'Sing No Evil', Read No Evil, Write No Evil

Firstly, I should begin with a huge apology to you all that I missed last week. I recently moved house and I have a lot going on, so this blog will, unfortunately, from now on become a bi-monthly post, as opposed to a weekly one. If it were up to me, I would continue on as I do now, however unfortunately my university work does come before all else.

                This week is a rather odd review, as I read this particular book partly because I was lucky enough that Abrams & Chronicle gave me a copy, but partly because all my other books are in assorted boxes and suitcases, and so this is my explanation for the saturation of graphic novels on the blog at the moment. ‘Sing No Evil’ instantly appealed to me because a) it involves a man and his fight for his Avant-garde metal band (which sounds a lot like quite a few people I know), but also because b) their drummer is a bear, and I always think that the Dairy Milk advert missed a trick by putting the gorilla not a grizzly to the Phil Collins soundtrack. This book explores one man’s fight for his music, with some demonic tunes, possessed arch rivals and a love triangle thrown in. There are even some enchanting obscure references added to the mix (I particularly like the Opeth cameo), and this is really a book that fills a gap in the market in that sense, whilst still not alienating a regular audience. Maybe the reader will not get the allusion to Kiss, but they will certainly sympathise with Aksel when his vocals are describing in non too flattering terms, versus the new voice of an angel his band mate/love interest Lily finds in a guy she discovers in a takeaway restaurant.

                I will admit that this book has a few problems with story linearity, and there were quite a few points when I questioned, in my standard eloquent manner, what happened to thing with the thing and the other thing. This is also played into the ending a little, which didn’t feel as conclusive as I would have liked it to, and seemed more like a fizzle than a bang. More than anything, the narrative structure was suffering from a syndrome of confusion in terms of pace, either racing forward and entirely showing not telling (with still not quite enough showing), or using such state-the-obvious dialogue you’d have to be blind, deaf and not paying attention in order to not understand. However, the character’s erratic nature and then lazy periods come across really well through this pacing, even if it’s a little uncomfortable to read, and the way music, fast and slow, is depicted is pure brilliance in comic format.

                Sing No Evil can live up to its title in terms of book brilliance, as it stands looking a little like Scott Pilgrim with a little less pop culture and a little more demons. With brilliant art, and mixture of funny, moving and terrifying moments, Sing No Evil is for those who really, REALLY like their music. And I mean really, really like it. 

Excitement Is But 'Seconds' Away

I may have gone a little overboard on the whole graphic novel adoration in recompense for my neglect, but this was not an opportunity to not review (if that makes sense). Thanks to the lovely folks as Abrams & Chronicle, I was able to get my desperate hands on a copy of ‘Seconds’ by Bryan Lee O’Malley. Even now, as I stare at its glowing, red cover on my desk, remembering what it was like to read it makes me, to put it eloquently, squiggly inside with happiness.
                The first thing I must say about this book is simply this: it’s beautiful. Not pretty, not quirky, beautiful. I would say it once again if it were not a word of diminishing returns (also my need to maintain the counter-culture, looks-aren’t-as-important-as-personality demeanour I’m developing on this blog). The colour, the setting, the style, all of it is just wonderful to read. I am a blank canvas (pun intended) in terms of art and illustration, but I can tell when it builds beautifully with a narrative and this is done so wonderfully in  ‘Seconds’. All aspects of this book’s aesthetic marry perfectly its comedy with its tragic side, which, though it may be a balancing act, works so well in this rather frank novel.
                One of the best aspects of this book as a whole is using Katie as the protagonist. She is certainly no Mary Sue, and this only the beginning of what makes her endearing. Similar to O’Malley’s other notorious hero Scott Pilgrim, Katie is unashamed by taking the easy way out, she can be cowardly at times and she is often pretty damn selfish. She has, what I have come to call, ‘Holden Caulfield Syndrome’, but oddly enough she wears it better than most, and comes across in a way that is more flawed human than obnoxious pain. She’s surrounded by other characters who call her out on her mistakes rather than happily ignoring them, which seriously helps, particularly because, personally, I think ‘Seconds’ wouldn’t work if they did. Without spoilers, screw-ups are a major plot point in the novel, and if everyone just went “Oh well, because you are the protagonist, we’ll pretend this didn’t happen and adore you unconditionally and unconvincingly anyway”, it would be more than a little confusing.
                It’s hard to critique this one without sounding like I’m being picky, but I do have to say it was a smidge confusing at points. Maybe I’m a simpleton, but I struggle with Stephen-Moffat-style timelines, and in a graphic novel, whilst being easier in this sense than straight text , it doesn’t erase the confusion entirely. The ending was also a little neat for me, but that’s more a matter of personal preference than it is an actual criticism. I think I’ve said before, despite being a lover of happy endings, I always struggle with believing come characters deserve them. Katie however, did actually develop, a feat accomplished by O’Malley that should not be sniffed at, considering that some authors can’t manage that in a whole series, and so at least there is a strong undertone that she’d worked hard to achieve her neat ending.
                ‘Seconds’ has been long-awaited by fans of Bryan Lee O’Malley’s work (including myself!), and I’m happy to say they won’t be disappointed. Packed with the typical fourth-wall-breaking comedy and unsettlingly poignant tragedy that can be expected, O’Malley delivers this hilarious and yet moving novel with style. 

