasty virus that is actively melding him with the ship, a terminal process slowed down by freezing, yet not stopped. The Triumvir are searching the galaxy for the man who helped their captain before, the only man who has the means to do so…Sylveste.

It’s really not a lacking premise, and Reynolds ties plotlines together between the POVs quite well, though the hint of being contrived in some cases is present. After reading Revelation Space, I came away mindful of a lot of flaws:  an abundance of peripheral characters who truly served no viable, story-enhancing purpose; the dialogue at times leaves something to be desired, often used as the vehicle for the aforementioned info dumps; and lastly, something that is usually a death blow, not only to any chance of me not condemning an author and my ability to enjoy a novel, or more aptly future novels by an author, Reynolds has a irritating and recurring habit of gifting his characters with “revelations’ regarding plot circumstances that he doesn’t feel inclined to privy the reader with simultaneously, forcing the reader to wait until the character announces it (often in one of the mentioned info dumps). Used sparingly, it is an effective literary tool – but in Revelation Space it is too standard. All that notwithstanding, I still came away with an overall positive opinion of the novel, and more than a mild interest to read Reynolds’ other work.

Reading the cover flap will reveal that Alastair Reynolds has a Ph.D in Astronomy, and although Reynolds goes into wonderful detail about the history of civilization in the universe, and has just enough technical language and invention to please fans of hard science fiction, Revelation Space is still accessible by most readers, not swaying from its Space Opera basis, yet at the same time offering characters that are not polarized in their nature and reduced to archetypes. That said, the characterization isn’t ideal, but it is more than adequate. Reynolds has some ideas which are just truly imaginative, populating the universe with concepts like Lascaille’s Shroud, an impenetrable boundary of unknown origin and purpose that drives intruders mad if it doesn’t simply kill them, named after the one man who had returned alive. Another example are the Pattern Jugglers, an aquatic species (literally), whose planets have oceans that are mind-modifying, in some cases amplifying a swimmer’s abilities. Reynolds also gives us a provocative answer to why intelligent civilizations aren’t as numerous as perhaps they should be. One of the aspects that makes Sylveste interesting is his “beta copy” of his father he has access to, and calls upon for advice at times, which in itself provides for some engaging conversation as, although there is a level of mutual respect between them, the father and son relationship is not always the most civil. Another mystery, the sentient intruder aboard the Infinity, whose named was found both from archeological studies of Sylveste and scribed amongst the possessions of a possessed madman Volyova was forced to kill.

Revelation Space, despite its flaws, offered more than enough evidence of competency as a debut novel, and in some instances of an intriguing imagination, to extend my reading of Mr. Reynolds’ work to at least one more book. An opinion that has proven to be a correct one, as I wrap up my reading of his next work Chasm City , a novel that improves upon, at least to some degree, all of the elements that I felt were lacking or needed tuning in Revelation Space.

Definitely a recommendable effort into a sometimes unjustly (certainly not all the time, however) much-maligned sub-genre; Reynolds’ work, along with a few other relatively current works by authors like John C. Wright, Peter F. Hamilton, Charles Stross, David Brinn, Brian Aldiss, and Ian Banks, are not only already bringing irrefutable respectability to Space Opera again, but also threaten in some cases (Banks) to set benchmarks of their own.

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Originally posted at the Bodhisattva in 2005

While Deadpool stories offer opportunity for a creative team to indulge even the most eccentric of whims, for me it is the fact that no matter how out of (any) frame he’s cast, he generally remains consistent in that his decisions and choices, no matter how absurd, resemble common sense that’s true to his origin. Deadpool is an assassin-his name literally a wager and timer on death. His answer is to kill. Because of having this singular and universal response, he doesn’t consider at length questions, and this often times puts him on a deliberate course of judicious buffoonery. An odd, perhaps impossible combination to be sure, but is one that makes the character unique–questions regarding Deadpool, even those asking the exact opposite, have a tendency to share the same answer. What’s so good about Deadpool ?

To quote Cyclops and Wolverine, “Everything”.

There are some missions so secret, so sensitive that even the Joes who go on them are told the bare minimum, on a strictly need to know basis. As far as the other Joes are concerned, these missions never existed. These are: G.I. Joe Special Missions.

When I interviewed Chuck Dixon he expressed a shared affection for the G.I. Joe: Special Missions titles that Marvel published. I can’t speak on the motivation behind a second Joe title beyond the obvious and sensible idea of pushing out another title that a very large and dedicated fan base couldn’t help to pick up, but I do hope this little mini-feature within a feature will be able to both bring back some memories for those who were reading Special Missions off the rack, and highlight some of the very cool thing that the second title was able to do, which allowed the flagship title to not have to deviate from its popular and already developing storyline.

That aside, let’s get the obvious out of the way. Special Missions provided another marketing avenue for more characters (figures) and vehicle that could be highlighted without stunting the aforementioned existing, central storyline. You’re either offended by this (for reasons I can’t quite understand) or look at it like I did—a chance to see more of the post 84-85 characters get some action in a way that wasn’t really wonky like the European Missions (what UK’s Action Force was printed as in the U.S. which seemed to attempt to make Sci Fi work—and largely, failed). Special Missions had a much more straight ‘military fiction’ feel, where G.I. Joe itself had become a bit of its own entity due to its success. While I’d admit that G.I. Joe was not a ‘war book’ in the way we view titles like DC’s Big Five, Special Missions was something a step closer. It showed that the team had more to do than battle Cobra, and deployed in backdrops that took advantage of a Cold War setting. Again, this gave G.I. Joe more of a ‘real world’ plausibility, and essentially made Cobra the only fictitious element in the mythos. It also allows the specialists of the team to have relevant appearances. With that came an opportunity for the use of arctic, deep sea, desert, and jungle focused theaters, along with aerial dogfights that could now be spotlighted with greater frequency. As a I reader now I like to think them stories to be told in the midst of the story that had to be told. The reader then couldn’t think of anything cooler than a G.I. Joe comic, except 2 G.I. Joe Comics.

This may shock some now, but one thing that Marvel was exceedingly accomplished at in the ’80s was marketing. Nothing fantastic, but very commonsense, easy decisions were made. How do you market a a spin-off title? Put the first story in not only a very popular title, but one within a storyline that everybody was tuned in to. The Battle of Springfield was an event, in series that was already an event in itself, so placing our first taste of the new title within an issue of that storyline was a perfect launching point. Our first taste is a pretty standard situation for readers—a plane hijacked by terrorists, one of which has the very familiar dead-man’s switch.

“Drop it Meryl, I’m not gentlemen and have no compunctions” – Beachhead

A cast that includes Hawk and Stalker getting intel, and Lady Jaye, Beachhead and Flint infiltrating the plane and taking down the terrorists in what was a rather straightforward plot works. Throw in some Russian MIGS, and we have what’s really a serialized action/thriller with cool characters that we actually have in our toy boxes Most important, it feels like G.I. Joe, having been written by Hama and illustrated by Trimpe. There is nothing new to buy into, just more of what we liked in the other title, but not exclusively dealing with Cobra (I say exclusively, because there are some –what I’d call ‘classic’- issues involving Cobra). We also see that the holds no punches as we get a flight attendant executed via bullet-to-dome, unceremoniously dropped to the tarmac. I remember that scene/panel vividly from my childhood, for the very reasons it jumped out to me now. It’s even more beautiful now because the act is unnecessary, and residing in a world now that almost always asks us requires some sort of compassion for another side, Hama reminds us that some shit was (is still) black and white and makes this clear to our readers. When Lady Jaye tosses one of them out a plane, we cheer, we feel righteous, and we’re having a blast—qualities personified by the term Yo Joe!

Next time, we head to the Baltics, where not just two elite units clash, but three, as the October Guard helps kick off the first issue of Special Missions “That Sinking Feeling”…

The third issue brings us back to the team after the previous issue showcased a mission by a small group of Joes. This is a balance that we will continually see kept as Hama furthers the greater conflict with COBRA, but also gets a chance to highlight specific characters or combinations.. At this point we are still very much dealing with the first incarnation of the 3 ¾ ARAH toyline figures, where this was very much a military comic book title with only Snake-Eyes representing a bit of a wildcard, but even he is still much more the Commando his file card labels him as, and not the figure swept up into the coming ninja-craze that the decade would bring, and that would be reflected in this franchise. Hama finds a way, much like he did in the first issue, to give everybody something to do and still tell a coherent story centering around the central premise that the title of the issue would reveal to most immediately. Cobra allows for the capture of one of their robots so that it can be brought into Joe HQ for the purposes of revealing its location. How it does that is that element of hokey science fiction that when not taken to the extreme makes Cobra fun, and gives them that signature quality of always being rather technologically advanced. We will see this throughout the series and it gives Cobra a very familiar “mad scientist” characteristic (this is even more prevalent in the cartoons). There’s even an attempt at a classic cinematic horror moment where you have a group of Joes looking for the robot around a pool, and you just know that it’s about to pop out in the next panel!

