Thursday, August 14, 2008

Joe Casey Comics: Wildcats Version 3.23

[Continuing my look at Joe Casey's Wildcats Version 3.0. After this, there's only one issue left and I'll discuss that on Saturday.]

Have I been too hard on these final issues and how this book ends? Have I been missing something that connects "Coda War One" to the larger themes and ideas? Have I not dug deep enough? Have I been a lazy, lazy man and a pretty awful critic/insightful commentator/academic?

Let's assume so, because that's much more fun than me just ranting about how awful an end to the series these issues are. That just leaves the question:

WHAT AM I MISSING?

A couple of issues ago, I speculated that the book takes a regressive approach because of corporate pressures (which then become editorial pressures), that it looks to the action-filled issue of yore and figures that sales may pick up with more 'splode and less 'counting (short for accounting). That seems perfectly valid, but wouldn't Casey then try and sneak in some commentary on the action? He's not exactly the type to go cliche and mundane without some snide sarcasm on the cliched nature of the conventions he's playing into. That means I've most likely been missing the snide commentary.

Now, Cole Cash isn't self-aware enough to comment upon the conventions he acts within--most of the time. He has made the odd comment here and there, but never about his actions. He's crtiqued the hell out of Jack Marlowe's actions, though. The only one on Grifter's new Wildcats squad with the necessary objectivity to comment is Dolby, but he's so wrapped up in his own neuroses that he isn't objective. He himself is a comment on Cash, but it's an old comment that was made quite clear back around issue ten. He continues to make it here by not using weapons, but I have a hard time believing that Casey would rely only on Dolby's old point in this story. That leaves someone outside of the team, but I'm assuming FBI agents and Coda warriors don't really have that necessary objectivity either, so I'm going to focus on Marlowe and Agent Wax.

Conveniently because they're on the sidelines monitoring and commenting on the situation. Okay, so I didn't miss that, but I feel I should give you your money's worth and show off a little from time to time. Sadly, there's not much here. At first, it appears that Marlowe is content not to interfere, because he told Cash ahead of time that he wouldn't. He says that Cash knew the risks and went ahead anyway. Wax then gives a little speech on loyalty and reminds us that this isn't business, it's family. Marlowe reveals that he always intended to help and sets something off in Agent Orange's head, so he breaks free of his bonds and rescues Zealot. Then, Marlowe teleports elsewhere. Not much commentary.

Unless his actions are commentary. Agent Orange is in a position to help because of his forethought--and against Cash's objections. Cash knew the risks and said he didn't need Marlowe's help, but then claims different later. It's clear that Marlowe's involvement in "Coda War One" is a critique of Cash and his methods. Marlowe is meticulous and plans ahead; he's logical and thinks things through. Cash just jumps in with guns blazing and fucks things up. The parallel is made implicit through Cash's proxy use of the cyborg Ladytron body. In fact, Cole Cash isn't in any real danger. As far as I can tell, he's still in Los Angeles controlling Grifter Version 3.0. We haven't actually seen Cash since issue 20 and we don't see him again. He's just as protected as Marlowe--just as safe and distant. The only difference is the illusion of personal danger and involvement. I'm actually surprised we didn't get a scene where Cash exits the battle and goes to Marlowe's office to yell at him in person, to remind him of his obligation.

I've found Cash's use of Ladytron intriguing and I'm beginning to think that its replacement of him reflects Marlowe's replacement of Emp. And I wonder what Casey would have done with that had the series continued. Hmm. Guess we'll never know.

Next issue: the conclusion. About damn time, I know. I mean, I began discussing Wildcats back in March. That's a loooooooooong time, folks.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

I Bought Comics: Second Week of August 2008

[To call these reviews would be kind. Blurbs is more like it. Sometimes calling them rants is accurate. Just so you know.

On the bus to the comic shop, a woman and a man got into an argument over issues unknown to me. They weren't sitting together and seemed to be strangers, but they had a very vocal argument. I don't know what it was about because I had my discman on (No Wow by the Kills was the CD). From what I could piece together by the woman's actions (telling people to move for a lady with a stroller and then shutting windows because of the AC), she thought she was in charge of the bus and this man had done something wrong by... sitting in his seat. In between songs, I did learn that the man served in the armed forces, but didn't learn why that mattered. Buses are weird.

Astonishing X-Men #26

Wow, I am not digging Simone Bianchi's art on this book. It just doesn't have the same skill or oomph as his previous stuff. It's also weird to watch as Cyclops's visor changes shape from panel to panel... The colouring is drab still.

Ellis's writing, on the other hand, is a little slow here, but the dialogue is sharp and I'm enjoying myself. He's obviously drawing on the works of Morrison and Whedon here--taking what he likes and gently mocking what he doesn't. Works for me.

Batman #679

Dr. Hurt thinks he's Thomas Wayne. The new Batman isn't Bruce Wayne, not really. Batman was created by a checkerboard and the Joker is obsessed with checkerboard patterns. The first villain to fall is a cheap Joker rip-off, making the Joker's place in the Club of Villains secure. Bat-Might? Has the Batman become just like the Joker? Hmm. Hurm.

Captain Britian and MI:13 #4

Three words: "No more Skrulls." Oh ho ho, Paul Cornell is a funny, funny guy. This book continues to be witty and fun; heroic and inspiring; modern, but also traditional. Cornell writes a British book quite unlike other Brit superhero books we've seen before, and it works very well. And that ending... what does that mean? Although, I do find it funny that Brian gives up Excalibur because he's used it to kill... Um, what did he think King Arthur used it for?

The Last Defenders #6

I called who the new Nighthawk would be. For the record. I can't remember where (probably in a review for issue two or three right here), but I did. For I am genius. Lovely paradox of an ending: the Last Defenders are created by Kyle Richmond because the Last Defenders save Kyle Richmond, thus showing him who the Last Defenders are. Not quite convinced why these four people are the perfect mixture and Casey doesn't really attempt to explain it. This series has been an examination on the nature of superhero teams, what works, what doesn't, and the lack of explanation is part of that. Who knows why one team works and another doesn't? There is a suggestion that the four elements play a role here in a similar manner to the Fantastic Four, but it's a semi-subtle one. There's also the connection to the original Defenders, although I don't see how Nighthawk connects to the Silver Surfer. What am I missing there? And, will we see more of this group soon? The end seems to suggest that we will. Good.

Secret Invasion #5

Graeme has a point. What was the point of the tease at the end of issue four when it's not followed up here at all? I mean, this book is full of cool scenes and all, but, as a narrative, it's really falling apart. Is there a narrative anymore?

Secret Invasion: Thor #1

This was decent, but nothing spectacular. Beta Ray Bill falls to Earth. The Skrulls want to kill the Asgardians. Donald Blake has to deliver a baby. I trust Fraction to amp it up a bit in the next two issues, but this didn't wow me. I'm not a big fan of the lack of inks here, either. It doesn't look that bad, just a little muddled and unfinished--and for no apparent reason.

Transhuman #3

I totally forget who is who in this book. But, there are some interesting bits in this issue on the nature of humanity and advanced monkeys. It's an interesting book at the very least. How well it works as a narrative I don't know, but we'll see how all four issues read together.

Young Liars #6

David Lapham is good. I both care for and hate most of the characters in this book. And I never know what's going to happen next. Last issue surprised the hell out of me and so does this one. The man obviously has a plan or he's making it up as he goes. Either way, I'm really digging the hell out of his book.

New feature announcement! Starting on Friday, I'll be doing a longer review/analysis of one of the comics I buy that week. It will be based purely on what I feel like talking about. What's interesting. I have no idea which one of these books it will be yet, but if you want to request a more detailed look at one of them, go for it. Not that your opinion will necessarily matter, but it may get me thinking and who knows where that will lead.

Tuesday, August 12, 2008

Joe Casey Comics: Wildcats Version 3.22

[Continuing my look at Joe Casey's Wildcats Version 3.0. We're down to the last three issues, so the posts on Thursday and Saturday will finish it up.]

A small blip on the long fall to the bottom. (Are there blips on falls?) This issue is the best of the final six pot-Coup D'Etat issues and it's not that great. At least for my purposes. Don't get me wrong, these final six issues are not bad comic books; they're just boring comics that lack the ambition, style, scope and promise of the rest of the series. I'm judging them against the series's potential--and they fail. Nothing new in me saying that, though.

In the subplot, Grifter's Wildcats over in Europe continue to fuck up Coda stuff and finally piss off the Coda enough that they notice them. The issue ends with a call to Jack Marlowe asking for back-up.

The main plot has a telepathic assassin infiltrating Halo as a janitor and trying to kill Marlowe. Agent Wax knows this and flies to Los Angeles to warn/help Marlowe. Not that that matters since Marlowe is a super-powered android (I say "super-powered" because of his connection with the Void entity) and knew about the assassin the whole time.

There's a showdown, but one of Casey's "anti-climatic" ones where Marlowe teleports himself, Wax and the nameless assassin to Otherspace, the source of the fuel for Halo's everlasting batteries. Here, Marlowe berates the assassin for being what he is--even calls him a cliche--before teleporting him directly into Otherspace. The sad thing here is that the scene is a cliche. The little speech Marlowe gives is a cliche. He's right, of course, but we've seen it a few times before in this series and the previous volume--from Marlowe. Marlowe doesn't act decisively exactly, he likes to toy with his prey, to make his little speeches... and then kill them. Or, he allows them to make their little speeches... and then kills them. He did it with Smith, Noir, the Smack Fairy... Actually, no, this is the first time in this volume that he did this. He's made speeches in this volume, but not before killing anyone like this. Another regression? Is this issue not a blip, but a further sign of the series's decline?

