Tag Archives: Sweet Tooth

Back and Forth: Red, Green & Blue

16 Saturday Feb 2013

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Scott Carney: While never done in a ceremonial manner–certainly never hand to heart–I think it’s safe to say, as evidenced by my weekly What’s Up? posts, that I have publicly pledged allegiance–in a case or two, unabashedly blind allegiance–to an exclusive club of comic creators.  Two fellas who fall into that illustrious legion of superscribes are Scott Snyder (Severed, American Vampire) and Jeff Lemire (Essex County, Sweet Tooth).

But I fear–as I do fondly while reading the best of Snyder–that I no longer hear the deliciously shuddersome voice that drew me to him in the first place.  Certainly not in Swamp Thing #17.

Swamp Thing #17

Swamp Thing #17

And, I no longer hear Lemire’s refreshingly veracious voice, either, if I’m being honest–as heartwrenchingly honest as he is when he’s at his best.  Certainly not in Animal Man #17.

Animal Man #17

Animal Man #17

It seems, here, in the two-book Rotworld finale, that each–a true master of his craft–has been thwarted by a wholly unexpected villain: the run-of-the-mill comic book hero.  (Don’t get me wrong: on both fronts, the build up to the finale was just fine.  If I’m being fair, however, Snyder’s work on Swamp Thing was more effective than Lemire’s on Animal Man–most assuredly because Snyder was living closer to home: the terrifying creatures littering the landscape of Rotworld are natural notes for him to play; and he played them well enough–again, until the end of this corrosive crossover.)  What irony, eh?  After laying a foundation–spanning several solid issues– upon which the defenders of fauna and flora fight alongside a surviving set of superbeings, what happens to Snyder’s signature horror?  It’s foiled by the hero.  What happens to Lemire’s signature honesty?  It, too, is foiled by the hero.  Foiled by the heroes’ hailstorm of shockingly silly lines–one more horrifically ridiculous than the next.  Foiled by the heroes’ lack of believable layers, leaving them flat and cold, leaving them decidedly devoid of emotion; leaving them an unbridgeable distance from the ones they supposedly love–and from us.

So, as each creative team shoves its protagonist closer to the end–in this case, toward a portal to the past, which will allow the pair “to stop Arcane” from establishing Rotworld in the first place, kind of like a couple of Terminators after Sarah Connor–the cracks widen, deepen; and the finale collapses under the weight of the concept, resulting not in the presumably successful symphony for which we paid admission, but, instead, in a cacophony of defeat.

Derek Mainhart: I have to agree. What was so interesting about these two titles was  each writer applying their own distinctive voice to the superhero trappings;  Snyder’s almost clinical way with horror and Lemire’s naturalistic rendition of family dynamic amidst trying times. That they were able to do this while simultaneously working different sides of the same story was even more impressive. Now though, both of those strengths have been subsumed by the perceived requirements of epic storytelling: wooden dialogue, numbingly explosive action, and awful sidekicks (in particular, the character of Shepherd suggests Lemire is a part of that small, but distinctive demographic: the Jar Jar Binks fan). Yes, Animal Man has fared worse. As you say, Rotworld is more in Snyder’s wheelhouse; in fact, as I’ve said, the previous issue of Swamp Thing was quite good. And so, despite the unholy mess that was these two issues, I still have (some) faith that Snyder might be able to tie this all up with some sort of fitting coda, in what will be, after all, his last issue. Now that our heroes our back in the present, I hope that Lemire, who is continuing on Animal Man, will return to his strengths as well, tripping the light fantastic between the everyday and the extraordinary. Because the overweening superhero stuff is simply not him.