Beware And Prepare For The Great 'El Deafo'!

I have been a little slack in terms of reviewing graphic novels on this blog. True, I did manage one, however I really don’t think that is giving a nearly good enough image of my longstanding love for them. Although I am a superhero comic reader, my personal favourite style of graphic novel are human stories (doesn’t matter if their contemporary, historical, political, etc) and ‘El Deafo’ by Cece Bell certainly fitted that category for me.

               Based on a true story, this adorable novel centres on Cece and her life as a child growing up with hearing impairment, and how it affects her – in every respect. Oddly enough for me, what I liked best about this portrayal was the appearance conscious nature of Cece, as it made her seem so wonderfully human and relatable. She wasn’t desperately worthy or dysfunctional or pitiful, she was a child facing a lot of difficulties, and struggling the ubiquitous struggle: acceptance from others around her. Another strong element of this book is its comedy, often visual (yes pun intended), and how it makes light of things that, without the illustrations, would likely make readers uncomfortable, as they’d be viewing it from an adult lens, or at the least an objective one. However, because all we see is through Cece, and through her funny view of the world, the reader feels happy to laugh with her at others, rather than feel trapped in a bubble unable to help her.

               On the other hand, this doesn’t kill the poignancy of the book in any way, and Cece’s struggle seem just as honest and daunting to us as if we were living it ourselves. Cece's life could seen as not dramatic enough for some of even a little too easy in places (the boy she happens to fancy lives in her road and seems to be the only one that isn't bothered by the wires), but I think that's the media-installed stereotype expectations of polarised tragedy or success talking. Cece's life is real and appears so to us, in a way that only an unreliable narrator can convey. This reminds to make special mention to the author, Cece Bel,l that she has managed something that so many autobiographies fail to. Whilst all self depictions doubtlessly include the words "I know I wasn't perfect but", there is something about the illustrated format that demonstrates and explains this better than words can. The reader doesn't feel like they should be siding against the Cece in these moments; it is in fact the opposite. You feel a greater sense of empathy with Cece than you would if she was entirely flawed or entirely perfect. It is this very relatable nature that makes the book so addictive.

           I could go on for years regarding the art style for this novel. I could talk a long while about its important accepting attitude. However, I will settle for simply saying this - it did not make me cry and this is it's greatest strength. It is surprisingly easy to evoke tears in a reader, but for something a little deeper and more realistic and yet equally as resonant? That's something to be celebrated.

Back With A Bang: 'Sally Heatcote: Suffragette'

First, I must begin this blog with an apology and that is an apology for my absence for what does feel like absolutely forever, but is actually 2 weeks. This is owing to a huge workload and a lot of stress over the past month, and I hope you will all forgive me. And so, in order to make it up to you, I decided to do something a little different this week. This week I will be reviewing ‘Sally Heathcote: Suffragette’ by Mary M Talbot, Kate Charlesworth and Bryan Talbot. This graphic novel caught my eye in Forbidden Planet, and, thinking it might quite interesting, I thought I’d give it a shot. After reading? Interesting does not even begin to cover how much I enjoyed it.
                I’ll begin with the narrative of the tale; it’s a clever depiction of a working class girl’s experiences with the suffragette movement and the Pankhurst family in general, mainly depicting her fervour and then disillusionment with said movement, and the desperation and fight that women faced at the time. I have read political graphic novels before (if you’re into that kind of thing, track down ‘Cuba: My Revolution’, it’s truly fab), and one of their true talents is telling a side of a story that isn’t so far publicised. When being taught about the suffragettes, most people remember the violence, but the idea that there was any other kind of suffragette but a militant one is something that I think so few people learn. Hell, even I was learning about them, I developed an unhealthy interest with Emily Davidson throwing herself under a horse, before realises that the famous Sylvia Pankhurst was actually a pacifist, but I digress. The protagonist Sally really, at first, believes in the militancy of her movement, a true follower of Christabel Pankhurst, and it is this very belief that makes her growing distaste of it all the more real and her separation from the movement all the more saddening to read. Sally creates a complicated image of the suffragette, a warrior who realises the true damage of some of her actions, which helps us as readers realise that the history we know of heroes and villains, freedom-fighters versus terrorists, is not a complete history, merely one aspect of a far more complex issue.
                Another point I have to make about this book, mainly because it would be a crime to Kate Charlesworth if I didn’t, is that its illustration is not only beautiful, but really adds another layer to the story. The pages contain a muted colour palette, with only the WSPU colours (green, white and purple, before you wiki it) and Sally’s bright orange hair used to break the grey and white frames. There are a few exceptions to this rule, for example the passage which is set entirely in candlelit darkness, but overall the effect of this is staggering. My own personal favourite element of the illustration was the metamorphic sequences representing the cat and mouse act, which really demonstrated the predatory and threatening nature of politics of the time towards the women’s suffrage movement. I also greatly enjoyed the realistic portrayals of women in it (no Barbies or manic pixie dream girls, woohoo!), who all came across as having the appearance of real women, something that a LOT of times is missed from graphic novels with attempts at realism.
                Overall, I have very little to criticise with this one (not that that is very new, but still). It portrays an interesting view of history, beautifully and (equally importantly) accurately, with a stack of references and notes at the back, which, if you’re a bit of a nerd like me and want to re-read with all the footnotes, is fascinating. Which is what I did promptly after reading. Twice.