Today, in a post on Wildstorm, CSBG's Brad Curran claimed, that Casey's Wildcats "...is completely overrated by the 12 people who liked it and were really vociferous about it on the ‘net, from the small sample size I’ve read." He's right, you know (not about the 12 people or the "completely" part, but...). It is overrated and these final six issues--hell, most of the second half of the series--shows that. A book full of promise that turned into a failure artically and commercially. At least, before that, it was just a failure commercially.

Two more issues left.

Monday, August 11, 2008

Two reviews

It's been a while. I took the summer off from writing reviews, basically. But now I'm back with two links: one to my review of Flight Explorer and one to a review of Life Sucks.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

Raymond Chandler's Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story: Strange Kiss

[Another in my series of posts where I take Raymond Chandler's "Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story" (plus the 13 addenda) and apply them to a comic book mystery story. Right now, posts tend to show up on Sundays, but that could easily change when I run out of stories to discuss.]

I know what some of you must be thinking: "Is Strange Kiss a mystery story?" Fair question. The short answer is "Yeah, sure, why not." The long answer is "Um... kinda. See, it's mostly a horror story about a guy getting revenge. But, seeing as how he has to figure out who to get revenge upon, he has to solve the mystery of who killed his buddy. It's not the central premise of the story, but it is a mystery. And, you know, after two weeks of stories that are obviously mysteries, I wanted to go for something a little askew. Something a little more messy, a little less certain. Something that borrows mystery elements, so we can see that genre-mixing is fun. Also, I didn't want another story set in Gotham after last week and I wasn't in the mood to go hunting for Ed Brubaker's Point Blank. So, let's look at this book and see how a story with the bare minimum of a mystery nonetheless holds up to Raymond Chandler's ghostly scrutiny. Also, using the first arc from Desolation Jones would have been a bit obvious. And, I wanted to have a laugh."

For those who don't know, Strange Kiss is a very simple story: William Gravel is a member of SAS, and is in the US on deniable ops doing horrible things for the British government. His oldest mate, Bull is gay and fucked a young man who somehow made his dick rot off and impregnate him with lizards. Because Bull is over the hill, he dies in the process of them being born--not before making Gravel promise to find those responsible and fuck them up. Through some basic detective work, Gravel discovers that a very old lizard being from another plain of existence is using pseudopods to impregnate humans so it can, well, have kids. Gravel hunts down the pseudopods, kills them and then kills the giant lizard thing. Of course, the central mystery: who filled Bull with little lizard eggs that wound up killing him? Simple enough. Let's get to it.

Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story (Revised April 18, 1948)

1. It must be credibly motivated, both as to the original situation and the denouement; it must consist of the plausible actions of plausible people in plausible circumstances, it being remembered that plausibility is largely a matter of style. This requirement rules out most trick endings and a great many "closed circle" stories in which the least likely character is forcibly made over into the criminal, without convincing anybody. It also rules out such elaborate mises-en-scene as Christie's Murder in a Calais Coach, where the whole setup for the crime requires such a fluky set of happenings that it could never seem real.

Giant lizard thing wants to perpetuate its species. It sees humans as a lesser form of life and killing them in the process isn't really a consideration. I'd say that motive is credible.

2. It must be technically sound as to the methods of murder and detection. No fantastic poisons or improper effects from poison such as death from nonfatal doses, etc. No use of silencers on revolvers (they won't work) or snakes climbing bellropes ("The Speckled Band"). Such things at once destroy the foundation of the story. If the detective is a trained policeman, he must act like one, and have the mental and physical equipment that go with the job. If he is a private investigator or amateur, he must at least know enough about police methods not to make an ass of himself. When a policeman is made out to be a fool, as he always was on the Sherlock Holmes stories, this not only depreciates the accomplishment of the detective but it makes the reader doubt the author's knowledge of his own field. Conan Doyle and Poe were primitives in this art and stand in relation to the best modern writers as Giotto does to da Vinci. They did things which are no longer permissible and exposed ignorances that are no longer tolerated. Also, police art, itself, was rudimentary in their time. "The Purloined Letter" would not fool a modern cop for four minutes. Conan Doyle showed no knowledge whatever of the organization of Scotland Yard's men. Christie commits the same stupidities in our time, but that doesn't make them right. Contrast Austin Freeman, who wrote a story about a forged fingerprint ten years before police method realized such things could be done.

Okay, the means of murder here are fantastical, but that's okay. Gravel's methods of detection are sound... kind of. He hangs around the hospital where Bull died, and waits to go talk with the coroner. While waiting, he sees a couple of very odd-looking people head in the direction of the morgue. He finds them guns out on two coroners, and kills them both. He finds a card for the art exhibit Bull visited where he encountered the man he had sex with--and also uses magic to discover exactly what the lizard people are. Okay, the magic part is a little dubious, but the rest is sound.

3. It must be honest with the reader. This is always said, but the implications are not realized. Important facts not only must not be concealed, they must not be distorted by false emphasis. Unimportant facts must not be projected in such a way as to make them portentous. (This creation of red herrings and false menace out of trick camera work and mood shots if the typical Hollywood mystery picture cheat.) Inferences from the facts are the detective's stock in trade; but he should disclose enough to keep the reader's mind working. It is arguable, although not certain, that inferences arising from special knowledge (e.g., Dr. Thorndyke) are a bit of a cheat, because the basic theory of all good mystery writing is that at some stage not too late in the story the reader did have the materials to solve the problem. If specal scientific knowledge was necessary to interpret the facts, the reader did not have the solution unless he had the special knowledge. It may have been Austin Freeman's feeling about this that led him to the invention of the inverted detective story, in which the reader knows the solution from the beginning and takes his pleasure from watching the detective trace it out a step at a time.

We actually have more information than Gravel does most of the time. We get scenes involving other humans and the lizard pseudopods. But, everything Gravel knows, we know. Nothing is concealed. Maybe that magic bit where he figures out exactly what the pseudopods are, but when he uses it, we see what he sees, so how he does it isn't exactly cheating the reader. Particularly since it involves taking off his pants and doing... something to a pseudopod body... Probably best that those details are concealed.

4. It must be realistic as to character, setting, and atmosphere. It must be about real people in the real world. Very few mystery writers have any talent for character work, but that doesn't mean it is not necessary. It makes the difference between the story you reread and remember and the one you skim through and almost instantly forget. Those like Valentine Williams who say the problem overrides everything are merely trying to cover up their own inability to create character.

Despite the lizard pseudopods and magic, this story happens in the real world. Gravel doesn't give us much character, but that's not unusual for the special ops soldier type. One of the coroners, Leigh Hunt is very human and assists Gravel a bit. Their small bits of interaction are funny and add humanity to a story about people being buggered by lizards.

5. It must have a sound story value apart from the mystery element; i.e., the investigation itself must be an adventure worth reading.

Since the mystery element is minor here, the story definitely has value beyond it. It's both a horror story and a revenge story. Both of those work, but I think the revenge element is the most important--the mystery/detection stuff assists the revenge. Considering the mystery is solved at the end of the second issue (three issues total), it obviously holds some value outside of the mystery if I'd read the final issue. I've also reread this series many times, showing its value there, as well.

6. To achieve this it must have some form of suspense, even if only intellectual. This does not mean menace and especially it does not mean that the detective must be menaced by grave personal danger. This last is a trend and like all trends will exhaust itself by overimitation. Nor need the reader be kept hanging on the edge of his chair. The overplotted story can be dull too; too much shock may result in numbness to shock. But there must be conflict, physical, ethical or emotional, and there must be some element of danger in the broadest sense of the word.

It's lizards in people suits impregnating people... yeah, I think the readers want to know how this one turns out. The suspense is there. Gravel never even seems in that personal of danger. He's very calm and cool under pressure. All of the suspense comes from the sheer horror of the situation. Since it is a short story, the shock value doesn't really have a chance to wear off, thankfully.

7. It must have color, lift, and a reasonable amount of dash. It takes an awful lot of technical adroitness to compensate for a dull style, although it has been done, especially in England.

Well, it's got that Warren Ellis charm we all know and love. It moves along at a swift pace with bursts of action with some wit and humour thrown in.

8. It must have enough essential simplicity to be explained easily when the time comes. (This is possibly the most often violated of all the rules). The ideal denouement is one in which everything is revealed in a flash of action. This is rare because ideas that good are always rare. The explanation need not be very short (except on the screen), and often it cannot be short; but it must be interesting in itself, it must be something the reader is anxious to hear, and not a new story with a new set of characters, dragged in to justify an overcomplicated plot. Above all the explanation must not be merely a long-winded assembling of minute circumstances which no ordinary reader could possibly be expected to remember. To make the solution dependent on this is a kind of unfairness, since here again the reader did not have the solution within his grasp, in any practical sense. To expect him to remember a thousand trivialities and from them to select that three that are decisive is as unfair as to expect him to have a profound knowledge of chemistry, metallurgy, or the mating habits of the Patagonian anteater.