The issue brings back some memories as I remember as a kid I always had an interest in drawing landscape and blueprints; so much so that if I ever wanted to pursue a career, being an architect (at least on a Costanza level) would probably not be too far from an ideal vocation. Like all Risk aficionados, I also fancied myself an amateur military strategist as well, so good stuff with here with memories of drawing and trying to improve upon the Joe HQ layout constantly (and later Cobra island), as in this issues we get a cross section view of the Pitt that represented at least one of the primary sources I’d base my own musings on.

In this issue Hama allows us to put faces to names, as outside of Snake Eyes, Scarlett and Stalker (which probably speaks on their longevity/popularity from this initial wave I discussed in earlier installments) we have characters that are essentially ‘green shirts’ visually. Hama, however, gives them moments and imbues them with personality—so much so that when we see the cartoon, it feels familiar. It feels right. If you look back, the original Joes (outside of those mentioned) tend to be not as differentiable as the next generation we see: Roadblock, Gung Ho, Spirit, Recondo, Blowtorch, Doc—these are visually unique characters, and something that I think would make the ’84-’87 Joes perhaps the most memorable, even if not being the iconic OG’s of the first wave (there is apassing moment that occurs in a future issue that plays into this thought that I’ll mention when we get to it).

At the end, the Joes avoid the bombardment of their base (not to mention a chaplain tea party-so perhaps a subtext of divine intervention) by means that we can still relate to today.

The Cobra bombers ran out of gas.

     
Next up, “Operation: Wingfield!”…

     
The basic gist is that our apparent (initial) cast are getting on a plane and heading to an island for various reasons, be it occupational or recreational (or other) purposes. Just before, we see that the destination may be the venue for a zombie predicament. The sale here for me is based on the writing team of Palmiotti and Gray. If you followed the above link, I mention my almost-mantra of avoidance of zombie related media, so if it wasn’t for their involvement (not to mention sweet covers by Darwyn Cooke and Amanda Conner) I wouldn’t be here based on synopsis and concept alone. This writing duo represents a level of quality that allows for readers to take a chance on something not usually found in their longbox; the type of creators who as their own catalog diversifies, so does my library. The kind of creators that can make a Western one of most consistent titles in comics over the last few years.

The issue uses Lostian (or what people now would identify as such) airport scenes to introduce us and connect its players, scenes that also felt very throw-back mystery, like being introduced to the voyagers about to take a trip down the Nile or boarding the Orient Express. Indeed, both mystery and horror have a tradition on infringing on vacations and holidays alike. The story introduces us to players in the form of the passengers and does so through very believable and organic dialogue. A pain-in-the-ass customer in a line, a pilot’s comments about an attractive girl, another lady’s not net-PC crusader– real -reaction to that comment, and two employees already having the scoop on potential problem customers. There’s guy-talk, girl-talk, shop-talk, people talk, and the very best foils for horror or adventure is a basis in reality to topple, reexamine, or satirize. There are people here we all know. There are those whom who we already are more inclined to want to see survive whatever Palmiotti and Gray have in store for us them, and those we want to see knocked off first.I don’t know how I feel about the cast, but that’s just the half of it–that’s the mystery. I want to know how I feel, knowing fully that when I find out, it might be too late.

I alluded to mystery, and with the zombie element in play, horror is what would come to mind for most, but what I found most interesting is that even though there is this sense of and awareness of pacing and timing that make for and are (especially) essential for successful ventures in both of those genres, The Last Resort feels more like disaster/adventure films, aged and preserved for 30 years. While we are dealing with what is an adult sensibility in terms of dialogue and instances of the risque, I cannot shake-off the feeling that underlining the contemporary storytelling moxie-preceding it-one may find that the words are backed by a gaze that reflect the experience and love of Juvenile adventure. That’s with a capitol ‘J’, and it is with those eyes that I think we see what we eventually all work are way back forward to– the telling of stories that as a reader truly evoke a feeling that they are the type the tellers themselves would want to read or watch. These are the types of stories that I think aren’t at all forgotten—are never forgotten- but for some reason walked away from. Gray and Palmiotti take it us back, where they, where we, strayed from. The truth is I’m wired to dismiss zombie stories. It has developed into a rather active dislike as I’m confronted with living through a period of resurgence in that sub-genre of horror in all mediums, but what I see in The Last Resort is an adventure that happens to have zombies in it (though admittedly, seemingly as a significant plot point). We are introduced to people, not just names, and that this is a ‘human’ story is the pervasive element. Already, we have a sense of relationship with our travelers– we recognize these strangers. This circumstance didn’t stop the title from introducing itself in a manner most would fashion classic horror/zombie style, but it is the strength of the pages afterward that bestows the opening scenes with an ominous quality. For myself, it was an additive in hindsight, a delayed reaction-mine perhaps set for people like myself. I had forgotten about zombies, and when I did recall them, I didn’t have any more time to think or simply observe. I was involved, in the mix, and nothing preconceived mattered anymore, only what happened next.

I kind of want to see the movie. I really want to see the next issue.

     
The second issue from an enthusiast/collector perspective has always been highlighted due to often times, even when it came out, it was noted as being ‘scarce’ in various price guides. It’s a notation that in some regards seemed to stay grandfathered in even when not truly being the case later. The truth is that barring the issue of condition, there aren’t any truly ‘rare’ issues in the run. Certainly there are lower print runs that occur at the end of a series (a reflection of why they were cancelled) but relatively we are talking about a run of comics that is completely feasible to complete. I’ve always found that there were issues around the 90-110 area that joined the last few issues as being tougher to find, but even among the first dozen issues, 9 and 10 seems a bit more elusive (again relatively—we aren’t talking Gerber 8’s here) than the second issue. I remember in the ’80s and even into the ’90s that a premium price was attached to this issue, but among people who pay attention to the Joe market, it’s a bit of an outdated thought (at least to the extreme it once was).

Even with a (proper) drop in price it’s still a sweet issue.

You can almost see why the hook was there. With all that occurred in the first issue, you’d expect some kind of natural, basic progression from the actions in those issue; some all-out counterattack on the ‘real’ (as referred to by the Baroness and Cobra Commander at the end of the first issue) Cobra base. We don’t get that. We scale down, and get into a mission that drops us into an immediate deviation in setting. Our world expands. A U.S. research station at the North Pole has been raided, and left with no survivors. The only thing near is a Russian settlement and a group of Joes are picked to go on a recon mission. We get what we can now call an Armageddon-round-up. The team is gathered while in the middle of off-duty activities. In my previous review I mentioned this:

What’s interesting is that these 3 characters are, very much so, fan favorites, and anytime you see something that has to get done (I’ll call back on this several times as I cover future issues) you send one, two, or all three of them.

Joining Breaker on this mission are the three I was speaking of: Scarlett, Snake Eyes, and Stalker. It should be noted that while called in we get a moment that introduces us to the notion that Snake Eyes is no attractive and wears a mask for a reason (other than for being one of the coolest cats of the ‘80s). Speaking of the ‘80s, it was a great backdrop because there was a built-in and even grounding antagonist in the form of the Soviet Union. While such an occurrence tends to date a comic (or any form of entertainment), as a kid growing up at the time it gave this series a sense of realism. When I was in elementary school we used to have drills just in case the commies got frisky and force me to get my Red Dawn on. There even is a mention in this issue of the type of zany inventions that depict very well–even in a meta way–the paranoia that came with the looming conflict: the Russian settlement was working on a machine that caused mass paranoia via “fear waves”.

Another aspect that was introduced in this issue and would continue is Hama’s ability to create what would be (for a very long time) comic book exclusive characters who were able to make themselves matter. In this issue we are introduced to Kwinn, a mercenary hired by the Russian to remove and destroy evidence of the aforementioned fear inducer. Kwinn’s file reveals that he is a an extremely proficient merc who always completes his mission and is loyal to any contract or job that he takes on–even while having a definitive personal code that applies beyond ‘the job’. It would be very easy to create a stock, throw away a character here, but instead Hama creates somebody who would have an emotional impact on Joe team members in the immediate future, and carving out an individual identity for the character in a very short period of time. The effectiveness of the appearance is proven because it’s simply hard not to like Kwinn, and as a reader at this point we really don’t know if this isn’t a future central figure in the Joe mythos, either as a member of the team or an agent of Cobra.