To wit: Green Arrow #17. This was billed as “jumping on point” due to the new creative team of Lemire and Andrea Sorrentino. And it delivers, in a ‘by the book’ (‘buy the book’?) sort of way: the hero’s status quo is violently dismantled by a new villain who seems to know everything about him. A new mystery is introduced regarding said hero’s past. Confidantes are killed, and cryptic utterances, uttered. All the notes are hit. And yet, to continue your musical metaphor, it doesn’t sing. It’s like a robot playing Beethoven; a rote exercise. Now I’m obviously not a regular reader of Green Arrow. Perhaps to fans of the emerald archer, this issue provided a new direction, a sense of excitement. But I picked it up because it was a Jeff Lemire book. Sadly there is nothing of his voice in this. Anyone could’ve written it.

SC: I hear you, sir! If anything, it’s a three chord ditty: it’s listenable, sure–likeable, even, for what it is; but in the end, what is it, really?  One thing’s for sure, it’s not what we love from Lemire.

DM: What we love, indeed. But what’s all this talk of “voice” and “music”?  In a superhero comic? We’re expecting too much you say? Shame on you, you should know better by now. Any genre can achieve stirring crescendo given the right creator.

I submit: Dial H #9. This issue, indeed the entire series, has served up an aria of imagination by writer China Mieville. His unending cavalcade of absurd, sublime heroes is itself worth the price of admission–not to mention this ridiculous cover by Brian Bolland:

Here, we are treated to the monstrous Minotaura, and her singular method of ensnaring her prey.  (Kudos also to artists Alberto Ponticelli and Dan Green who are quickly finding their feet on this title.)  And then there is The Glimpse, a hero whose inspired power is to stay forever at the periphery of your vision. You see a glove here, a boot there, but the hero himself is just beyond your reach, always teasing you with his promise, but ultimately leaving the panel empty. If there’s a better metaphor for the never-ending, epic-obsessed, hype machine that is the current state of the superhero industry, I’ve yet to find it.  Want to say it together?

SC: Sure! Yeah!  Let’s harmonize. Ready, on three.  One…Two…

SC & DM: Book of the week!

Turning pages,

Scott & Derek

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Back and Forth: Infernal Affairs

26 Saturday Jan 2013

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Batman #16 Cover

Scott Carney: I kinda feel like I’m about to break the law or punch my ticket to hell or something with what I’m about to say about Batman #16 (DC); but I’m going to say it anyway because it’s my honest-to-goodness opinion, and that’s what Images and Nerds is all about; so here it goes: dude, I ain’t feelin’ it.  And what I am feeling–if this qualifies as a feeling–feels forced, kind of like “How can I take a character who is so far over the top by nature–and by cinematic nurture–that even he can’t see the top anymore and make him over-the-top-er?”  Maybe it has nothing to do with Snyder’s storyline at all.  Maybe it has nothing to do with his take on the Joker.  Maybe it has everything to do with the over-the-top expectations–especially after the revelation that was The Court of Owls arc.  Well, whatever it is, Death of the Family has been decidedly underwhelming.  This issue, in particular, seems to be all about the shock value–and knowingly so–all the way to the electrifying final panel of the story proper, where Batman plays the role of a Tesla plasma lamp.  (He sat so quickly that he must have a trick up his sleeve–or rubber drawers on.  I’m leaning toward the latter; I mean, you know he’s prepared for this; he had amazingly absorbent balls in his belt, apparently, which he used to rescue the Arkham Asylum Dancers.  By the way: I did like the dancers, so it wasn’t a total disappointment!)  How does Batman get there in the first place?  Simple: he fights his way through a bunch of armed inmates over the course of three less-than-spectacular–more so muddled and surprisingly, for Greg Capullo, meager–pages; he “RRRAAAAAHHHH”s his way past a royally horrific–in concept, but, sadly, not in execution–tapestry depicting a history of Bat-tragedies and comprised of, umm, well, people sporting PEG-tubes, which is clearly meant to ratchet up the creepiness, all of them stitched together by the Dollman and rendered–ironically–lifelessly by Capullo and–to be fair–inker Jonathan Glapion and colorist FCO Plascencia, who collectively fail to provide the “pop” as promised while the Joker waxes nostalgic about his equal parts woeful and awful living “love letter” to Batman; he walks through three Rogues (Mr. Freeze, Clayface, and Scarecrow) with ridiculous–almost pointless–ease, as if he’s being guided expertly by some geek through yet another level in some Batman/Arkham video game, and knocking off sub-bosses on his way to the final boss, the Joker, who is flanked, unnecessarily, as it turns, by three more anemic antagonists: the Penguin, the Riddler, and Two-Face; he seems to lose his will to live after watching video footage of the members of the Bat-family getting their Bat-butts handed to them; and, finally–maybe even mercifully–he sits.  Yup: that’s how it goes; and I couldn’t care less–especially since the back-up story just inexplicably continues the primary story, but with a co-writer and a different artist, who nudge the hanger back up onto the cliff for a few pages, only to confuse him by offering him another chance to test his grip.  Oh no!  What’s under the cloche?  Come on: does it really matter what’s on the platter?  Credit where credit is due: Jock’s Joker is exceedingly more terrifying than Capullo’s; and, wouldn’t you know, the story’s undeniably better, perhaps thanks to James Tynion IV’s hand in the telling.  That ain’t how it should be, but that’s how it is.  And here’s another “how it is”: as good as Owls was, its end was pretty darned awful.  So, color my expectations low for the conclusion of this claptrap.