Giant lizard being needs living beings as incubators. Very short and to the point. There's no strict denouement here. The end of the second issue gives us the point of the pseudopods, while the third issue gives a bit more detail. It's very simple and basic: procreation. Can't get much more basic a motive than that.

9. It must baffle a reasonably intelligent reader. This opens up a very difficult question. Some of the best detective stories ever written (those of Austin Freeman, for example) seldom baffle an intelligent reader to the end. But the reader does not guess the complete solution and could not himself have made a logical demonstration of it. Since readers are of many minds, some will guess a cleverly hidden murder and some will be fooled by the most transparent plot. (Could the "Red-Headed League" ever really fool a modern reader?) It is not necessary or even possible to fool to the hilt the real aficionado of mystery fiction. A mystery story that consistently did that and was honest would be unintelligible to the average fan; he simply would not know what the story was all about. But there must be some important elements of the story that elude the most penetrating reader.

Does it baffle an intelligent reader? Since the mystery is pretty simple, I'm not sure it does--or is meant to. However, we don't learn of the giant lizard creature until Gravel does, so unless a reader guessing its existence, I suppose the reader is baffled.

10. The solution must seem inevitable once revealed. This is the least often emphasized element of a good mystery, but it is one of the important elements of all fiction. It is not enough merely to fool or elude or sidestep the reader; you must make him feel that he ought not to have been fooled and that the fooling was honorable.

Okay, what else besides a giant lizard creature is going to impregnate people with tiny lizards? This is one of the most inevitable solutions you'll find.

11. It must not try to do everything at once. If it is a puzzle story operating in a rather cool, reasonable atmosphere, it cannot also be a violent adventure or a passionate romance. An atmosphere of terror destroys logical thinking; if the story is about the intricate psychological pressures that lead apparently ordinary people to commit murder, it cannot then switch to the cool analysis of the police investigator. The detective cannot be hero and menace at the same time; the murderer cannot be a tormented victim of circumstance and also a heavy.

Gravel may be our detective and protagonist, but he's a soldier and killer. He is menacing and brutal, but not particularly heroic. It's a horror/revenge story and sticks pretty much to that throughout.

12. It must punish the criminal in one way or another, not necessarily by operation of the law. Contrary to popular (and Johnston Office) belief, this requirement has nothing much to do with morality. It is a part of the logic of detection. If the detective fails to resolve the consequences of the crime, the story is an unresolved chord and leaves irritation behind it.

Gravel kills the giant lizard creature and slaughters as many of the pseudopods--and pregant humans--as possible along the way.



Addenda

1. The perfect detective story cannot be written. The type of mind which can evolve the perfect problem is not the type of mind that can produce the artistic job of writing. It would be nice to have Dashiell Hammett and Austin Freeman in the same book, but it just isn't possible. Hammett couldn't have the plodding patience and Freeman couldn't have the verve for narrative. They don't go together. Even a fair compromise such as Dorothy Sayers is less satisfying than the two types taken separately.

This isn't a detective story proper. Yes, the second issue has elements of the detective story, but those aid in Gravel's main motivation: revenge. Ellis describes Strange Kiss as a horror story, but it really reads like a revenge story more than anything. It has elements of the horror and mystery genres, but, at its core, is about William Gravel fucking up those responsible for his friend, Bull's death. And Ellis focuses on that pretty well.

2. The most effective way to conceal a simple mystery is behind another mystery. This is litrary legerdemain. You do not fool the reader by hiding clues or faking character [ala] Christie but by making him solve the wrong problem.

The mystery here is so simple that there isn't much to hide behind. The reader may be distracted by the mystery of who William Gravel is exactly. Or, the role of the pseudopods. But, there's barely a primary mystery, so a secondary one would be a bit much.

3. It has been said that "nobody cares about the corpse." This is bunk. It is throwing away a valuable element. It is like saying the murder of your aunt means no more to you than the murder of an unknown man in an unknown part of a city you never visited.

The key to caring about the corpse here is caring about Gravel. If the reader doesn't care about Gravel, then it obviously won't care about his dead friend. Does the reader care about Gravel? Is the reader given any reason to? I mean, Gravel is the protagonist, obviously, but is that enough? He visits his sick friend in the hospital--but while doing deniable ops in a foreign country... and, later, we discover, he should have left, but was doing some moonlighting work for money. Gravel is a pretty horrible person, probably. That doesn't necessarily prevent the reader from caring about him, though. Bull is a little more sympathetic in that we see that he's pregnant with lizards and his dick has rotted off. I think we don't really care about either until near the end of the last issue when Gravel says to the giant lizard creature, "LOOK, IT'S A SHAME. KIDS ARE IMPORTANT. NOT FUCKING DYING IS IMPORTANT. I AGREE YOU'VE GOT THE SHITTY END OF THE STICK. / BUT HE WAS MY ONLY FRIEND." Here, we pity Gravel, because he is a horrible person and quite powerful, but he's alone and looks to remain that way because of the choices he's made. He is the type of guy, though, who hunts down the giant lizard creature that killed his friend and kills it. That's got to count for something.

But, no, we don't care about the corpse really.

4. Flip dialogue is not wit.

I rather enjoy Ellis's dialogue here. It's him doing that "hard man" shit and it's rather funny at times. There's also some wit in its honesty. Like Gravel annoyed when his grenade gets stuck in his jacket. It's direct dialogue with little room for anything else.

5. A mystery serial does not make a good mystery novel. The "curtains" depend for their effect on your not having the next chapter to read at once. In book form these curtains give the effect of a false suspense and tend to be merely irritating. The magazines have begun to find that out.

The transitions from issue to issue are pretty solid here. Information is given again near the beginning of issues two and three, but since the events here are so unusual and messed up, characters repeating things to get them sorted out makes sense. If you saw your best friend die while lizards shot out of his ass, you'd probably repeat it for a while... if only to convince yourself that it happened.

6. Love interest nearly always weakens a mystery story because it creates a type of suspense that is antagonistic and not complementary to the detective's struggle to solve the problem. The kind of love interest that works is the one that complicates the problem by adding to the detective's troubles but which at the same time you instinctively feel will not survive the story. A really good detective never gets married. He would lose his detachment, and this detachment is part of his charm.

Ah, Leigh Hunt... Ellis fakes us out with her. She appears like she'll be a love interest, but, of course, she's not. Although, we do get a bit of humanity from Gravel as he at least leaves her alive--albeit without her memory of him or these events. He's compromised, slightly, but manages to remain detached, too.

7. The fact that love interest is played up in the big magazines and on the screen doesn't make it artistic. Women are supposed to be the target of magazine fiction and movies. The magazines are not interested in mystery writing as an art. They are not interested in any kind of writing as an art.

Um...

8. The hero of the mystery story is the detective. Everything hangs on his personality. If he hasn't one, you have very little. And you have very few really good mystery stories. Naturally.

Gravel has a personality. He's got a sense of humour here, but isn't sophisticated. (I'm trying my best to look at the character in just this story, not including what I know from subsequent stories featuring the character.) He's loyal and can turn a phrase. He's also very direct and capable. Since he has spawned... what, five more mini-series and then an ongoing series starring him, I'd say he's got some personality.

9. The criminal cannot be the detective. This is an old rule and has once in a while been violated successfully, but it is sound as it ever was. For this reason: the detective by tradition and definition is the seeker of truth. He can't be that if he already knows the truth. There is an implied guarantee to the reader that the detective is on the level.

William Gravel is not a giant lizard creature. He kills the giant lizard creature.

10. The same remark applies to the story where the first-person narrator is the criminal. I should personally have to qualify this by saying that for me the first-person narration can always be accused of subtle dishonesty because of its appearance of candor and its ability to suppress the detective's ratiocination while giving a clear account of his words and acts. Which opens up the much larger question of what honesty really is in this context; is it not a matter of degree rather an absolute? I think it is and always will be. Regardless of the candor of the first-person narrative there comes a time when the detective has made up his mind and yet does not communicate this to the reader. He holds some of his thinking for the denouement or explanation. He tells the facts but not the reaction in his mind to those facts. Is this a permissible convention of deceit? It must be; otherwise the detective telling his own story could not have solved the problem in advance of the technical denouement. Once in a lifetime a story such as The Big Sleep holds almost nothing back; the denouement is an action which the reader meets as soon as the detective. The theorizing from that action follows immediately. There is only a momentary concealment of the fact that Marlowe loaded the gun with blanks when he gave it to Carmen down by the oil sump. But even this is tipped off to the reader when he says, "If she missed the can, which she was certain to do, she would probably hit the wheel. That would stop a small slug completely. However she wasn't going to hit even that." He doesn't say why, but the action follows so quickly that you don't feel any real concealment.

There is no narrator here. The perspective is not exclusively place on Gravel, though. We get information he doesn't involving other humans and the lizard people. Gravel conceals nothing from the reader, basically. This is one of those rare mysteries where we know more than him.

11. The murderer must not be a loony. The murderer is not a murderer unless he commits murder in the legal sense.

I assume the giant lizard creature isn't insane. Wanting to procreate is a pretty sane desire.