In the end we get a strong stand alone issue/mission that shows us that he world as told in in this series is more than just G.I. Joe versus Cobra, and displayed that this is a book and team was willing and would drop us in all manners of settings. It also shows the kind of issue that would make it appeal to older readers, particularly members of the armed forces. In its early years, G.I. Joe very much was the best of both worlds in being this obviously fictional adventure series for kids, but also being what is very much a quasi-war book–a genre that was incredibly strong decades before for the medium, but had lost a bit of its luster.

Issue 3, The Trojan Gambit is next…

     
The Guardians (at least some of them) seem to be popping in and out of time (and reality) due to occurrences within War of Kings. They meet the future (and more historical) version of their own team, throw down, get an info dump, and go rumble some more before they slide elsewhere.

A look through the first few pages and I hated the issue. Unless offering an extreme experience in either emotional direction I’m generally forgiving or disattached to the visuals when in the presence of a narrative I enjoy or at least find passable. I find myself being able to appreciate interpretation and variety in styles, but something did strike me immediately, and it was off-putting.

Then came (some) understanding.

As comic fans we talk ourselves into it sometimes, but I began to feel Wesley’s Craig’s place in this issue. Indeed, this place was Wesley’s Craig’s. Depicting something that is not understood reality to a team called The Guardians of the Galaxy The Buttkickers of the Fantastic (which I’d like to think is a call back, but if not can also pass and be fully appreciated for simply being quick and amusing) has to be a chore. While I’m on record for noticing when Brad Walker is not penciling the team*, it should be noted that in the instances I’ve seen Craig’s art, he is rendering rather unusual environments or altered realities (and yes I understand that any artist inherently accepts such on a title like this—but he’s actually riffing off the riff) in contrast to the already diverse nature of the setting implied by a title like Guardians of the Galaxy. I find him to be an at least acceptable change-up, but not so much so it that doesn’t make me pleased to see Walker listed in the solicitation for the issue after next. There are certainly places I don’t and won’t mind seeing Craig take us in the future, but Walker has become my home for this team (though Pelletier was amazing I earlier issues)

I try to put my finger on what turned the issue around for me and I realize it’s not too complex. Literally.  I’m a comics fan; I could have missed 50 prior issues of a run, but if you drop me in to a rumble, I understand that. Whether buttkicking the fantastic or clobberin time—you’re speaking my language. The issue starts already on the move, and it’s the only way an issue that opens with a splash page with Killraven front and center can appropriately begin.

Excluding an occasional bout with cosmic-self-consciousness, Guardians of the Galaxy never suffers from its writers getting in the way of story. If examination, reflection, and/or dissection occur, they do not reveal themselves as purpose, but as by-products. If an issue fails, it does so swinging, not in wannabe noir soliloquy–the in-tights (per)version. In these pages you find rather absurd questions:

“You don’t happen to have a time machine hidden around here somewhere”

     
can be (re)turned with serious reply:

“Not here, but we know where you might get your hands on one”

     
It almost comes off as so-bad-it’s-good, and it may very well be that, but more and more I find myself thinking that Abnett, Lanning & the Guardians of the Galaxy remind us what good really was is.

     
_{* like in Guardians of the Galaxy #11 & #12}

We’ve recently witnessed a modern continuance of the Destroyer in the Marvel Max series by Robert Kirkman and Cory Walker (check out BSC reviews of those issues). Here, John Arcudi and Steve Ellis gives us a story in the setting that the early Stan Lee creation was born into. One of the differences between Marvel and DC was how they handled the World War II backdrop. Make no mistake, DC had stories that dealt with WWII and Hitler, and while certainly the DC Big 5 War books were both popular and wonderfully drawn, these were very much post-WWII looks backs if dealing with that war (as these were books from the ’50′s). From a super hero standpoint, DC created plot points to limit superhero involvement (giving Hitler the Spear of Destiny etc). Timely wasn’t bullshitting around. Captain America, The Sub Mariner, and Destroyer can be seen knocking Nazis out, and often via covers delivered by the kinetic fist of Alex Schomburg.

You know how comics now spawn wannabe-cryptic interviews with creators trying to tell you how crafty, faux-post-modern, and cinematic their work is? Most of them are all really just writing pulps with modern dialogue. The ones that seem like they spend more time thinking about about their interview questions than on the work itself ? Arcudi and Ellis don’t show their ass in USA Comics 70th Anniversary Special. They give proper homage, by simply kicking ass (which is fast becoming my own and only barometer of entertainment–I know). Sure, in the end it perhaps disappointingly plays into too familiar point making, but in getting there we get a narrative from Arcudi that has no hitches and never loses our interest. Ellis is a bit of a revelation as while I can look him up now and see that he’s worked quite a bit on more than a few worthwhile projects (even doing stints on my beloved Valiant/Acclaim) I wasn’t familiar with his work. Much like the other artists I’ve seen in these 70th anniversary issues, I find another who I wish i saw more of from month-to-month–these are beautiful, fun, books.

The story is told mostly via the perspective of a German reporter who was taken by Destroyer while on a mission in Nazi-occupied Poland. The reporter is a proud even patriotic German who isn’t a Nazi supporter. This is a nice touch because Destroyer’s origins (in the Golden Age) are linked to a character of the same mold (his powers are granted to him by an anti-Nazi German scientist that – linking it to this story – was a prisoner in a camp we see in this issue). Remember what I said about the Schomburg fist earlier? It’s here, and perhaps a bit too blunt, but for a story that a creative team knew going in was a one-shot it does refocus and give an emphatic purpose to the story. I’m not sure if the story needed it as I thought what was already powerfully understood was slightly lessened by being said. We still have a great action packed story that’s emotionally driven, even if anchored slightly too heavily.

The bottom line is that you learn what you need to know about the Destroyer without him having to lose an enigmatic aura, and you walk away from this book wanting to see more new adventures of the Destroyer in that era.

Marvel, I’m all-in for a Timely imprint.

     
Note: In June we posted a preview of this issue.

A Deadpool synopsis is one of the most beautiful things in comics. Nerd tech-loving terrorist organization sends the Merc to retrieve an item from a rival fascist terrorist organization-both groups of which claim origins in the Silver Age. That all? Hell no, this is Wade Wilson, not just Bond. He’s also getting shot down to the extraction point from orbit in what is essentially a bullet in a planned crash and burn landing. Oh, he is also landing in the Savage Land which is full of dinosaurs and other pre-historic mayhem.

For the most part the Savage Land has become this real cool setting from the past that now makes us cringe every time we have to revisit it again, usually for the sake of tradition. The natural citizens of this place must be like “damn, the X-Men again?” Go back to preppy Westchester you genetic emo-elites.” I have always been the guy that would have been satisfied with a Ka-Zar series, no need for guests. Do you know how old school the jungle lord is? Way before X-Men#10. Now, sure, we are talking spiritual lineage and not really canon, but I promise if you open up Marvel Comics#1 you’ll see Ka-Zar in there with Namor and the Human Torch—that’s Marvel pantheon status. Even before that he was rocking pulps. So what does Gischler have the O.G do when he runs into Deadpool? He peaces out. He has other shit to do, and doesn’t have time for a silly Liefeld creation. The guy is the son of the tiger.

Gischler avoids (immediate) silly team-up.

He also gets dialogue. Deadpool’s doubletalk is a tightrope as the line between being too inclusive and being just hip and trendy is a fine one. As comic fans we think our in-jokes are hip, but writer’s know the truth, and Gischler knows to arm himself with it to better to lie to us. He and Dazo also end the issue in spectacular fashion with a talking head scene. Sounds lame? Nah, it may be the most ingenious, literal, and forgivable use of talking heads in the history of the medium.

We’ve seen Bong Dazo (who has the illest name in comics excluding C.B. Cebluski-which just sounds like an underboss in waiting) working on Deadpool before when he penciled Thunderbolts* during the Magnum Opus crossover with Deadpool. I thought he showed that he gets Deadpool (even though his Thunderbolts was not flattering) in those issues and this is a great vehicle for him to prove it. The guy’s wingman in this project is thorough, so he’s set-up ready to shine. Only thing that struck my mind was that I’d love to see a Bud Root get a shot in the Savage Lands.

That Deadpool represents the most versatile major character at Marvel is nothing new. There is no change in that, indeed Victor Gischler’s Deadpool would have Jerry Cornelius in the LSC every Tuesday flipping, and thinking “Yo, now he nice”. Admirably it is the character’s idiosyncrasies that remain a constant. One could surmise that such a characters presents the easiest task to write; after all is it even possible too stray too far into absurdism with the merc? I, however, find Deadpool to be the most deceptively dangerous of undertakings. Creative freedom is often a battle cry in the comics medium, but for the vast majority it is one that is often definable as and followed by noise. Once granted total freedom, once you pick up that brush, the blameable crutch is gone—your faults are your own. Gischler grabs crutches and beats their owners with them while telling them to walk on their own two.