Phew.  OK, well, I guess I’m ready for the comic Geekstapo to come cuff me and cart me away.

Derek Mainhart: Yeah, I’m completely with you here. The whole point of this seems to be Snyder turning the Joker dial up to 11. Between the human tapestry bit (which I was even less impressed with; what’re we, drawing inspiration from Human Centipede now?) and the goofy Bat-gadgets for every occasion, this whole exercise is steering dangerously close to camp. This makes Alan Moore’s The Killing Joke (its claim to definitive Joker story still unchallenged) seem positively restrained by comparison. (Perhaps such comparisons are unfair, but when your publicity machine ramps up expectations this high, they’re inevitable.)

Frankenstein: Agent of S.H.A.D.E. #16 (DC): Now here’s a book that could’ve used some publicity. (Hey, we tried.) This comic is not only the latest casualty of the New 52, but also the second Jeff Lemire-related book we’ve lost in the last couple of weeks (after the elegaic Sweet Tooth). If you wanted over-the-top action mixed with a generous amount of high camp, then this book was for you (emphasis on “was“). Series writer Matt Kindt (like Lemire, an emigre from the indy world) brought a distinct, knowing sensibility to the proceedings; this was well-orchestrated chaos. That being said, this issue seemed a bit of a rush; understandable given that it’s the final issue. Still, Kindt gives fans of the book everything they’ve come to expect: arcane conspiracies, outlandish tech with ridiculous acronyms (B.I.G.F.O.O.T. – you’ll have to read it), explosive violence, and wading through it all, the tragicomic figure of Frank, equal parts determination and reluctance. Kindt frames the story from the point of view of a garden variety secret agent from Homeland Security who witnesses Frank and his fellow monsters wreak havoc upon his well-laid plans. At first I thought this was annoying, even superfluous, taking away precious space in what is, after all, a last issue. Then, at the end, said agent submits his account of the action to his superiors. They recommend he take a leave of absence. Further, they inform him they will be editing his report because it is too “…insane”. Could this be sly commentary on the book’s premature cancellation? Either way I’m saddened that this ragtag misfit of a book, like Frankenstein himself, couldn’t find a place in the world. I’ll miss Alberto Ponticelli’s visceral renditions of viscera. I’m glad to see him on Dial H, a book even odder and better than this one. I hope it doesn’t soon suffer the same fate.

Goodbye Frankenstein!

Goodbye Frankenstein!

