TOP 10 GRAPHIC NOVELS, ONESHOTS, MINICOMICS, ETC. (PART 2)
5. Familiar Face | Michael DeForgeEven for DeForge, this is a pretty rich and resonant work, capturing the not-so-far-fetched experience of living in a world increasingly mediated by synthetic AIs, sentient corporate brands, and bizarre transformations to both the environment and the body triggered from afar like phone app updates. It's haunting, even when the imagery is absurd and deadpan funny. I think the key DeForgian touch here is the way he makes the main character's clingy phone app an actual, affecting character - programmed to be romantically attracted to its owner, which mostly manifests as an irritating over-eagerness to fulfill every desire before it's even verbalized.
4. Cowboy | Rikke VilladsenVilladsen pulls apart the western genre and its conventions - especially regarding gender and sexuality - in ways that are both irreverently funny and really incisive. Her art is dense and detailed, and makes the process very transparent, continually calling into question the reality of the story. Lines are partially erased, limbs are drawn multiple times in sloppy copies to convey motion, and at times the characters seem almost ghostly, the backgrounds showing through them, multiple layers of reality bleeding together on the page as all these lines overlap and conflict. She also uses very obvious cut-and-paste inserts in even more disruptive ways: at one point one of the characters inexplicably gets doubled up within the same panel, standing next to himself. It gives the feeling of a witty Godardian collage, which is supported by the way Villadsen borrows tropes and quotations from western classics, making them her own by radically undermining the genre's assumptions about gender and character. Villadsen makes amazing use of the comic form throughout; this book is as formally playful and inventive as it is thematically rich.
3. Sports Is Hell | Ben PassmorePassmore's ferocious new book grapples mightily with the current political and racial landscape through a satirical apocalypse in which riots over a contested Super Bowl game explode into a civil war with multiple factions murdering one another in the streets. He's engaging in complex political commentary that includes multiple layers of back-and-forth debate about organizing tactics, racial justice, and sectarianism, while also making it work as a bold, cartoony piece of action-packed entertainment with characters who are always very obvious symbols but also function as real characters with real voices and arcs of their own. It's an incredibly difficult thing to pull off, this 60-page political cartoon/action movie, but Passmore balances it all brilliantly. It's as wildly, darkly funny as it is trenchant, packed with memorable figures, but Passmore's vision, for all its uneasy laughs, is bleak and unsparing. Part of the book's despairing brilliance is the clear sense that there's no easy answer, no obvious opening for all these warring ideologies to come to terms with one another and work together towards anything. Everyone's talking past each other, even those ostensibly on the same side, and the system around them does such a good job of amplifying those differences while those in power violently defend their positions. It's all rendered in big, blocky panels with Passmore's elegantly rubbery figures often framed against backgrounds of pure stark black.
2. Vision | Julia GfrörerEerie, unsettling, and thoroughly ambiguous, Gfrorer's latest book explores the sexual frustration and seething, repressed rage of a 19th century widow watching herself settle into a lonely life of service, caring for her needy brother and his ailing but contemptuous wife. Gfrorer's scratchy, meticulous drawing is really something: made up of so many angry little marks, and yet there's always this gulf of space and emptiness in it as well, which creates a lot of the tension in her art. I think this is some of her best work, absolutely ferocious in the way it picks at these themes of a woman's longing and this restrictive society's disdain for her desires. The supernatural elements winding through it all - namely a haunted mirror inhabited by a voyeuristic demon - end up being somehow secondary to the more grounded, everyday horrors.
1. Boston Corbett | Andy Douglas DayA 1,400-page pseudo-biography of an obscure historical footnote: the hatmaker, Union soldier, and deranged religious zealot Thomas "Boston" Corbett, the man who briefly became an American hero for killing Lincoln's assassin John Wilkes Booth. It's drawn in a loose, fluid style that's tempting to call amateurish on first glance, though deeper investigation reveals the compositional and textural sophistication in Day's approach. His style is constantly shifting. Character designs are unstable from page to page, including the central character who drastically changes his appearance without explanation several times. A single figure or surface might feature a mix of inked and uninked pencils for some interestingly crude effects. Day has a wholly idiosyncratic style and philosophy that's all his own, marrying aesthetic looseness to traditional serial virtues like narrative and gag construction. His lumpen drawings and wiggly-limbed figures can look kinda ugly or merely functional at times, but his aesthetic is quite effective at conjuring the feelings of unease, hilarity, and surreal instability that are at the core of his work.
It all comes together into a book that's utterly without peer: "there's nothing else like this" is maybe overused but it certainly applies here. It's a uniquely difficult book to grasp in its entirety, and not just because of its length. Day embraces uncertainty, allowing his characters and situations to transform themselves - sometimes literally on the page, right in front of us, sometimes somewhere off-screen, between pages.
Boston Corbett is overstuffed, grand, simply bursting with wild images and ideas - amoral parables, terrifyingly rendered visions of religious ecstasy, leaps outside of time or into a pristine sci-fi future. At the same time, there's nothing scattershot or half-assed about Day's approach, and he commits completely to the logic of each situation, even if what came before or what's coming next exactly contradicts it. Each scene just reads so well - so smoothly and naturally and often hilariously - that it's easy to lose sight of just how weird this book is in its totality. That contradiction, maybe, is part of the point, and gets to the heart of Day's philosophy of biography: in capturing a single life, he presents a series of scenes that each have a certain logic and internal consistency as stories in themselves, and only when assembled together as a portrait of a person and a span of years do they begin to seem so absurd and incongruous.