Gischler and Deadpool Dancin till the the end of time and go go going until the Apocalypse—oor at least 5 more issues. Sweet Muzak to my ears.

* way back in Thunderbolts#130-#131 True Believers! (see my reviews here and here)

This apparently brings to an end the Joe Pitt Case Books, and it concludes the only way it really could. My first thought was that throughout the 5-book escapade, Pitt has found himself on several occasions not properly supplied with blood. Indeed, on occasions he refuses when it would be most logical to indulge, and even his nature (the one he tells us about) to do so. His refusals are both completely contradictory and definitive of his character(s). The one he is, and the one he talks about. The two are pretty damn similar, and aptly the very last words we hear from Pitt (and the novel) still feels like a debate,even when we think we hear absolute conviction. The only thing that has (not) changed is now that conversation encompasses more than two. Joe isn’t just talking about himself anymore, he only has one job, and he doesn’t have to change sides to find the best way through the hour, day, week, or year. His side is still his own, but next to him stands his girl–absolutely and willingly. It may even be her side. In some way that may make Pitt seem rather complex, but playing in to what I just said, he really isn’t. Or rather, he isn’t any more or less than anyone else is. It’s a rather cliché and common occurrence to give credit to a writer for writing novels that would still be good if they were without their speculative content, and on the surface–and perhaps even fact–the Joe Pitt novels are quintessential examples of stand-up, tough guy, crime novels, with vampyre dressing. I think stating such takes away from the larger success. Charlie Huston has written a multi-book vampire-centric series that neither sells itself on sexuality or exclusively to a young (sorry, forgot about the moms) female demographic…and it’s good. It’s damn good, even with a hiccup installment. The return of Vampyres who don’t look like cats I can beat down on whim is a welcome one. In Joe Pitt’s (our) world, one thing seems rather absolute–people die and any walk of life (or undead) can be touched as brutally as the next. I’m not sure if anyone died well in this series of books, and upon reflecting on the many examples in the series, there is extremity and drama to it, but they are just moments. They don’t drag out, and even if there are bloody but eventually neat bows, they are not forced before our consideration for long. Shit happens. They are exits, and at the end we are always just left with the aptly (indeed, chosen) named Joe. He chooses like anyone one less. He’s one of us. He always has been, and doesn’t change until he finds he would have it some other way. That there could be, had to be, another left standing.

At the end of the day a book either kicks ass or it doesn’t, and when reading a final chapter to a series, one can’t help to consider what came before. What you come to realize is that this series deals with issues like faith, relationships, employment, minorities, and (un)biological warfare, but instead uses words like wraiths, gangs, turf, vampyre and zombies. Huston doesn’t beat you over the head with it thought, even when in fact Joe is either delivering or absorbing such a blow (which is rather frequent). It’s not considered while being read. Absorbed not bored.

I’m not sure if I believe the final conversation we have with Pitt, but bluffs can kill all the same, and Joe Pitt’s adventures can ultimately be described as the type of good that’s even better than great.

If you can feel that. I think our boy Phil Sax could.

I think we have to conclude that Abraham was able to pull it off. If you read my initial thoughts you’d get the impressions that there was always a lot to like here, but I wasn’t sure if those pieces would add up to something to love. The latter isn’t necessarily representative of anything quantifiable or directly comparable to what I’d call good. I always go back to something like M. John Harrison’s Light, a fantastic novel that I think is one of the better Science Fiction novels of the last decade or so, but I don’t think I’d ever want to revisit it. Even aware that it’s perhaps one of the best SF novels I’ve read, on a given day I’m not sure I’d rather have that initial read under my belt more than I would a Clone Wars Karen Travis novel (which I probably would have reread). Illogical, but that’s love.

I think there a point in The Price of Spring with about 30-40 pages left to go that you find that Abraham has succeeded. You find that you legitimately want to know how both the novel and series is going to conclude, and not just for the sake of the formality, might-as-well, gone this far, intentions. It does seem to have what is perhaps a bit of a long-winded epilogue that I felt takes away from the sudden climax. Ultimately, I think only one character’s plight piques an interest beyond purposes of closure, as the two central characters had, while certainly pitiable, kind of tired, and no longer the discoveries –or vehicles of–we saw in A Shadow in Summer. Considering the nature and name of the series, I found it relatively lacked for cost. Or rather, there was certainly cost, but I never felt personally beggared bit it, and more than once I found myself interacting like a character in The Price of Spring; a poet retired, who’d rather his wife be involved in worldly affairs, and leave me to my own life. I was in the game, but now I’m watching, and though that can be enjoyable, don’t we always want the controller? Sure there is the idea in the way single figures or groups make decisions that effect the faceless majority that cripple people, nations, and generations, but in prose form it’s too easy for the reader to write-off (which admittedly may be exactly the point). It reads true, it’s just not the most effective entertainment. What becomes (or some) the central antagonist, or the embodiment of it–a blinding baby with the powers of a god–is more of an affecting symbol, and not so much an endearing or turmoil sparking story element for me.

There is of course the two-piece that I thought was an interesting choice by Abraham to play with.  These are ideas people may have recently seen in Saramago’s Blindness and Cuaron’s Children of Men,  in one book. I think does well in giving us the isolated, personal reaction to both occurrences, I think due to my own familiarity of those works, there is some gravitas (or even novelty) taken away from those two two major points of the novel’s back-drop, and they almost seem minimized due to what seems to be the small-minded characters we follow. Again, most likely the point, and while true observations, they just for me lacked something that transition them to entertainment value. I also found myself without a side. It’s not to say I need one to enjoy a novel or conflict, or that I found both view points equally so balanced, it just that at some point I didn’t care which (or neither) prevailed. The worst thing I can say is that the story felt like it bent over to hit a half dozen or so points of elements that Abraham tried wanted to wrap his novel/series around them. Make no mistake, however, there is absolute authority here, and you never feel Abraham is anywhere he doesn’t want to be, but it is this very feeling of an external certainty and conviction that allowed for only the most brief of  moments where I felt like I was discovering something with the author. It is perhaps this shared experience that leads to the love I mentioned before.

I said before that the epic is about moments. The Price of Spring has a moment, but it serves more as a reminder of what I felt was missing. Abraham is a terrific horror writer (check out the spectacular Flat Diane) and there is a moment when the Andat herself tells Maati what he must do. It’s a powerful and frightening moment, and highlights the most interesting and personal elements in the series – the Andats themselves. Staring at which we can’t reconcile with. Ever.

The personal drama and political machinations did very little for me, and just seemed what I had to get through to get to these sweet, all too scarce, absolutely lovely little pockets of horror. In some ways it reminded me of  David Keck’s In the Eyes of Heaven and In a Time of Treason, except with a much higher floor. Keck’s first two books border on being unreadable, yet have these absolutely incredible bubbles that feel like they could be a Bram Stoker award winning short story. The moment in The Price of Spring is not alone in the series. A Shadow in Summer has the instance of Seedless gaining his freedom that I found incredibly moving, and an even better pay-off. It was inevitable, but still was not at all lacking for tension or pure brutality. We knew, but we still felt. When Abraham embraces the fiction of his speculative fiction, I see glimpses of the story I’d love to read.

For now, I have no problem with experiencing one I merely liked.

You’d think that reading the first issue of an ‘80s title that was at least in some part utilized as a marketing tool for other media (toys and cartoon) would be lacking in actual content and be more action motivated than focusing on dialogue. You’d expect to find something that’s not overly interested in creating  much foundation, and instead be more preoccupied with not escaping the attention span of a young child. That isn’t to say there isn’t action, and lots of it, but going back and reading this series I have found that it holds up in a manner many favorites– and now in some cases deemed classics –simply do not. You won’t pick up G.I. Joe and wonder how you could have been so stupid to have been so enraptured as a child. Indeed, it may give you cause to think on what has now happened to what was once the mind of an obvious prodigy.

I was a fan of all three fronts that G.I. Joe but for those who only watched the cartoon they may be familiar with the line from the theme song:

“They fight for freedom where ever there’s trouble, GI. Joe is there!”

     
A close enough introduction kicks off this first issue:

“Code Named: G.I. Joe–the most fearsome rapid deployment team of all stands ready to fight—anywhere–anytime—any way!”

     
It adorns a page showing the team in the middle of battle, and planting an American flag. Following that, it takes only ten pages for Larry and Herb Trimpe to shows us an armed assault on a train in an effort to kidnap a scientist (Burkhart) privy to extremely sensitive military secrets, introduces us to the G.I. Joe team, its leader, and its relationship to the U.S. government.