12. There is, as has been said, no real possibility of absolute perfection [in writing a mystery story]. Why? For two main reasons, of which has been stated aboved in Addenda Note 1. The second is the attitude of the reader himself. Readers are of too many kinds and too many levels of culture. The puzzle addict, for instance, regards the story as a contest of wits between himself and the writer; if he guesses the solution, he has won, even though he could not document his guess or justify it by solid reasoning. There is something of this competitive spirit in all readers, but the reader in whom it predominates sees no value beyond the game of guessing the solution. There is the reader, again, whose whole interest is in sensation, sadism, cruelty, blood, and the element of death. Again there is some in all of us, but the reader in whom it predominates will care nothing for the so-called deductive story, however meticulous. A third class of reader is the worrier-about-the-characters; this reader doesn't care so much about the solution; what really gets her upset is the chance that the silly little heroine will get her neck twisted on the spiral staircase. Fourth, and most important, there is the intellectual literate reader who reads mysteries because they are almost the only kind of fiction that does not get too big for its boots. This reader savors style, characterization, plot twists, all the virtuosities of the writing much more than he bothers about the solution. You cannot satisfy all these readers completely. To do so involves contradictory elements. I, in the role of reader, almost never try to guess the solution to a mystery. I simply don't regard the contest between the writer and myself as important. To be frank I regard it as the amusement of an inferior type of mind.

The audience here is the second type of reader: those who want "sensation, sadism, cruelty, blood, and the element of death." And the story provides. I think Ellis is able to elevate it to also target the fourth type of reader, but make no mistake, the goal here is horrific violence and fucked up shit. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

13. As has been suggested above, all fiction depends on some form of suspense. But the study of the mechanics of that extreme type called menace reveals the curious psychological duality of the mind of a reader or audience which makes it possible on the one hand to be terrified about what is hiding behind the door and at the same time to know that the heroine or leading lady is not going to be murdered once she is established as the heroine or leading lady. If the character played by Claudette Colbert is in awful danger, we also know absolutely that Miss Colbert is not going to be hurt for the simple reason that she is Miss Colbert. How does the audience's mind get upset by menace in view of this clear knowledge? Of the many possible reasons I suggest two. The reaction to visual images and sounds, or their evocation in descriptive writing, is independent of reasonableness. The primitive element of fear is never far from the surface of our thoughts; anything that calls to it can defeat reason for the time being. Hence menace makes its appeal to a very ancient and very irrational emotion. Few men are beyond its influence. The other reason I suggest is that in any intense kind of literary or other projection the part is greater than the whole. The scene before the eyes dominates the thought of the audience; the normal individual makes no attempt to reconcile it with the pattern of the story. He is swayed by what is in the actual scene. When you have finished the book, it may, not necessarily will, fall into focus as a whole and be remembered by its merit so considered; but for the time of reading, the chapter is the dominating factor. The vision of the emotional imagination is very short but also very intense.

There's a suspense here in the idea of "What happens if William Gravel fails?" Since this is a new character with no history and considering Ellis's reputation/track record, this story could have easily ended with the human race overrun by the lizard people and the entire planet turned into one big rape camp for the giant lizard creature, you know? In the back of the reader's head is that scenario: everyone on the planet is a possible breeding place for these things. "Someone just like me can have little lizards inside of them... ready to burst forth, killing me in the process." It's a scary thought and there's no guarantee that things will turn out alright. But, it's also a revenge story, and what's the point of that without the revenge?

Alright, that does it for this installment. A bit of a cheat this week, I know. Next week, I promise a "proper" proper mystery.

Saturday, August 09, 2008

Joe Casey Comics: Wildcats Version 3.21

[Continuing my look at Joe Casey's Wildcats Version 3.0. Next week is the final week of the series with posts on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.]

I really like this cover. The use of negative space is wonderful. I also enjoy how the final issues have that standard trade dress at the top of the cover. The only thing that ruins the cover are the little "®"s after Zealot and Coda. Except, they don't really ruin the cover, do they? In fact, could the little "®"s enhance the thematic underpinnings of the comic? The conceptions of corporate ownership... what are their relationships to art? Casey hasn't touched on that, has he? Here, the relationship is quite clear: it fucks it up. How goddamn stupid do the little "®" symbols look there? At least the bar code doesn't fuck things up too much. No, the corporate concerns mess up the artistic ones--I wonder, did they alter the direction of the book at all? Casey got a look at the sales and figured that "Coda War One" would maybe help things out, that maybe readers weren't quite ready for corporate intrigue, discussions about technological advancements that don't involve blowing things up, and non-cliched storytelling? Does the book end on a sour note as a result of corporate concerns? Is the overall artistic merit of the title compromised because of sales? Is the cover really made less attractive by little "®" symbols? And, why oh why am I babbling about this nonsense?

Because there isn't much else to discuss. This issue does offer up one bit of interest: Agent Wax (acting as Agent Downs, of course) cooperates with an interagency task and responds with the correct code word when someone phones him. That's all he has to do... and he's authorised the assassination of Jack Marlowe. Also, the so-called perfect life of Wax/Downs isn't so perfect as things are getting a little snippy with Miriam--perhaps Wax is learning that life isn't quite so simple, that it isn't so easy to maintain perfection and affection when things come up?

The rest of the issue is Coda stuff. Grifter and his group are in Europe where they hunt down some Coda and businessmen and it's all very interesting... And the Coda hate Zealot and she hates them...

Next issue: the attempted assassination of Jack Marlowe.

Friday, August 08, 2008

The Splash Page 26: Final Crisis #3

In this week's Splash Page, Tim Callahan and I discuss Final Crisis #3 plus the "director's cut" of the first issue. Yeah, we both spent five bucks on that. We're suckers like that. But, at least this was Tim's first "director's cut" issue. I've gotten three in the past. One out of necessity and two because I felt like it. Wow, I am a sucker for a script, aren't I? Marvel and DC could start rereleasing every comic I've gotten this past year with a script in the back and I'd wind up buying them all most likely. That's sad. What is my obsession with scripts?

But, the more important question: are Tim and I still loving Final Crisis? The answer and much, much more in... THE SPLASH PAGE!!!

Thursday, August 07, 2008

Joe Casey Comics: Wildcats Version 3.20

[Continuing my look at Joe Casey's Wildcats Version 3.0. New posts Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.]

Okay, not a lot of action--in fact, there's lots of talking, but not much is said. Cole Cash wants to head to Europe to rescue Zealot, Jack Marlowe says he can't afford the exposure, Dolby volunteers to go but won't carry a weapon and is really there to act as Marlowe's eyes and ears. He's going for reasons he doesn't quite understand, but it relates to shooting Special Agent Tyro in the face while acting as the new Grifter and the nightmares he's had ever since. Cash assembles his team: Dolby, the Beef Boys, and CC Rendozzo who is still having problems with her son being a little shit. In Europe, the Coda torture and interrogate the FBI agents and Zealot. The issue ends with Grifter Version 3.0 showing up and surprising everyone that Cash is using Ladytron as his remote-control-cyborg body.

The bad third act continues. We get a hint of the good stuff when Marlowe begins discussing open source software for Halonet, but that's interrupted by Cash.

The use of Maxine "Ladytron" Manchester's rebuilt body as the new Grifter, controlled by Cash is an interesting choice. I'm trying to view the choice in terms of the three volumes of the series and the three Grifters. Obviously, Cole Cash as the first Grifter corresponds to WildC.A.T.S. in that both were old school superhero type books with lots of violence and style and flash. The second volume of Wildcats was a different type of book--it began gung-ho in its attempts to be like the first volume under Scott Lobdell, but then Joe Casey took it in a different direction, suggesting a different way--something more toned down, more thoughtful. Dolby doesn't quite correspond 100%, but his trajectory was similar: gung-ho (kind of) at first, but then an event of explicit violence (like the deaths of Emp and Kenyan in Casey's first story) changes that, causes him to quit (the break-up of Spartan and Grifter--of the Wildcats) before coming back together for a greater good. Now, we have Wildcats Version 3.0 and Grifter Version 3.0, both different beasts, but similar, too. Both transcend what came before, but are also limited by it. The book attempts to explore the limits of post-superhero concepts, but the new Grifter is not even human, really. It can take more damage than Cash or Dolby could, is able to do more--but it is also basically Cole Cash in control doing what he already did, which is what the book has become by this point, too. Both have the promise of being more, but are, ultimately, wrapped up in violence. Instead of continuing the story of Marlowe and Halo, Casey focuses on KICKSPLODE! with "Coda War One." Or, at Grifter Version 3.0's shirt says at the end: "FUCK SHIT UP!" That's what the book has become with Grifter leading the way.

Next time: down and out in another typical violent superhero comic book.

Wednesday, August 06, 2008

I Bought Comics: First Week of August 2008

[I don't really "review" comics so much as babble about whatever occurs to me. My goal here is to just let you know what I thought of these books, not to really critique or even influence your buying habits. Except when I tell you to buy stuff. Then do that.]

Okay, so I didn't buy comics last week. It was a small week (three or four books at most--if the shop had a copy of Narcopolis #4... which it didn't) and not really worth two bus tickets (a bit over four bucks) to make the trip. So, that's what happened last week. This week was a big week, though, and very much worth two bus tickets. Let's get to it...