SC: Yeah, this is a major loss–not just because we’re losing a consistently clever book, but because we’re also losing another forum for the considerable talents of Matt Kindt.  Was I happy with this hastily-stitched-together goodbye?  Not really.  While I liked Frank’s matter-of-fact well-timed bomb–“That’s why I brought explosives”– and a depressed Frank’s knowing countenance as carved out by Ponticelli in the first panel of page 11, I was put off–as you were initially, anyway–by the insinuation of Agent Martin.  Unfortunately, unlike you, I wasn’t able to analyze my way toward any sort of appreciation.  But, ultimately, that’s my fault and my right, right?

DM: Or maybe you’re just lazy.

SC: Luckily, Frankenstein, the character, isn’t suffering the same fate as the monthly that carried his name: according to Lemire, he’ll be a part of the “core” four of Justice League Dark.  So, in a way, he’s Hrrm-ing his way home.

DM: JLD? Color me less than excited.

SC: But if you like your heroes big and green, they don’t come much bigger or greener than the big green guy in Indestructible Hulk #3 (Marvel).  What a smash hit this series has been through its first three issues!  Looks like Mark Waid has found another perfect partner in Leinil Yu.  But while Chris Samnee, Waid’s daring better half on DD, finds success in humorous subtlety, Yu is all about power–both the potential for and the expression of.  The Hulk’s rage has never been captured as well as when Yu unleashes it in massive splashes–in this case, two ridiculously outrageous splashes: one, page 13, will be a classic rendering of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s newest W.M.D.; and two, page 23, Hulk’s Shining moment: Heeeeeere’s Hulkie!  Great stuff.  But that’s all fluff compared to my favorite part of the book: I mean, I could be wrong, but it looks like Waid’s taking a page from the prescription pad of television’s recently retired Dr. House.  By building a team of quirky scientists around Banner, Waid is, like Yu, playing with potential: the door is now open for witty dialogue–one of Waid’s strengths–and complex human interaction, which will most assuredly balance out–or, more likely, outclass–the inevitable monster moments that may tend to ring hollow no matter how spectacular the visuals are.  (See Bendis’s Miles-heavy issues of Ultimate Spider-Man for the ultimate example of  secret identities besting their costumed alter-egos when it comes to compelling narratives.)  And even though the final few panels petered out with an all-too-familiar–and much too goofy–punch to the gob of R.O.B.–a silly Skeets wannabe and instantly obsolete version of a monitoring device assigned to Banner–this is the superhero book I’m most excited about right now.  

Indestructible Hulk #3 Cover

Indestructible Hulk #3 Cover

DM: From superheroes to the supernatural: Rachel Rising #13 (Abstract Studio).  Okay, so I’m late to this party. But I’ve been hearing the accolades (not to mention your constant badgering, Scott), so I gave in and picked up the first trade. Then the second. And now I’m picking up the single issues, such is my craving for this unholy thing. And unholy really is the word. Creator Terry Moore (of Strangers in Paradise fame) has concocted an intoxicating brew of simmering supernatural suspense set against the seemingly quaint town of (the tellingly named) Manson. The story follows Rachel, a young woman who was recently murdered, and who has since, inexplicably, risen from the grave. Not quite alive, not quite dead, Rachel searches for answers behind her death and current state. She doesn’t have to search very far though, because the answers are also looking for her.

The story has a leisurely, atmospheric pace, with entire passages told wordlessly, that owes something to manga. But the narrative itself is firmly rooted in Americana. Rachel’s predicament has some connection to horrific witch trials that took place in Manson 300 years past. Biblical figures (who often play an outsize role in the American imagination) such as the Devil (or a devil) and Lilith are invoked. And then there’s that most American of fiends (judging from TV and movies), the serial killer.

The current issue (13, how apropos) widens the scope of the mythology with the inclusion of Charles Perrault and the “true” story of Sleeping Beauty (you’ll never look at the fairy tale the same way again). Meanwhile Lilith’s dread agents begin putting  her nasty plan for the town in motion, in revenge for the witch trials. The reader may ask, as Rachel does in an earlier issue, what relevance could such long ago events have on the present? In fact, one of Moore’s themes is the insidious way acts of violence reverberate down through history. Furthermore, the type of violence he’s exploring is specifically, intimately, brutally, violence against women. Just a cursory glance at our world of honor killings and gang rape will show that this theme could hardly have more currency.