The hierarchy, in terms of leadership within the team is an eternal topic of discussion amongst any group of Joe fan. This is not only due to the differences across the mediums (cartoon and information dealing with rank given on the file cards of the toys) but also because of rather swift shifts in the comics themselves. Here we see at the Pentagon level, General Austin and General Flagg (the former being the superior in rank) discussing the need to mobilize G.I. Joe. During this discussion we see (pulled up on a computer screen) the original G.I. Joe team: Hawk, Scarlett, Grand Slam, Zapp, Breaker, Steeler, Snake Eyes, Grunt, Flash, Stalker, Short Fuse, Rock ‘N Role, and Shooter. The last is perhaps the least well known to non-Joe diehards, a character made as a nod to the then editor in chief of Marvel, Jim Shooter. The field leader is rather definitively told to us as being Colonel Clayton M. Abernathy, a man we know better as Hawk. On his orders we are given a pretty fun, multi-pronged attack that aids in putting names to faces and allows us to see each member perform within the team.

There are a few instances in this first issue that become status quo that I think reveal why this run would come to possess that aforementioned quality of having aged well. First, to go as far to consider the notion that a rescue was perhaps not the only or even the most tactile option is brought up on a couple of occasions and levels. At the highest level, the question of why not simply bombing Cobra’s base and to not be overly concerned if the hostage is killed (thus protecting her secrets) in the process is posed. The same thought crosses the mind of Scarlet and Snake Eye as they openly discuss the possibility of merely taking a shot to kill Burkhart.

Two, Cobra Commander isn’t a punk. In modern iterations we’ve seen publishers try to stress this very characteristic as if it’s some departure, but Cobra Commander was only ever truly castrated on the television shows. In the comics, as shown from jump here, he will shoot a bitch if he has to. What’s also noteworthy is how his troops address him—it always makes me think of the Nazi-salute, and that choice infers a lot about organization itself. The issue is very effective in firmly establishing that G.I. Joe are the heroes, and they do this by clearly marking Cobra as not only ‘the enemy’, but one that merits our attention in terms of being more than a punching bag. G.I. Joe–in all media –was very efficient at making their ‘villains’ cool, and very much so a technologically advanced entity. Let’s be honest, as kids it was a tough choice to pick between the Whale and the Moray, or the Tomahawk and the Mamba. Hell, if you ask me, Zartan and Firefly are still the sweetest characters (acknowledging that v2 Snake Eyes may be the king of all toys ever) in the whole line.

Three, the establishment of a cultural icon. That may sound like an overstatement, but you don’t know any male that doesn’t know who the hell the Snake Eyes is. Nobody thinks you are talking the Brian De Palma film when you say the name. We have what is essentially a straight (albeit fictional) military comic, but with it is this mystery; a masked man that allows Marvel to slips what’s damn near a superhero into the book (something that the Ninja element would later go overboard on in this run). Not only do you have Snake Eyes, but much like what Macross/Robotech did, their was noticeable diversity in the comic. Scarlet is a female, and the very fact she is with Snake Eyes instantly tells you she’s a major player and a dangerous one. Stalker is an African-American, and while you think that’s no big deal, back when I was reading these issues when they hit the newsstand, I can tell you that it wasn’t an element that you didn’t notice (as you most likely would now). What’s interesting is that these 3 characters are, very much so, fan favorites, and anytime you see something that has to get done (I’ll call back on this several times as I cover future issues) you send one, two, or all three of them. In many ways, these three characters had more staying power than the other members of the original 13 and they never really aren’t A-list characters. The three are definitely kick ass and have done so since their inception.

Four, there is bureaucracy. While Cobra will certainly be the central antagonist in the series, the Joes will encounter others, including at times those that come with being an entity that takes orders and is not the authority.

We also get a glimpse of Hama’s ability to make a lot out of limited space. Consistently Hama will be able to have multiple story threads in play within single issues, while still being able to saturate them with an overarching narrative that gave each issue girth. These still aren’t the 3-minute reads many present day comics have become.

For somebody doing a first reading of this run, or somebody who isn’t quite the G.I. Joe enthusiast as I am, you may notice that the first issue is missing the second story, Hot Potato, which is famous to fans for stressing the relationship between Snake Eyes and Scarlett.

That’s just issue one people.

I think I heard about Total Oblivion, More or Less as early as last year, as I think I saw DeNiro announce the sale to Bantam via Juliet Ulman. I’m not saying I have a spreadsheet or anything (but maybe I do–the imperial archives are rather extensive) , but Ulman is who I tend to view as the person who was was procuring all the good books Bantam/Dell used to publish (you can read an interview conducted by Jeff VanderMeer with Juliet over at Omnivoracious).

Book Synopsis (at Amazon):

“I remember the first time I began to understand that things might not be the same again.”

     
What’s a girl to do when her world is invaded by warriors from the ancient world? That’s the problem faced by sixteen-year-old Macy, who sees her quiet, normal life in suburban Minnesota turned upside down when things that should never be possible begin to transform the landscape all around her. The cable stops working, the phone lines die–and then the horsemen come to town. It’s not the same America that she last went to sleep in.

     
Ticketed to a refugee camp by the marauding Scythian armies, Macy and her family come to believe that heading down the Mississippi by boat is their one escape from the encroaching madness. But as they make their way downriver, Macy’s world just keeps getting stranger, and the wooden submarines, wasp-borne plagues, and talking dogs are the least of her problems: For in this upside-down world, old identities warp and family bonds are sorely tested.

While being a fan of short fiction, I always find myself intrigued by the  jump to the novel by my favorites in the short form. Beyond that, I found some of my earliest adventures within pages written by Mark Twain , and anytime there’s talk about adventure on the mighty Mississippi*–no matter how fantastically removed– I don’t ask questions, I just get on board. More or less.

     
*another fine example is George R.R. Martin’s Martin’s Fevre Dream).

**You may want to check out an essay Mr. DeNiro allowed us to republish here at BSC, Why I Write Science Fiction: An Apology.

That isn’t to say that the rest of the run isn’t fantastic, as I think the series as a whole was vastly underrated and remained so as a whole even when Gail Simone brought some net-based  star power behind it–the Chuck Dixon work that launched the series was some great stuff. It’s generally always found appropriate art with people like Greg Land, Butch Guice, Joe Bennett having stints, not to mention my favorite, Nicola Scott.  This issue was written by Dixon and penciled by Greg Land and is remarkable to me as essentially the value of this issue (I’ve seen raw HG copies go for $20-$75 ) is really based on the lasting  effects of a single source-marketing push that readers have carried with them into adulthood. This is no different than some ‘facts’ we still hold to due to an updated Overstreet notation. We don’t, however, tend  remember or claim that, and instead we speak of the power of story and a kiss, but it is the truth.

Let me first say that I think as a read and as a fan of the Batman mythos and family I love this issue. I also know that the issue is often referred to as “the kiss” issue, which if you read the actual  issue may be slightly deceiving. What the issues is, however, is the culmination of a relationship that we’ve seen brewing on some level for decades between Robin Nightwing, Dick Grayon and Batgirl Oracle Barbara. Dick and Babs. It’s a sweet (in the adorable sense, not ‘70s show lingo) story. It is, however, not the only one (story). This issue was also the subject of getting a Wizard bump–one of those issues that the publication was able to ingrain, not just present–into a generation’s head as being significant in a monetary sense.  Personally, I think the story is worth every penny, but in no other way have I seen an issue whose apparent basis for value be so flimsy. Even if it was a “first kiss” – what exactly does that mean to the back issue collector? What other character’s first kiss is relevant in terms of dollars? What other modern couple’s ‘kiss’ is thus noted?

The cynic comic collector (which is most of them) hates this. Anything associated with Wizard, particularly regarding 90’s pricing and speculation is generally looked upon with disdain (which represents the biggest mass flip-flop in perhaps any hobby’s history)–so much so we will avoid the content of the story in having a tangible effect on price. It would be nice, and speak more positively about us  if they were indeed  wrong. The problem is, I don’t that they are. There is no real reason t he content of this title would differentiate it from  moments in a great deal of titles. It would be great as unlike some of  the other examples  noted above, Bird of Prey#8 ’s value was not pushed by having a first appearance of a character about to appear  in  a forthcoming blockbuster film appearances.  I am aware of the TV show, but that had very little (I’d say none) effect on pricing. The truth is that Wizard pushed this issue heavy,  and we bought it (literally), perhaps in some small percentage with good motivations, but it’s no less artificially constructed. We remember this issue having a premium, so it still does. There really is no reason why this isn’t a $10 book  to compensate for the print run (in comparison to the other that are legitimate bargain bin issues) and not a $25-$75 books. If one looks back to the ’70s Batman Family title you’ll see a a bit of this relationship playing out–indeed they were called The Dynamic Duo: Batgirl and Robin.