The Boys #21

This issue was very good, but I can easily see some having a problem with it. The Seven try to stop a plane from crashing on September 11, 2001 after it had been hijacked. The key here is that the Seven have no fucking clue how to stop a plane that's been hijacked. They fuck up in every possible way and the result is the death of a team member or two, and the plane crashing into the Brooklyn Bridge. Now, what makes this worse is that the air force could have shot it down over the ocean. But, this was a chance to show off the Seven... despite not training them in any way to handle a problem like this. Some moments of absurd humour, but mostly just pure fucking horror at how incompetent these guys are--and that a lot more people died because a corporation wanted to show off its superheroes. Hell, one moment of that "absurd humour" is a kid being sucked out the plane's door when Homelander opens it. It's supposed to be funny, but it's actually not, because that kid was so happy to see the superheroes--and he was their first victim. I know the whole "superheroes in the real world" thing doesn't impress many these days, but this issue manages to do that well. Really, how the hell would your average superhero know how to bring down a plane safely?

Cable #6

This was a good issue. Of course, most of it didn't actually involve Cable, rather focused on Cyclops and his dealing with sending Cable and the baby into the future. Michael Lacombe's art is very, very good. Swierczynski packs more content into this issue than the previous five combined. But, I'm done with the book. It's decent, but not worth buying every month anymore. Knowing my luck, things will turn around now, but I can't stick by it. Yes, the Cyclops stuff was good, but the little bits involving Cable were enough to remind me how little that's been working for me. The pacing has been slow and the story not nearly as interesting as it could be. Also, I can't fucking stand Ariel Olivetti's art anymore, which is a shame, because I used to be a big fan. But it's so over-the-top and fake looking in its faux-3d-CGI way that I can't be bothered. Six issues and the only one worthwhile didn't actually advance the story at all or really involve the main character.

Criminal #4

Well, we all know how well I pay attention. I didn't even connect the main character of this issue, Jacob to the counterfitter from previous stories until it was thrown right in my face. I read comics very well. Great stuff as always.

Crossed #0

Just a teaser or "prologue" for the main series. It's decent and has elements of the horrific. Since this deals with a small bit of what happened way back when it began, it's not nearly as fucked up as I imagine the rest of the story will be. Although, the genuine glee with which these people attack and kill people is a bit unnerving. I'm on board if only because it's Garth Ennis and Jacen Burrows.

Final Crisis #3 and Final Crisis: Director's Cut #1

Well, evil has won. Shit. I continue to enjoy the hell out of this crossover. Tim and I will discuss it in more detail in this week's Splash page.

Because I'm sucker, I bought the "director's cut" (ugh) of the first issue. It's only worth it if you're insanely neurotic and obsessive like me. The commentary isn't that spectacular, providing only a few choice bits of information. I haven't looked at the script yet. I do enjoy seeing the uncoloured art, though.

Glamourpuss #2

I got this two weeks ago and really could have wrote about it last week, but I don't have enough to say to devote an entire post to it. I'm continuing to enjoy it, although I'm not sure what to make about the anti-depressant stuff. Is it mocking the over-medication of people, or those who don't like medication? From what little I know of Sim, I'm guessing it's the former. The inclusion of different ads here is quite interesting. Not as much discussion about photorealistic art this time around, but what's there is good stuff. I'll continue to buy this book if only because there's nothing else like it out there and I want to see where it goes.

Hawkman Special #1

Apparently, Jim Starlin may head up a relaunch of a Hawkman title and this is a good start. It's rather metafictional, particularly in its references to the first Crisis and Infinite Crisis (the second by name no less). Part of streamlining the character has Starlin simply take the ancient Egyptian stuff and erase it--it was false memories implanted by someone for some purpose. Very mechanical, but still... why the hell not? A fairly decent story, although there isn't much there beyond the obvious intent of refocusing Hawkman for Starlin's purposes. But, there's also Starlin art... how I love it. Various tropes are here, including that "stone pathway in the middle of some weird dimension" that keeps popping up. You can turn to any page and know that Jim Starlin drew it. It's great.

Infinity, Inc. #12

What a shitty ending. "To be continued in October... in the pages of Terror Titans!" Fuck you, DC. Bad enough a genuinely interesting book has been cancelled, it can't end on its own terms? Can't let Peter Milligan give us a little bit of closure? Bullshit.

The Invincible Iron Man #4

Salvador Larocca's Reed Richards looks more like Johnny Storm. A breather issue. Some lovely character moments. And a supposed cliffhanger that would be much better had it not been explained to the reader earlier in the issue.

newuniversal: 1959

I'm not entirely sure that this comic was necessary. Its events were implied in the first mini-series and actually seeing them happen is... underwhelming. Kieron Gillen does a decent job, but... I just can't get too enthused about this book. Maybe if something new was given to make it worthwhile, but everything here was implied, basically. Still, I can't blame the ceators as they did as good as job as you'd expect on a completely unnecessary book. I really enjyed Greg Scott's art--it's done in a way that makes it all seem like a flashback. Slightly skewed, slightly off... like a memory. Just a little bit. Very nice. Really, this is a good comic, I just don't see the point. Unless you want to see Tony Stark get shot in the head.

Thor #10

I'm glad I stuck with this book. The first five or six issues weren't that great, but, since then, it's been an intriguing and captivating read. What exactly is Loki up to? Hell, the amount of silent panels Straczynski uses is wonderful--he doesn't need to give us the specific details of the ceremony, because it doesn't matter. An image is enough to do the job. It's obviously looking like things are pointing towards Thor and Baldur fighting over control of Asgard, but I suspect that since it's so obvious things will change. Note how surprised Loki looked when Thor said that crowning Baldur as a price of Asgard was to proceed...

And that's it for this week.

Tuesday, August 05, 2008

Joe Casey Comics: Wildcats Version 3.19

[Continuing my look at Joe Casey's Wildcats Version 3.0. New posts Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.]

That is the Grand Saran and, jesus, doesn't she look just like Boba Fett? I mean, exactly like Boba Fett! I've been wondering why that's the case. Is it an example of how immersed in popculture this book is? That, ultimately, it is a product of our times? Or some other bullshit like that?

Honestly, that's pretty much all I've got to say about this issue. It's one giant fight between the Coda, Zealot and the three FBI agents in Athens. Agent Orange and Zealot team-up and do some damage, but the Coda ultimately win. The issue ends with Cole Cash listening in and saying, "THAT'S IT. / TIME TO GO."

One giant action sequence, that's this issue. It's not a bad issue, but there's nothing interesting about it. Nothing worth discussing. I know, I know, the words "nothing worth discussing" shouldn't be in my vocabulary, but... it's 21 pages of fighting with a one-page "Read next issue to see how Cole Cash gets himself involved!" teaser. What the fuck am I supposed to say except that I'm not a fan of this "Coda War One" story? After a couple of spectacular issues involving corporate and government intrigue combined with commentary on the nature of superheroics in the 21st century, this is just so... lame. It's lame is what it is. It's regressive and bullshit pandering. This series was better than this shit and it's a shame that it ends with this story. I'll no doubt say that again and again over the next two weeks.

Next issue: Cole Cash forms himself a posse.

Sunday, August 03, 2008

Raymond Chandler's Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story: Batman - Broken City

[Another in my series of posts where I apply Raymond Chandler's "Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story" to comic book mystery stories. This time, it's Brian Azzarello's Batman: Broken City. New posts at random.]

I think it's safe to assume that Batman will be the most represented character in these posts. I mean, he stars in Detective Comics... it would say a lot if there weren't a plethora of mystery stories starring him, wouldn't it?

Since I just reread Broken City a few weeks ago (and since I'm a fan of Brian Azzarello), it seems like a natural choice. The story is very noir and contains first-person narration by Batman throughout. I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's the Batman story Raymond Chandler would write, but it's obviously influenced by the Chandler type--or, at the very least, influenced by those influenced by Chandler.

As always, I am reprinting Chandler's "Notes" in their entirety rather than summarising because Chandler explains what he means better than I could. His notes are in bold with my comments after each note. Let's get to it...

Twelve Notes on the Mystery Story (Revised April 18, 1948)

1. It must be credibly motivated, both as to the original situation and the denouement; it must consist of the plausible actions of plausible people in plausible circumstances, it being remembered that plausibility is largely a matter of style. This requirement rules out most trick endings and a great many "closed circle" stories in which the least likely character is forcibly made over into the criminal, without convincing anybody. It also rules out such elaborate mises-en-scene as Christie's Murder in a Calais Coach, where the whole setup for the crime requires such a fluky set of happenings that it could never seem real.

There are two mysteries in Broken City: the murder of Elizabeth Lupino and the murder of the parents of a young boy. I'll discuss their relationship to one another--and which one is the "real" mystery and which is the "false" one--a little later. But, here's the basic plot:

Elizabeth Lupino was the sister of Angel Lupo, a man trying to make a name for himself in the Gotham underground. She was also in a relationship with Arnold Wesker, the man who spends his time with his hand up a dummy named Scarface's ass. Elizabeth was pregnant with Wesker's child and was going to keep it, because Wesker is powerful and wealthy. So, Angel's girlfriend, Margo Farr killed Elizabeth, because she was afraid that when Angel found out about his sister's relationship and pregnancy, he would go after Wesker and get killed in the process. Now, who actually killed Elizabeth is up for debate--it's hinted strongly that the Joker did it, but that doesn't seem his style. Or was it Killer Croc? It doesn't matter since Elizabeth was behind it and her motivation was good enough. She loved and relied upon Angel and wanted to keep him alive despite himself--so she hurt him to save him.