Sound too heavy? In lesser hands it might be. But Moore displays a light touch; first in his art, with its delicate interplay of line and texture, positive and negative space, and perfectly balanced use of black and white (I wouldn’t want to see a color version of this book). And, just as importantly, in the relationships of his characters: the warmth, resiliency and wry humor of Rachel’s makeshift family, so reminiscent of Strangers in Paradise, offers a refreshing, necessary tonic to all of the awful things that happen to them.

As I said, I’m late to this party. But, as Rachel herself is ample proof of, better late than never. Needless to say, Book of the Week. And one of the best books being published period.

Rachel Rising #13 Cover

Turning pages,

Scott & Derek

Back and Forth: The More Things Change…

18 Friday Jan 2013

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(From On the Road to The Road in one comic review? Read on…)

Scott Carney: Two pages in, I knew that Change #2 (Image) would be my favorite book of the week. This trippy little thing is big on bouncing to the beat of an earlier generation. Oh, we’re on a road, all right; I’m just not entirely sure where that road–or where writer Ales Kot–is taking us, and I’m pretty sure that Google Maps isn’t going to help me.  And, you know what? That aspect, which could easily be a deal breaker, is actually one of the endearing qualities of this enigmatic issue–along with the poetry that pulses like poisoned blood through the veins of the sharply shifting vignettes, which all lead back, apparently, to the newly-revealed lungs of the book: New Atlantis. Another draw comes in the form of the fresh characters, whom I still hardly know two issues into the series, but about whom I care more than the hopeless heroes of of the Avengers Arena and more than the trite assemblage of assassins in the frivolous Thunderbolts.  (Each of those NOW! titles is now a THEN!  That’s right: El Droppo.  Would you say I’ve dropped a plethora of books?)  Sure, yeah, I felt lost; but isn’t that what I’m supposed to feel?  (Isn’t that what the characters feel?)  Damn it!  Isn’t that what I want?  Isn’t that what I’m paying for?  For an escape from the grind?  For a change of pace?  Appropriately, “YESSSSssss.”

Derek Mainhart: I agree that this is one idiosyncratic little book. The analogy you make to beat poetry is good one; this book has an evocative, rambling cadence that seems as much the point as the actual events that take place (whatever they are). The experience of reading an experimental, seemingly stream-of-conscious work like this can be an engaging, highly personal one. Like beat poetry, I appreciate the unorthodox immediacy of it (not to mention Morgan Jeske’s Paul Pope-inflected artwork). But it is simply not my groove. (Or maybe between this, Fatale and Locke and Key, I’ve just reached my quotient of Lovecraft-inspired comics.)

The Superior Spider-Man #1 (Marvel)

Speaking of change, this was billed as a BIG one. As regular readers are aware, I’m among those who are appalled by Spidey’s recent history. So when the rumors started flying about this book’s premise, I started picking up Amazing Spider-Man again for the first time in years. And I have to say, I was intrigued by Dan Slott’s story: having ol’ Doc Ock mind-swap with Peter Parker, then letting Parker die in Ock’s enfeebled body did, in fact, feel like a shake-up of the status quo. Letting a megalomaniac muck about in the life of an icon seemed to have potential (It says volumes about the mess Marvel’s made of Peter Parker that killing him could actually improve the book). So I was on board. And for the first twenty-one pages I was not disappointed (SPOILERS!): Doctor Spider-Pus fighting the new Sinister Six, not so much out of moral obligation but because he’s indignant that they’re sullying his legacy. Then, in true supervillain fashion, he defeats them by leading them into a meticulously prepared, elaborate deathtrap. With great ego, it would seem, comes great responsibility. That ego is again on display in a scene in which the brilliant Doctor starts fraying at the edges with the knowledge that all of his future accomplishments will be credited to Peter. And finally, in the best sequence in the book, Otto Parktavius goes on a date with Petey’s beloved Mary Jane. In a hilarious tour de lettering, Otto’s self-absorbed narration is “pasted” over MJ’s dialogue while he blithely ogles her (I assume this was Slott’s decision, but kudos to letterer Chris Eliopoulos anyway for an effect I’ve never quite seen before).  Ryan Stegman’s aggressive artwork, all sharp angles, blocky shadows and speed-lines, perfectly matched the irreverent tone of a story that held the promise of deconstructing super-hero tropes by turning them on their head (not that this is Watchmen or anything, but there is a gleeful audacity in doing this sort of thing to Spider-Man).