I have many copies of this issue. I love it because it bridges the Barbara pre-Killing Joke to the Oracle we know now –in all incarnations she’s our girl.  It also shows this unique identity that the original Robin has made from himself, and that for perhaps just for a moment, the Batman Family doesn’t have to be dysfunctional for our better good. There’s a lot of growing up here that’s a  contrast from the patriarchal head of their family. None of that  really justifies the premium though,  and  if there were some logical restructuring (as logical as comics get in this regards)  of pricing, it wouldn’t shock you if this was relegated to the status of being a $5 book.  I’m continually amazed at how robust this issue’s value remains. I think while at the end of the day I don’t believe it should have such a premium associated with it, I’m oddly happy that it does.  I love having a book from this era that I can say does have backissue value and is a story I can talk about, and not be something elevated in the guide just due to being a low-print last issue of a dying title, or some sad, contrived,  rare variant (Bloodshot Platinum).

I think the intention of a early appearance by Nightwing was to draw more immediate  ties to the Bat Family, and through them Batman. What it did instead was tell an all too rare story that has the right to exist beyond the necessity of the month it was published. The cover itself has come to become one of my favorites, because it’s this embrace and stare that goes back decades, but swinging forward. Issues like this is what pays off continuity fans.

Sometimes the fiction is better than truth.

     
People talk about the LCS experience, and for me I think that experience is basically a product of nostalgia now chiefly for this reason: due to the digital age, for many fans the LCS is no longer a place of introductions. Pre-net, for the majority of buyers, when you went to an LCS it was the first time you saw a cover of that month’s books. I want to remind (or if you’re young, alert) people of truth/reality of setting at that time (1993). One day you went into the rack and saw Moon Knight going one to the other:

     
[singlepic id=1480 w=640 h=480 float=left] [singlepic id=1481 w=640 h=480 float=]

     
I remember going to the shop, and witnessing for the first time  people  talking  Moon Knight.  Moon Knight. Like Wolverine getting his adamantium pulled out by Magneto-level shop talk. Note, I’m not unmindful of the great work in previous material related to the character  by Moench and the legendary Sienkewicz, but people have to remember that for that current generation even recent comic book history was not just a click and a connection to the net away. If you were 14 then, McFarlane was Spider-Man, Claremont and Lee were X-Men, and Liefeld was the New Mutants. All 3 titles obviously have a storied past prior to those creators (don’t sleep on New Mutants–some really talented people worked on that title), but that was the current reality, and not one I was complaining about. Then, what you knew was read in your own hands from the issue–it was what you saw in physical form.  That day I walked into the LCS and saw enthusiasm  over a random issue of Moon Knight was one of the moments that has stayed with me from this hobby.

SPLATT!

Stephen Platt went from showing up stealth on the radar to the most talked about thing going–even if it was only for a minute–and when he drew another issue that featured Spider-Man on the cover (Moon Knight#57), people were wondering if Marvel could in fact just find and slot replacements for  the biggest stars in the industry (note: I define ‘stars’ in possessing the most important quality that matters in an industry based on monthly sales—the ability to put and keep asses in seats.) We wouldn’t get the chance to find out, as Rob Liefeld quickly moved to bring Platt over and put him on Prophet (I believe Platt was about to be given Marvel’s Cable).

To this day, Moon Knight#55 carries a premium price tag. All of the Platt issues outpace the rest of  the issues in the series (even if  not fantastically), but #55 is still an oddly strong issue that will always get a 3 digit price of a graded copy.  While some would suggest a lower print run as being part of the equation, these issues wouldn’t be substantially lower than those that came before. Also, relative to today I’d wager a lower print run then still leaves for a lot of copies available now–these aren’t tough issues. While I suggest that the elevated price is probably unjustified by even the liberal and forgiving definition of collectors or hobby enthusiasts, I’m also somebody who has spent quite a bit grabbing up high grade copies when I come across them (I probably have 30 raw NM/NM+ copies, and I have at least one two graded copies).

In the end I feel it stands as one of those issues where its  most staunch fans and most adamant detractors share at least one common characteristic–it’s more than likely neither have ever actually read the issue. Know who the writer is? Love or hate it, everybody knows who drew the cover. An odd part of me loves comics more for that. This issue created a moment, if only for that moment. And left a line.

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For most people that first question would probably have been what exactly is Fatale?, and after looking at the image above, a certain majority would automatically assume that they don’t and shouldn’t care. Inherit the Earth collects the six issues that comprised the Fatale series that was written by Jim Shooter and drawn by J.G. (he of the incredible cover for DC’s 52) Jones, and  the first issue of Powers That Be and Shadow State#1-2  from1996. It should be noted that I’m listing Shooter, but many writers were credited. I think we an assume that his overall vision or at least approval was what ended up seeing the page.  It’s actually worth a read, and perhaps struggled (beyond the market struggles itself at the time) due to the then backlash against badgirls that had been the absolute rage of comics just a couple years  (perhaps months) earlier. Pick up a copy of Wizard and flip to the popular character lists and you will they are dominated  by character like Vampirella, Pulidio’s Lady Death, Gaiman’s Angela (from Spawn), Lisner’s Dawn, Witchblade, and Tucci’s Shi  among others. The only creator that I saw who continually did this post-that era and was  mainstream (relative to comics)  success was the late  Michael Turner. You certainly still have your  Bud Roots’ who do this (and get a ton for that original art–and yes I do want one for some reason) but it’swork  not really part of the mainstream comic book conscious. It is not at all an attempt at denigrate the creations or creators noted above  to say that Fatale really wasn’t a type of comic, more than it probably was trying to look like one, and it you don’t have to look to far to see how  (though some of the promotion was, to be blunt, off the hook (bra) strap). It’s also a departure from past (immediate) Shooter projects. With VALIANT and DEFIANT he was very much the architect of rather intricate universes, and though Broadway was shaping up, it seemed to be a much looser application, and more of a group project and not quite as driven.  The prior two projects felt much more like the creation of unique blueprints (that certainly pulled from familiar tropes to any SF/F fan), where Broadway felt  playing with existing ones.  I believe that I heard Shooter once note that the Broadway comics were made with the thought of possible development for film and television (which sounds rather redundant now, but not so much in the mid-’90s) and Fatale come off as very basic concepts that you could easily see a Jolie  movie of. Back to concept, however, if you read this book it actually does an oddly fascinating  job balancing this stereotypical male-fantasy, bad girl kicking ass, high-octane action book, with a very quirky sitcomish quality that doesn’t 180-flip archetypes (which is a gimmick in itself), but rather forces a sometimes uncomfortable co-existence. I’m not saying this is some underrated gem that all comic fans should read, but nor is it something that should repulse you. On the surface, you assume a superficiality that I’m no going to say isn’t there, but there are foils here that does show a very self-aware book.

I am not an art aficionado, and by that I mean that I can’t relay anything remotely close to authoritative observation about the craft (or tools of ) itself, but as a fan I own uninked J.G. Jones original art from that era (though from DEFIANT) and though I feel like the inker utterly fails him in this run, you really get a moody element from Jones here, somewhat classical in the non-action scenes.

$225? Not too far off actually, though probably approaching the absolute extremes of  the current ceiling–it would have to be something you have been looking for to finish off a collecting focus.  That I didn’t buy it myself reveals that I think it’s rather aggressive. This book that most comic fans don’t know exist, and if by happenstance they do,  the majority of  them don’t care,  would most likely be sold in an instant if it was listed at$150. Broadway Comics (and the one comic from DEFIANT that has a premium attached to it) have in some manner inherited the extreme fans of VALIANT–the type who make the highest graded copies of Harbinger#1 exceed a thousands dollars (and in a couple of cases more than twice). I can tell you that I lost on a bid for the same item  last year that was higher than that amount last year, and going into bidding I thought my chances of winning weren’t too strong. It even goes beyond the concept of “Dead Universe” collecting which seems to be a sub-group, of niche group, of a niche group, of a niche group. I don’t care what the subject or vocation, you have to be really passionate to have that many ‘niches’ attached to whatever you do! Note that this is the hardcover, not the TPB (or softcover) which is more readily available.

I pulled this image from the net (I believe the poster who posted the image actually used to a host a Shooter-fan site) that gives you the low-down:

I’ve heard of unsigned copies (the one on ebay was one) so there is obviously more than that amount floating around.

The one thing I’ve learned about being a VALIANT fan (that can be applied to any collecting habit)  is that patience tends to pay off. There is a very small group that pushes the prices of books like these well above what the vast majority of the market would even consider, and all you need is one slip, one person who didn’t set a snipe, was out of town, or had a power outage and you will get something closer to a reasonable price. It’s only really for diehard completists  (again, a niche of a niche of a niche of a niche) as the single issues are out there for nothing.