The other murder happens very much like that of the Waynes. A couple and their young son run across a man who kills the parents, leaving the little boy an orphan. It appears that Angel Lupo did it while trying to escape from Batman, but the scene in the final issue also hints that the Joker is responsible for that death. The language used is ambiguous, so we don't know which killer the Joker is talking about. Now, I tend to interpret it as referring to this murder since the rest of the issue references it. The motivation here is to strike at Batman in a personal way, to unhinge him, to play with him, which is very much the Joker's style. However, it also suggests that the Joker knows he's Bruce Wayne, which I've seen no evidence of elsewhere. But, that leaves us with two possible killers: Angel Lupo and the Joker, both with motives that make sense.

2. It must be technically sound as to the methods of murder and detection. No fantastic poisons or improper effects from poison such as death from nonfatal doses, etc. No use of silencers on revolvers (they won't work) or snakes climbing bellropes ("The Speckled Band"). Such things at once destroy the foundation of the story. If the detective is a trained policeman, he must act like one, and have the mental and physical equipment that go with the job. If he is a private investigator or amateur, he must at least know enough about police methods not to make an ass of himself. When a policeman is made out to be a fool, as he always was on the Sherlock Holmes stories, this not only depreciates the accomplishment of the detective but it makes the reader doubt the author's knowledge of his own field. Conan Doyle and Poe were primitives in this art and stand in relation to the best modern writers as Giotto does to da Vinci. They did things which are no longer permissible and exposed ignorances that are no longer tolerated. Also, police art, itself, was rudimentary in their time. "The Purloined Letter" would not fool a modern cop for four minutes. Conan Doyle showed no knowledge whatever of the organization of Scotland Yard's men. Christie commits the same stupidities in our time, but that doesn't make them right. Contrast Austin Freeman, who wrote a story about a forged fingerprint ten years before police method realized such things could be done.

The methods of detection here seem sound to me. Batman hunts for the most likely suspect in Elizabeth's murder, her brother, as he has disappeared--and, in the process, discovers the truth. He tracks down leads and puts the pieces together himself.

As for the other murder, he assumes it was Angel because Angel was on the scene. The little boy who was left alive is in shock and doesn't speak.

3. It must be honest with the reader. This is always said, but the implications are not realized. Important facts not only must not be concealed, they must not be distorted by false emphasis. Unimportant facts must not be projected in such a way as to make them portentous. (This creation of red herrings and false menace out of trick camera work and mood shots if the typical Hollywood mystery picture cheat.) Inferences from the facts are the detective's stock in trade; but he should disclose enough to keep the reader's mind working. It is arguable, although not certain, that inferences arising from special knowledge (e.g., Dr. Thorndyke) are a bit of a cheat, because the basic theory of all good mystery writing is that at some stage not too late in the story the reader did have the materials to solve the problem. If specal scientific knowledge was necessary to interpret the facts, the reader did not have the solution unless he had the special knowledge. It may have been Austin Freeman's feeling about this that led him to the invention of the inverted detective story, in which the reader knows the solution from the beginning and takes his pleasure from watching the detective trace it out a step at a time.

I think this is honest with the reader. The only spot where some may disagree is whether or not the Joker had that boy's parents killed. Azzarello is purposefully ambiguous there. I think it's heavily implied--so heavily that it didn't occur to me that maybe the Joker was involved with Elizabeth's death until I was flipping through the story for this post. Since Margo had Elizabeth killed, there is an ambiguity, but not much of one. While Azzarello never explicitly states that the Joker recreated the death of Batman's parents to mess with him, the reader should realise that happened. No key facts or swerves are thrown at the reader--at least none that aren't also thrown at Batman. The story sticks so close to Batman that there isn't much room for deception.

4. It must be realistic as to character, setting, and atmosphere. It must be about real people in the real world. Very few mystery writers have any talent for character work, but that doesn't mean it is not necessary. It makes the difference between the story you reread and remember and the one you skim through and almost instantly forget. Those like Valentine Williams who say the problem overrides everything are merely trying to cover up their own inability to create character.

While this is a world of freaks, Azzarello goes out of his way to make these freaks as close to real as possible. Killer Croc isn't a mutant, he's just a big guy with a bad skin condition. Scarface and the Penguin are just gangsters with eccentricities. Batman is also very human; he gets beaten severely a few times, and is very vulnerable psychologically. A big part of the story is the psychology. These are interesting characters. Now, I'll admit that Azzarello's characterisation doesn't necessarily fit with other Batman stories, but it works within this story.

5. It must have a sound story value apart from the mystery element; i.e., the investigation itself must be an adventure worth reading.

Let's see, Batman beating up Killer Croc, messing with the Penguin and Scarface, facing his own demons regarding his parents, and even fighting a couple of new Japanese crooks... with a sexy woman and lots of guns thrown in? Yeah, it's worth reading apart from the mystery element.

6. To achieve this it must have some form of suspense, even if only intellectual. This does not mean menace and especially it does not mean that the detective must be menaced by grave personal danger. This last is a trend and like all trends will exhaust itself by overimitation. Nor need the reader be kept hanging on the edge of his chair. The overplotted story can be dull too; too much shock may result in numbness to shock. But there must be conflict, physical, ethical or emotional, and there must be some element of danger in the broadest sense of the word.

The second mystery really adds that extra level of suspense since Batman is not just trying to solve that case for the little boy, but for himself. If he can find the murderer of that case and bring him to justice, it will be like finding the man who killed his parents. In the final issue, he even admits that everything he'd done was for the wrong little boy (meaning himself). As well, the mystery itself is intriguing and intricate enough that you're not sure who did what--and it's a matter of who will find Angel Lupo first. There are a lot of people looking for him, so there's suspense in Batman's hunt for him--motivated by the murder of the boy's parents more than anything else by the end since he knows Angel didn't kill his sister.

7. It must have color, lift, and a reasonable amount of dash. It takes an awful lot of technical adroitness to compensate for a dull style, although it has been done, especially in England.

Oh, this story definitely has that. The narration is very stylised--more Azzarello than Batman--and the art is also very stylised, influenced by the likes of Frank Miller and David Mazzucchelli, while maintaing Eduardo Risso's own style. A few complaints I read online about this story was that there is too much style--I'd disagree, but that's because "too much style" is a phrase I don't know.

8. It must have enough essential simplicity to be explained easily when the time comes. (This is possibly the most often violated of all the rules). The ideal denouement is one in which everything is revealed in a flash of action. This is rare because ideas that good are always rare. The explanation need not be very short (except on the screen), and often it cannot be short; but it must be interesting in itself, it must be something the reader is anxious to hear, and not a new story with a new set of characters, dragged in to justify an overcomplicated plot. Above all the explanation must not be merely a long-winded assembling of minute circumstances which no ordinary reader could possibly be expected to remember. To make the solution dependent on this is a kind of unfairness, since here again the reader did not have the solution within his grasp, in any practical sense. To expect him to remember a thousand trivialities and from them to select that three that are decisive is as unfair as to expect him to have a profound knowledge of chemistry, metallurgy, or the mating habits of the Patagonian anteater.

I explained both murders above and they are simple. Now, for the Elizabeth Lupo murder, Azzarello builds up a lot of extra plot surrounding Angel's activities, but it doesn't matter except in the ways it distracts us and Batman from the murder itself. The denouement by Margo is not short and comes only under duress. He puts off Batman a couple of times before that and the way she explains it makes sense.

Now, the other murder's explanation is vague and ambiguous, as I've said. Much of its meaning is implicit, but all of the details necessary to understand it are in the story. It's also very simple.

I've noticed that Azzarello's mysteries tend to have very simple, very human motivations, much like Chandler's. Sure, lots of plot accumulates to complicate things, but, in the end, it comes down to stuff like revenge and love and people being stupid.

9. It must baffle a reasonably intelligent reader. This opens up a very difficult question. Some of the best detective stories ever written (those of Austin Freeman, for example) seldom baffle an intelligent reader to the end. But the reader does not guess the complete solution and could not himself have made a logical demonstration of it. Since readers are of many minds, some will guess a cleverly hidden murder and some will be fooled by the most transparent plot. (Could the "Red-Headed League" ever really fool a modern reader?) It is not necessary or even possible to fool to the hilt the real aficionado of mystery fiction. A mystery story that consistently did that and was honest would be unintelligible to the average fan; he simply would not know what the story was all about. But there must be some important elements of the story that elude the most penetrating reader.

Hmm... I do think both mysteries would baffle an intelligent reader until all of the details are revealed. Hell, the Joker killing that boy's parents comes out of left field, in a way. Margo having Elizabeth killed is easily believable and, when revealed, makes a lot of sense--as does the revelation of that Elizabeth was pregnant with Wesker's child. Enough hints were there to maybe be enough for someone to figure it out, but not quite.

10. The solution must seem inevitable once revealed. This is the least often emphasized element of a good mystery, but it is one of the important elements of all fiction. It is not enough merely to fool or elude or sidestep the reader; you must make him feel that he ought not to have been fooled and that the fooling was honorable.

I think this happened. As I said, enough details were dropped so when it was revealed that Margo killed Liz because she was pregnant with Wesker's kid, it made sense.

The Joker element also has that feel, oddly enough. It does come out of nowhere, but also has that "Oh my god" feel that it makes perfect sense at the same time. Since the emphasis of the story was placed on the other murder, not much was given for this one, making the solution that much more horrible, in a way.