And then page twenty-two. Who should show up to ruin the fun? Why, Peter Parker of course! (or his ghost, or whatevyawn…) Now, I’m not naive; we’re talking about a super-hero comic. Of course Peter’s coming back. Nobody stays dead, silly! But so soon? The first issue of the much hoopla-ed big change? Maybe it was Slott’s plan all along, but this reeks of corporate hand-wringing: God forbid Peter Parker doesn’t appear in a Spider-Man comic for even one issue. (Slott even goes to the extent of having Petey verbalize the Game Plan: “I am Peter Parker. And I swear I will find a way BACK!“) Never mind that this retroactively robs AMS #700 of even the illusion of poignancy less than a month after its publication; in one fell swoop, an edgy, promising, even satirical premise has been rendered safe, predictable and pedestrian – the very opposite of a change in status quo. I, for one, am not looking forward to watching Peter play Lily Tomlin to Otto’s Steve Martin. (Name That Reference! Win a prize!) I haven’t been this deflated by an ending since A.I. Artificial Intelligence.

SC:  Yeah.  Me, too!  No, really: you took the web right out of my shooter.  But I–may I vent?  Come on!  They couldn’t’ve given us three issues–just three issues!–to savor this stroke of genius.  No, sir!  Gosh, I wish I were a spider on the wall during the pitches and the planning and any of the other processes that led to–to–this!  I mean, seriously: was this Slott’s plan all along?  Was there some directive from on high to not let this linger too long?  I’ll tell you what I wasn’t thinking after reading the page that shall remain numberless: Oh boy, I can’t wait to see how Peter comes back!  So, yeah, it’s quite possible that as quickly as they won me over, they’ve lost me.  I’m not too sure how far I’ll follow this not-so-superior turn.

OK, then, well, really speaking of change (you’d think it’s a theme or something): a big change is coming for one of our favorite titles.  And, it’s a bag-shattering change, too.  That’s right: Scott Snyder’s almost done with his run on Swamp Thing (DC); so I guess that means I’m almost done with my run, too.  Aye, and it was a good one.

DM: Yeah, talk about change you can’t believe in. It really is a shame; with issue 16, Snyder has recaptured some of the aura of the first year of the book. The extended build-up to the current Rotworld storyline distinguished itself with a steady baseline of unease, intermittently punctuated by surreal spasms of horror (especially when rendered with skin-crawling effectiveness by sometimes-series artist, Yanick Paquette). The series began to lose a little mojo with the introduction of Anton Arcane as the villain of the piece. The terror went from chillingly existential to almost cartoonish super-villainy (Anton would twirl his mustache if he had a face.) When Rotworld kicked into high gear a few months ago, the book seemed to further strain under the expectations of “epic” storytelling. But here Snyder once again hits his stride with a tale split between the struggle of the past to prevent the nightmarish present. The two strands also serve as emotional counterpoint, traversing the oh-so-short distance between hope and despair. In the (alternate?) present, Swamp Thing valiantly struggles to save, not the world, nor reality itself, but the only thing that matters to him in the end; his love, Abigail. More’s the pity then that Abigail’s quest in the past seemingly renders Swampy’s  heroics utterly futile. This is the stuff of tragedy–and of terror: without giving too much away, let’s just say that when Snyder promises a shock (unlike Superior Spider-Man), he doesn’t back down.