With this in mind this is by no means the most regularly sought after book from Broadway. That would be Miracle on Broadway, which goes for quite a bit more that. I was going to do a write-up on it, but Al Stoltz (a well known dealer) really did a bang up job (or at the very least, a  fun one) in 2003 at Scoop.

*pulled the solicitation image off of a forum.

Like with my last ‘Now Reading’ I just started the book (which is going to be the MO of all these posts) and I continue to be forced to go back to how profoundly uninterested I was in the second book (A Betrayal in Winter), after I rather enjoyed the first book, A Shadow in Summer, quite a bit back in 2007. I interviewed Abraham shortly afterwards, and the process only increased my interest the series. It comes back to mind because of just ho quickly Abraham is able to bring me back to the series in the first few dozens pages of The Price of Spring, and rekindle my interest. This is exactly the opposite of how felt about A Betrayal in Winter, which was incredibly well named, because that’s what it felt like. Abraham seemed to have (successfully) tried so hard at putting out an unique first installment, but I’ve always felt the second book tried equally hard to put all that way and gives us a rather standard sequel (in some way I felt the same about the follow-up to the what I thought was another magnificent first book in Caverns of Black Ice by JV Jones). It almost seemed apologetic of the first, when it should have been so for itself. The third novel would bring the series back on track, but I found myself missing the presence of Seedless, who even up to now remains the most compelling of the characters in this series. When I consider the Long Price quartet, it is that Andat that comes to mind first, which seems problematic as there is obvious time and care given to several characters that are interesting in the moment, but aren’t altogether memorable. There seems to be an attempt at resonance that just doesn’t take. Yet in the beginning portions of this novel Abraham shows us a relationship between two characters who have every reason to hate to each other, and taps into that appeal of a grudging, learned, shared camaraderie between such men, that we recognize as a cheap trick because of how we always respond to such circumstances– it appeals to us. It would normally be reserved for a dénouement, but hit with it now, it strikes a necessary nerve, something shared, and gives us something to both question and aspire to. A point to look back from, and a point to begin again. Oddly, many of the relationships we are confronted with early on are of those that offer easy existing justifications for extreme and diametric shake-ups.

I think one of the hardest things to do-what Abraham will have to do with this final chapter- in what I’d call the ensemble epic variety of fantasy, is to be able to pull off being more than just technically assured, and more than even just being interesting. I think more so with epic fantasy, or any work that goes beyond a single book, you have to deliver more (which could be a lateral ‘more’), a quantity that I think is often looked upon as non-essential out of the paticular form–and that is the feeling of having been a part of something. It’s not that easy, as you can see in how many (generally a vocal, obnoxious-and without point-minority) people bitch about how fantasy is inundated with series’, but even the most diehard fans will admit very few are truly top-shelf works (which admittedly can be said about any sub-genre). It is, however, this rarity that inspires rather rabid fan bases, and oddly I feel myself in a contradictory argument with my self on whether or not it is the proverbial thin line or a vast chasm that differentiates story from legend.

I foresee and feel somewhat assured that when done with the Price of Spring, I will witness a quality series closing. The fun part -and my hanging question, and perhaps even a betting doubt- will be to finding out see if it has any life beyond the curtain, and take on a quality beyond simply achieving expectations. The difference of inspiring admiration and inspiring passion. To be epic or to be Epic.

More when I get done…

I just love this show. It’s very hard to go 3-4 season for an hour long show like this and not get lost in a haphazard and invented on-the-fly mythology that wasn’t there upon creation due to being unable to bank on initial success. That isn’t to say shows like that don’t do well (Lost, and a better example is probably Supernatural–a failure may be Smallville) it’s just that shows that are able to maintain much of their initial charm while deciding not to go the route of too self-invested or looking inward is a rather rare commodity. I think you see entire episodes of CSI (all of them) suddenly turn into Thirty Something.

Besides being fun, sexy and well-paced Burn Notice episodes are very self-aware. They never forget what the are (fun, sexy and well paced) and give off this feeling that they understand that mythology is something created in the wake of or the aftermath series is over, not consciously and artificially so. The worst television experience in the world is getting the feeling of being witness to a failed attempted of self-reverence.

The cast is perfect. Jeffrey Donovan is a terrific lead whose narration bits–the shows conscious and ground– seem to always reel me back to the matter at hand and has in some manner of modernize and pimped out a MacGyverish sensibility. Anwar is obviously a sexy thing, but there are many actresses that could fill just that role–she pulls it off by somehow making us believe that she could kick our ass, while balancing on that line of semi-cartoondom but not outright male fantasy spoof that would remove the real dramatic tension that the show is able to make rise to the surface. I just think she’s absolutely ideal. I think it speaks very well of Anwar that you have guest appearances of Tricia Helfer, who usually appears on a show and makes everybody look rather low budget–but while she plays her role well, we never sway from Fiona. You throw in Ash and Cagney and not only do you have two great characters, you open the door to a generation before and a cult following that suddenly finds itself with what can be viewed as facsimiles or heirs in this new duo. It feels like legacy. As strong and as much fun as the leads are, I love it every time we get interaction with Campbell or Sharon Gless.

When I was younger USA was very a bit of a second-class network (though continued thanks in order to the Cartoon Express), and I love seeing them have what I think is one of half dozen or so most watchable shows on TV currently, and hope that the show’s success serves notice to other venues.

Burn baby, burn.

     
I have found that G.I. Joe fandom is often segmented by a date somewhere around the early 90′s, and  are actually representative of  two generations that don’t always overlap in each other’s mythos. Firefly is actually one of the few characters that has legs in both. He probably got by on having one of the most distinct (and cool)  designs at first, but later he would be intertwined into the Storm Shadow/Snake Eyes/Arashikage Clan storyline that tended to become the mythology of the series and later morph into the Night Creeper material. There is a reason why he’s always brought back or sustained, and there is nothing at all inherently wrong with going with obvious–give us what we want, and I want Firefly!

     
That leaves nine more, five Joes and four members of Cobra. I wanted to offer one from each side I’d like to see. Only one because I’m honestly such a huge fan of G.I. Joe that my fourth or fifth choice wouldn’t be any more passionate than my 50th.

     
Dude is just smooth. Even on his short appearance in the animated movie (1987) where all he says is “Showtime”, the guy is just pimp. It seems like IDW likes to deconstruct characters and find real purposes for them to be on the team–from their own perspective and that of the team—and I think the guy such a team would choose to be their ‘sniper’ has interesting possibilities going even beyond the make-up you’d have to be just being a sniper. I’ve known some Marine snipers in my time and lets just say there were interesting people.

     
While I realize there is no implication of the highlighted character being solo in the issue, if that is in fact the case, there aren’t many that better fit that  storytelling possibly than Low-Light (though most of time there is a spotter-and I love to see who that would be is to).

     
Zartan is my boy. On paper, he’s absolutely ridiculous and he’s one of those characters that shouldn’t work in either cartoon or comics, but always does and always becomes a key figure. One of my favorite storylines in comics ever is the Cobra Civil War (from the Marvel run #73-#76), and it was Zartan who dealt the killing blow to end it.

While the IDW continuity is brand new, as a Joe fan I still like to see former pivotal characters get modern reinterpretations that acknowledge previous weight, and Zartan, along with Fire Fly, is actually a significant character in the Marvel continuity’s origin of Storm Shadow and Snake Eyes—arguably the two most popular characters in the entire line. I’ve been very interested in how IDW is going to implement this character as he’s just too big of a fan favorite not to have involved. I almost can’t wait to see how the IDW sensibility is going to fit on Zartan

I’m guessing he blends right in.

     
Okay, I lied…one bonus choice for both parties:

     
It would be very cool to see a a wildcard and see a full issue of a Viper who starts to feel like maybe his choice wasn’t the right one (and may offer a channel of information on Cobra later). The G.I. Joe animated movie was a Lovecraftian mess, but one f my favorite elements from that film was Slaughter and his Renegades. These guys infiltrated the Terrordome and set up the classic – we all go home or nobody goes home line.

     
The truth is that in perfect world I’d be interested in see some perspective from a member of one of so called ‘army builders’–some random Eel, Snow Serpent, or line Cobra Officer etc etc. The reality is that’s not at all marketable, but I really like the idea of (by Devil’s Due) of giving a name to a random Saw Viper who killed (in the Marvel run, issue#109) members of the Joe team like Doc, Quick Kick, Breaker (i.e. people you have heard of). They called him Robert Skelton (aka Over Kill) and I love how that type of creative plucking, as if you’re an adult, you read what you would have just passed over before, and you want to know who that dedicated, ruthless Cobra agent was. The truth is any familiar character from Cobra could be introduced in somewhat of a similar fashion, with a fresh new history.