11. It must not try to do everything at once. If it is a puzzle story operating in a rather cool, reasonable atmosphere, it cannot also be a violent adventure or a passionate romance. An atmosphere of terror destroys logical thinking; if the story is about the intricate psychological pressures that lead apparently ordinary people to commit murder, it cannot then switch to the cool analysis of the police investigator. The detective cannot be hero and menace at the same time; the murderer cannot be a tormented victim of circumstance and also a heavy.

This is a story about family, love and passion, and doesn't really try to be anything else. This isn't a puzzle mystery since Angel was the only suspect for both murders for most of the story. The revelations that he was innocent in both came about naturally (kind of) and related to those ideas of family, love and passion.

There is a lot of violence, but since the talk of love is just that--talk--it doesn't conflict. At the core, this is a noir story with all of the violence, passion and fucked up bullshit that comes along with it.

12. It must punish the criminal in one way or another, not necessarily by operation of the law. Contrary to popular (and Johnston Office) belief, this requirement has nothing much to do with morality. It is a part of the logic of detection. If the detective fails to resolve the consequences of the crime, the story is an unresolved chord and leaves irritation behind it.

The only one who isn't punished is the Joker, so the story fails here. Everyone else is jailed or dead, but the Joker is in Arkham, perfectly happy and content with what he's done. Arkham is his home and he gets to keep doing what it is that he does. Technically, he is punished by being locked up, but it's not a true punishment. It works within the larger context of the Batman/Joker dynamic--the Joker almost can't be punished properly, because he needs to keep on beating Batman in his own way. Otherwise, everyone else is punished... including Batman. After all, isn't he also partly responsible for the death of that boy's parents?



Addenda

1. The perfect detective story cannot be written. The type of mind which can evolve the perfect problem is not the type of mind that can produce the artistic job of writing. It would be nice to have Dashiell Hammett and Austin Freeman in the same book, but it just isn't possible. Hammett couldn't have the plodding patience and Freeman couldn't have the verve for narrative. They don't go together. Even a fair compromise such as Dorothy Sayers is less satisfying than the two types taken separately.

This is definitely in the Hammett/Chandler mode of writing where character and style trump the puzzle aspect of the mystery. It's not a pefect mystery because everyone involved is flawed and messed up. It's a downright basic and sloppy mystery when you break it down--it just seems complicated.

And the second mystery is so personally motivated that its solution almost couldn't be solved by the reader. It's based so deeply in character and Azzarello's style that it's not even close to a perfect mystery since it's so obtuse in its own way.

2. The most effective way to conceal a simple mystery is behind another mystery. This is litrary legerdemain. You do not fool the reader by hiding clues or faking character [ala] Christie but by making him solve the wrong problem.

Batman solves the wrong problem here by finding Elizabeth Lupo's killer. That isn't the "real" mystery of this story. It's the instigating mystery and an intriguing one that needs to be solved by someone, but it isn't the one that Batman needs to solve. The story begins with Elizabeth Lupo dead, while the first issue ends with the death of the boy's parents. It's the real mystery, the important one, the personal one. It leads to the last half of that final issue where we get insight into the night of the Waynes' murder, and those terrible last three words Bruce said to his parents. The focus is on the Lupo murder when it should be on the other one. After all, the Lupo murder is full of corrupt people far from innocent, almost undeserving of justice, while the other is the murder of innocents for no reason other than to mess with Batman. It deserves to be solved.

3. It has been said that "nobody cares about the corpse." This is bunk. It is throwing away a valuable element. It is like saying the murder of your aunt means no more to you than the murder of an unknown man in an unknown part of a city you never visited.

There are three corpses...

Do we care about Elizabeth Lupo? I think she's sympathetic as she didn't really do anything wrong and she was pregnant. We care about her more as the story goes on as we see that he murder was motivated by two men loving her, and one woman loving one of those men. If they cared about her that much, shouldn't we? But, these are also criminals. Scum. So, I think we do care about Elizabeth, if only because of the pregnancy.

Do we care about the boy's parents? Yes, because they are innocents and because we, like Batman, associate them with Thomas and Martha Wayne. We care about them and the little boy, because of the connection to Batman's past. The killing is random (or so it seems) and gets our sympathy for that reason, too.

4. Flip dialogue is not wit.

Azzarello doesn't do flip dialogue. His language is purposeful, often allusory and involves puns and other little fun language games. It borders on obtuse at times. But, it's rarely flip, except when it comes from someone who isn't witty. And, more importantly, Batman isn't flip.

5. A mystery serial does not make a good mystery novel. The "curtains" depend for their effect on your not having the next chapter to read at once. In book form these curtains give the effect of a false suspense and tend to be merely irritating. The magazines have begun to find that out.

Azzarello does a good job of transitioning from one issue to another, using Batman's narration to remind the reader of what's going on. It's a little intrusive, but often minimally so. It's a necessity and Azzarello does as good a job as you'd expect. As well, he often has the narration of each issue work on its own as a whole for that issue with its own little thematic underpinnings that also work with the larger story. His use of language is key here.

6. Love interest nearly always weakens a mystery story because it creates a type of suspense that is antagonistic and not complementary to the detective's struggle to solve the problem. The kind of love interest that works is the one that complicates the problem by adding to the detective's troubles but which at the same time you instinctively feel will not survive the story. A really good detective never gets married. He would lose his detachment, and this detachment is part of his charm.

No love interest for Batman, except for his parents, in a way. His attachment to his parents makes solving the second mystery problematic. He's not detached enough and focuses so much on Angel that he misses the real killer until the Joker tells him because he thinks it's funny. So, Azzarello demonstrates by contrasting both mysteries why the detective should be detached. It both upholds and violates this note while explaining it... odd.

7. The fact that love interest is played up in the big magazines and on the screen doesn't make it artistic. Women are supposed to be the target of magazine fiction and movies. The magazines are not interested in mystery writing as an art. They are not interested in any kind of writing as an art.

Um...

8. The hero of the mystery story is the detective. Everything hangs on his personality. If he hasn't one, you have very little. And you have very few really good mystery stories. Naturally.

Batman has personality. He's cynical, he's hard, he's driven, he's damaged, he's smart, he's capable... The Batman here is one of the more complex versions I've seen and the story does work in a large part because of that. At the beginning of the story, he discusses how damage Gotham is as a city, that the rain is God's piss... this is a dark Batman--like I said, cynical. But, he's also hopeful by the end. This is Batman as an optimist, which he is--he's cynical, because he's always let down, but he hopes for a better future, one where he isn't necessary.

And, seriously, the revelation of Bruce's last words to his parents breaks my heart every time I read this story. I mean... shit, Azzarello is cruel here (in that way only really good writers can be).

9. The criminal cannot be the detective. This is an old rule and has once in a while been violated successfully, but it is sound as it ever was. For this reason: the detective by tradition and definition is the seeker of truth. He can't be that if he already knows the truth. There is an implied guarantee to the reader that the detective is on the level.

The criminal isn't the detective here. I said Batman is complicit, in a manner, in the murder of the boy's parents, but that's because the crime is directed at him. The Joker purposefully kills them to strike at Batman. But, it's because of that tie that Batman doesn't solve that mystery--the Joker confesses.

10. The same remark applies to the story where the first-person narrator is the criminal. I should personally have to qualify this by saying that for me the first-person narration can always be accused of subtle dishonesty because of its appearance of candor and its ability to suppress the detective's ratiocination while giving a clear account of his words and acts. Which opens up the much larger question of what honesty really is in this context; is it not a matter of degree rather an absolute? I think it is and always will be. Regardless of the candor of the first-person narrative there comes a time when the detective has made up his mind and yet does not communicate this to the reader. He holds some of his thinking for the denouement or explanation. He tells the facts but not the reaction in his mind to those facts. Is this a permissible convention of deceit? It must be; otherwise the detective telling his own story could not have solved the problem in advance of the technical denouement. Once in a lifetime a story such as The Big Sleep holds almost nothing back; the denouement is an action which the reader meets as soon as the detective. The theorizing from that action follows immediately. There is only a momentary concealment of the fact that Marlowe loaded the gun with blanks when he gave it to Carmen down by the oil sump. But even this is tipped off to the reader when he says, "If she missed the can, which she was certain to do, she would probably hit the wheel. That would stop a small slug completely. However she wasn't going to hit even that." He doesn't say why, but the action follows so quickly that you don't feel any real concealment.

Batman conceals Wesker's name from us in issue five of the story. He holds that bit back, but that doesn't really betray the reader at all. The information is important, but not entirely necessary, except that it allows Batman to set up Angel Lupo, in a way. Does he set Angel up to die because he thinks Angel killed that boy's parents? That's never clear, although it seems almost like he did. It also adds suspense to the end of issue five when Angel is shot--we don't know who did it and will therefore read issue six to find out. Batman also conceals the three words he said to his parents, but anyone with half a brain can figure those out. The concealment is selective and is never anything that the reader can't accept or figure out.

11. The murderer must not be a loony. The murderer is not a murderer unless he commits murder in the legal sense.

In the first mystery, this rule is upheld.

In the second, it's broken. But, that murder (and the revelation of who was behind it) doesn't work without the rule being broken. The murder happens because the Joker is insane and obsessed with Batman--and he tells him that he did it because he's insane and obsessed with Batman.