Only two more issues of Snyder and Paquette? Now that’s tragic.

SC: Hell yeah it is!  But, come on: do you really think Abigail’s gone for good?  I have a sneaky suspicion that Mr. Thing is going to use some of his bio-restorative formula to bring her back to life–to some form of life, maybe even as a Swamp Thingess.  That’d be a fitting finale, wouldn’t it: another out-of-step ending for the otherwise superior Scott Snyder.  (See the end of his Batman: Court of Owls arc if you don’t believe me.)

Moving on, I’m willing to admit it: I’ve changed my mind about Shadowman (Valiant) with #3.  A little background: I don’t have any background with Shadowman as a book or as a character.  I figured I’d give it a whirl since Valiant’s revamp was 4-for-4 with two home runs (Archer & Armstrong and Harbinger) and two triples (X-O Manowar and Bloodshot).  The first issue really didn’t do it for me, and I pretty much called it quits there.  Then, during a trip to a more well-stocked shop than my home base, I saw #2 and decided to pick it up because I had a few bucks left over.  (Yeah, I’m still working on the whole willpower thing.  Getting better, though!)  I still wasn’t too taken by it.  Flash forward to another trip to my shop on the side: the proprietor offered up #3 as one of his favorite covers of the week.  Yup.  That was enough for me.  And wouldn’t you know: I really liked it: I finally bought Mr. Twist as a terrifying villain.  I dug the descent into the Deadside; more specifically I was taken–along with Jack–by Jaunty, the talking monkey with the sweet hat and the sweeter Cajun ‘tude.  I appreciated the obvious allusion to King Arthur: Jack, in this case recognizing his responsibility, his destiny, draws the scythe from the shadow and becomes the new Shadowman.  And with that, Justin Jordan and Patrick Zircher have earned a new Shadowfan.  Bring on the big baddie: bring on Master Darque!

DM: And finally (and finally), Sweet Tooth #40 (DC/Vertigo), a book that’s all about change. Throughout it’s run this book has always seemed an odd, at times ill-fitting addition to the post-apocalyptic literary landscape. Jeff Lemire’s take on the end of man seemed to lack the visceral drive of The Walking Dead, the gravitas of I Am Legend, or the pointed political commentary of Y: The Last Man (to name but a few well-known exemplars of the genre). The story seemed to have a narrow focus: the young hybrid boy/deer, Gus and his grizzled protector, Jepperd fight to survive against malevolent pursuers, endlessly chasing them through the woods, determined to discover the mystery of Gus’ creation and, they hope, the key to mankind’s survival. And though the cast expanded, the scope of the narrative was never itself expansive in the way stories like this generally are. The same, however, cannot be said of the art. Nobody does desolate landscapes like Lemire (praise must also be heaped upon series colorist par excellence, Jose Villarrubia, he of the muted earth tones and washed out firmament). The setting and spare nature of much of the writing created a lyrical tone of atmosphere and ache. This restrained aesthetic, which is Lemire at his best (see Essex County) is ultimately what separates this book from the rest of the genre. In fact, with its devotion to craft, the work it most resembles is perhaps Cormac McCarthy’s The Road. Both are about fathers and sons (a recurring theme in Lemire’s work, from The Underwater Welder to Animal Man). And both find hope in the passing of the torch to the next generation. But whereas McCarthy’s hope is a flickering candle in unremittant darkness, Lemire’s is a bonfire of celebration. Though the territory covered by the series may not have broad, this generous, and alas, final issue is expansive in perhaps its most important measure: its heart. Book of the Week. Good Night, Sweet Tooth.

Sweet Tooth #40 Cover

Sweet Tooth #40 Cover

Turning pages,

Scott and Derek