     
Some others that entered my mind were Scoop, again a spy angle, as that when I think on it I think some of the best stories in any medium  have been about spies (see Dusty). Scrap Iron is another favorite of mine, residing on that second level of past incarnations of  Cobra hierarchy with people like Copperhead and Wild Weasel (who would all be interesting as well.)

     
No matter who gets picked, I’m definitely on-board for this, as outside of a few instances, IDW has been putting it down with this franchise (and Transformers for that matter) thus far. I’m not sure who makes the decisions, be it Andy Schmidt or Chris Ryall, or someone else, but the moves they make always tend to be a bit like the Firefly choice. Obvious after stated, but it took a cool cat to put it in motion.

_{*all filecards pulled from Yojoe.com –an essential site for all versions of Joe fans.}

The second novel is No Dominion, which is probably the best of the bunch. It’s very Empire in that we think it’s better but it take nothing away from the pure enthusiasm that Already Dead instilled in us. Half the Blood of Brooklyn was also fine, but I really thought that the last novel, Every Last Drop represented a bit of a mess and seemed oddly misplaced throughout. The beginning of the novel was hard to get through, and it almost felt like this was a book that had a hard publication date that it wasn’t ready for. The end of the novel very much felt it had just begun (minus some admittedly essential discoveries within the novel) just barely recovering before the end. My Dead Body immediately feels like it has more space. Joe has a case, and we’re caught up with his present situation–again it”s about a girl. There is clarity reestablished, and Huston takes time doing it in the beginning of the novel. Before the last novel this series was quickly becoming one of those series I look to every year or so for a quick pint, and thus far I’m pleased to say it looks like it’s going to regain that status as I no longer have a dilemma of picking my read for the day that I have been having for a few weeks, going back and forth between stacks.

An indie dream realized in Jeff Smith’s Bone, the overwhelming bulk of Gaiman’s Sandman run, and both Marvel’s and DC’s modern benchmarks in the Busiek/Ross Marvels and the Waid/Ross Kingdom Come respectively. The rise of Vertigo as perhaps the publisher with the most enviable catalog of work since its inception. It was when we could open an issue of John Byrne’s Nextmen and find Mignola’s Hellboy–Legends indeed. We had Preacher, the rise of the post-Moore generation (which arguably hasn’t ended) which introduced to us to today’s comic geniuses–people like Warren Ellis, Grant Morrison, and James Robinson. It gave us the mainstream flash of the original Image founders, who love them or hate them were making so much paper that they –even if for just a moment– shook the Mighty Marvel tower. In stark contrast, it also brought us Chris Ware, and all but 4 issues of Eightball, and it was in the ’90s when we first read Creatures of the Id and Mike Allred’s Madman. We first visited the streets and skylines of Astro City in the ’90sm and we ended the decade with seminal works called Planetary and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.

Many people will point to that many of those works happened toward the end of the decade, or that many aren’t superhero books, but the beginning of that decade brought us what is the most well conceived and implemented superhero universe since Stan and Jack smacked us in the ’60s. While throwing a word like best around is rather useless when talking about any form of art, if asked for my opinion on the best (see: most fun) superhero universe the medium has ever seen, I’d argue that in its initial phases that the VALIANT Universe hold that crown. A common term used by Valiant fans is Pre-Unity, which signifies the entirety of the line starting in 1991 with Magnus: Robot Fighter up to the company-wide crossover Unity. The term is common because many fans use and point to it to signify and identify the “Golden Age” of the company. While I don’t dispute the quality of the books that fall in that timeline, I tend to be part of an off-shoot branch that extends that era of excellence through Unity—which I think is perhaps the finest massive crossover or ‘event’ ever in comics. While it’s tough to match the immediacy of single instances within DC’s Crisis on Infinite Earths or the pure fun and nostalgia afford by Marvel’s Secret Wars (Dr Doom was pimp!), I’m not sure either match the ingenuity and ambition of Unity. The failure of VALIANT was not being able to pay-off post-Unity, a second chance I feel they earned with that crossover, after crossing its fans with the ousting of Jim Shooter from the company that he was the literal and figurative foundation of. The exodus would include more than Shooter, as we’d also soon see the departure of J.J. Jackson and David (Stray Bullets) Lapham. Afterwords, VALIANT would go on to set sales standards, but unfortunately would find a way to print even more, and find itself in the middle of a declining market in an inopportune time as they started overreaching with what seemed non-existent marketing information gathering. It does remain hard to argue with those in power as the remaining central figures left would soon bow (sell)out, get their large check from Acclaim and continue to distance themselves from their greatness like they were Marvel running away from Grant Morrison X-Men. While I won’t say what came after was complete rubbish (as if you look at the names associated with those books you will see many familiar and respected names—some I mentioned above when speaking of the virtues of the decade), I can say that it held none of the spirit of VALIANT. Even the legitimately quality material like Quantum and Woody were great but different.

So, when Dark Horse announced at this year’s SDCC that they would be publishing stories of their Gold Key acquisitions, Magnus, Turok and Solar it peaked my interest. These characters were once licensed to VALIANT and two of them–Magnus and Solar–were the keystones of the line. Turok would be introduced to VALIANT later, and while being a character whose relevance to the line is much more debated—I dug him, and find it hard to argue the concept of a Native American badass from the Lost Land hunting dinosaurs that had with intel-boosting implants put on them by a a reality traversing super-human. When it was announced that these books would be written by Jim Shooter himself, my body–without asking me–did a combination of a jump and fist pump, to which these around me kindly pretended they didn’t witness.

CBR reported this statement:

“We’re going to start from scratch and reinvent them,” Richardson said, meaning that continuity from Valiant and other publishers would be wiped clean – but Dark Horse has tapped former Valiant publisher Jim Shooter to oversee the line.

Shooter added:

“I have a long history with these characters”

“I’m gonna give it my best shot. I hope it works out well, and with Mike’s help, all things are possible.”

Before I get ahead of myself, let me note that Dark Horse has been the guardians of a great many other licensed projects: Star Wars, Indiana Jones, and Conan to name a few. It’s the home of Hellboy, BPRD and other Mike Mignolia projects, as well as Eric Powell’s Goon. While perhaps not granted the consistent reputation that Vertigo has with pushing medium boundaries, Darkhorse has been putting out quality, original work going back to even the wonderful Legend imprint (again, from the 90s!), to publishing work like Brian K. Vaughan’s Chabon inspired The Escapists. They are also a rather secure publisher who unlike a lot of comic publishers outside of the Big II, is ran by a real businessman with a proven track record.

Along with the above statement was this:

“The final announcement was the return of a paper version of “Dark Horse Presents.” Many new projects will premiere through that medium, including Classic Media characters Doctor Solar, Magnus: Robot Fighter, Turok and Mighty Samson.”

Dark Horse Presents was the rarest of comic book entities–a successful anthology series that was also the launching title of the company itself in 1986. This is a mind-boggling number, but it ran for over a 150 issues and introduced the world to the shadows of Sin City, Paul Chadwick’s Concrete, and Alien in comic book form.

One might assume that there would be conflict from a diehard VALIANT fan as the rest of the characters that used to populate the VALIANT universe (among my favorites: Bloodshot, Eternal Warrior, Archer and Armstrong, Rai, Shadowman) are now in the hands of people I think most fans would describe as owners who have the best of intentions. That said, Barring a licensing deal to offer time to Dark Horse, dream of the old days seems at the very least vastly diminished. While there are creative loopholes for the owners of VALIANT to implement Solar’s alter ego, and while Turok is admittedly not an essential cog, Magnus is a vital character. I don’t want to come off as all doom and gloom though, there are a lot of creative avenues for the company to take to relaunch—but that’s a very different (and perhaps forthcoming) post.

I’m just pleased that the man who played a substantial roles in creating universes I loved while being Marvel’s Editor-in-Chief in the ’80′s, and who launched VALIANT, DEFIANT and Broadway is going to get another chance with characters he brought back into the modern conscious. What the comics supplied, what we saw and experienced was wonder. Shooter is a figure who is the subject of rather extreme opinions, from both supporters and those who seem to despise the man, but as a fan I only care about what you put on the racks. For myself, the man created universes, and though showcasing the fantastic and elements of Science Fiction with characters possessing titles like Robot Fighter or Dinosaur Hunter, he’s always been able to ground them. Vintage VALIANT was sold to us as a place that resembled the world outside our own window.

I eagerly await exploring new ground with old friends or old ground with new friends. Or rather, perhaps capture a glimpse outside of something just not, something just out of frame that changes the mundane to adventure.

There I go wandering wondering again.