12. There is, as has been said, no real possibility of absolute perfection [in writing a mystery story]. Why? For two main reasons, of which has been stated aboved in Addenda Note 1. The second is the attitude of the reader himself. Readers are of too many kinds and too many levels of culture. The puzzle addict, for instance, regards the story as a contest of wits between himself and the writer; if he guesses the solution, he has won, even though he could not document his guess or justify it by solid reasoning. There is something of this competitive spirit in all readers, but the reader in whom it predominates sees no value beyond the game of guessing the solution. There is the reader, again, whose whole interest is in sensation, sadism, cruelty, blood, and the element of death. Again there is some in all of us, but the reader in whom it predominates will care nothing for the so-called deductive story, however meticulous. A third class of reader is the worrier-about-the-characters; this reader doesn't care so much about the solution; what really gets her upset is the chance that the silly little heroine will get her neck twisted on the spiral staircase. Fourth, and most important, there is the intellectual literate reader who reads mysteries because they are almost the only kind of fiction that does not get too big for its boots. This reader savors style, characterization, plot twists, all the virtuosities of the writing much more than he bothers about the solution. You cannot satisfy all these readers completely. To do so involves contradictory elements. I, in the role of reader, almost never try to guess the solution to a mystery. I simply don't regard the contest between the writer and myself as important. To be frank I regard it as the amusement of an inferior type of mind.

This one falls firmly into the last category. There's lots for the second class of reader, but this is mostly aimed at the fourth category. The mystery itself doesn't matter so much as the journey, Batman's narration, the interplay of characters, all of that.

13. As has been suggested above, all fiction depends on some form of suspense. But the study of the mechanics of that extreme type called menace reveals the curious psychological duality of the mind of a reader or audience which makes it possible on the one hand to be terrified about what is hiding behind the door and at the same time to know that the heroine or leading lady is not going to be murdered once she is established as the heroine or leading lady. If the character played by Claudette Colbert is in awful danger, we also know absolutely that Miss Colbert is not going to be hurt for the simple reason that she is Miss Colbert. How does the audience's mind get upset by menace in view of this clear knowledge? Of the many possible reasons I suggest two. The reaction to visual images and sounds, or their evocation in descriptive writing, is independent of reasonableness. The primitive element of fear is never far from the surface of our thoughts; anything that calls to it can defeat reason for the time being. Hence menace makes its appeal to a very ancient and very irrational emotion. Few men are beyond its influence. The other reason I suggest is that in any intense kind of literary or other projection the part is greater than the whole. The scene before the eyes dominates the thought of the audience; the normal individual makes no attempt to reconcile it with the pattern of the story. He is swayed by what is in the actual scene. When you have finished the book, it may, not necessarily will, fall into focus as a whole and be remembered by its merit so considered; but for the time of reading, the chapter is the dominating factor. The vision of the emotional imagination is very short but also very intense.

We never believe Batman will die, but the introduction of the Fat Man and Little Boy have Batman contending with foes who beat him severely. In the moment, we fear for his life, because he does, too. But, this also makes his ultimate triumph that much more impressive. As well, his beat-down fits into the noir detective pattern were the detective almost always takes a beating in the course of his investigation.

Ultimately, this story adheres to most of Chandler's notes, but, as I said, it's written in the Hammett/Chandler manner, so that makes sense. What I want to know, from others who have read this story, what do you make of the Joker scene? I think that he killed the boy's parents, but others could disagree, certainly. Any thoughts?

Saturday, August 02, 2008

Joe Casey Comics: Coup D'Etat: Wildcats Version 3.0 #1

[Continuing my look at Joe Casey's Wildcats Version 3.0. New posts Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday.]

This is really the third part in the "Coup D'Etat" storyline where the Authority overthrows the US government because of some program that killed some interdimensional aliens who will destroy the Earth unless the Authority does something about it. It's both an obvious and unnecessarily compliated story. The Authority overthrowing the US government was expected almost from the time Mark Millar took over the book--and his final arc combined with Tom Peyer's fill-in arc made that seem even more an eventuality. But, that doesn't matter that much since this issue is really just another issue of Wildcats Version 3.0 with that Authority stuff used as a means for Casey to continue exploring his pet themes.

There are two reactions to the Authority's actions: those of Cole Cash and those of Jack Marlowe. Cash visits an ex-supervillain, kills him and steals one of his weapons--one that could destroy the Carrier, the Authority's homebase. He brings it to Marlowe, needing his teleportation powers and Marlowe says, "NO... / ...I DON'T THINK WE'LL BE DOING THAT."

Cash: "OH, JEEZUS CHRIST--! / YOU CAN'T BE SERIOUS! GODDAMMIT... THIS IS WHAT WE DO! THIS IS WHAT WE'RE HERE FOR! / WE'RE SUPERHEROES, FOR FUCK'S SAKE! / I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU'RE NOT GONNA DO A MOTHERFUCKING THING TO--"

Marlowe: "MAKE NO MISTAKE, GRIFTER. WE ARE INDEED SUPERHEROES. / BUT YOU'RE SUGGESTING WE PLAY BY THEIR RULES. WHO CAN DESTROY WHOM THROUGH NOTHING MORE THAN MINDLESS, BRUTE FORCE... / MIGHT MAKES RIGHT. / THESE ANTIQUATED CONFLICTS ARE A DRAIN ON OUR CULTURE. THESE STARING CONTESTS ONLY IMPEDE EVOLUTION. IT'S A SHAME THE AUTHORITY CAN'T SEE THAT. / WHAT'S OCCURING NOW CANNOT POSSIBLY LAST. THESE THINGS NEVER DO. / AND SO OUR INVOLVEMENT COULD ONLY... COMPLICATE MATTERS. / UNNECESSARILY, IN MY OPINION."

The idea of what a superhero is, particularly the progression of the idea is a big one for Casey. He recognises conventions, but wants to move beyond them. Here, Cash continues to act traditionally, while Marlowe wants to progress, to not simply beat the Authority into submission. Additionally, Casey is commenting on the story itself. The Authority ruling the US didn't last, and the rest of Wildcats Version 3.0 ignores these events. The book stays out of it, because it would complicate the story Casey wants to tell, which is more nuanced and progressive than this one. Marlowe is also fighting the US government, but on different terms, within the system... and he's winning. His victory will help the world in ways the Authority's won't--because his will change minds and very few people will even realise a fight happened.

Also, there's the subtle acknowledgement by Casey that the Authority are supervillains, not superheroes. Lovely.

There is also a nice bit where Cash asks Marlowe, "JUST WHAT DO YOU THINK A SUPERHERO IS ANYWAY?! YOU THINK A SUPERHERO MAKES BATTERIES?!" and Marlowe responds, "I ASKED MYSELF THAT QUESTION LONG AGO... AND I ANSWERED IT TO MY SATISFACTION." Again, this is about the nature of Wildcats Version 3.0 where Casey has taken the concept of the superhero into another realm only partly explored before. What determines a superhero? That's the question posed. Marlowe is trying to save the world by attacking the root problems of crime, corruption, and every other ailment afflicting humanity by recognising that economics is a means to that solution. The Authority is a continuation of Warren Ellis's Stormwatch run where the best story, "Change or Die" had a group of superheroes try to affect real change by attacking the buried causes of crime, poverty, etc.--except they still wore the colours of the superhero, they acted the same way... Marlowe (and Casey) learned from that and acts accordingly.

However, he doesn't leave the Authority alone here, either, because Casey's commentary isn't quite done. Marlowe teleports aboard the Carrier to talk to the Authority and they respond with open hostility, ready to fight, which Marlowe mocks, "PREDICTABLE. / IS THIS WHAT IT'S COME TO? PHYSICAL CONFRONTATION BETWEEN TWO PARTIES THAT ARE--CONCEPTUALLY SPEAKING--IN TOTAL AGREEMENT?" A little dig at the typical "heroes fighting one another" convention of superhero comics. When the hostility continues, Marlowe further mocks the group by altering his appearance so he's wearing his old Spartan costume--if that's the only way to interact, he'll stoop to their level. But, he still doesn't fight them. He talks. He asks them to question their motives, to ask why he's (someone who shares their ultimate goals) trying to talk them out of this, to do more than just hit things! It's a call for superhero comics to be more than just two guys in pervert suits wailing on one another...

Of course, it's a futile effort. There is a built in irony here consider Wildcats Version 3.0 #18 where Marlowe demonstrated that his methods against the US government would certainly prove more effective.

I'm actually surprised that this issue was published since it mocks the story it's part of. It flat out calls it stupid and pointless. And it was. Nothing interesting was done with the Authority in charge of the US government. Ed Bruabaker played around with it for a little bit before discarding that plot in favour of something simpler and more typical in The Authrity: Revolutions. This issue is Joe Casey pissed off that the same old shit keeps happening again and again and again and again. It's only the illusion of forward momentum.

And he's not immune from that same problem as issue 19 begins "Coda War One." That bad third act has arrived, people.

The Splash Page 25: San Diego, Baby!

In this week's Splash Page, Tim Callahan and I discuss last week's San Diego Comic-Con and how none of the news got us excited. But, come on, we're not exactly excitable guys. You know that. We're cynical bastards who just want to read out books, discuss them and move on with our lives. We don't care who does what as long as the people we like keep getting work. We're simple men with simple desires. But, there were a few things of note, so we discussed them.

So, go read all about it in... THE SPLASH PAGE!!!