Fears, truth revealed in 'Wolves' and 'The Mire' (Becky Cloonan)

On the shelves behind the cash register at my comic book shop the owners often display the creations of local or independent authors and artists. I’ve found some good stuff there, including “Klondike” -- a fantastic graphic novel about the gold rush by Toronto author and illustrator Zach Worton.

Most recently I spotted “Wolves” and “The Mire” on those shelves, both by Beck Cloonan, and was immediately intrigued by the artwork.

The cover image of “Wolves” featured a bedraggled-looking swordsman trailing blood through a snowy forest, staring up in obvious frustration and sadness. Adding to the mystery were Japanese characters along the bottom of the graphic novel. What was this?? I had to know more.

“The Mire” – which as it turns out is the follow-up to “Wolves” -- had a similar image on its cover. A dark, haunted forest, a young boy, innocent, fearful, clutching a letter, walking hesitantly through the woods. Again, I was intrigued.

At $5 each I couldn’t go wrong, and bought both on the spot.  Such a good decision.

Though they are very different, there’s a common thread running through these books. Both books involve a dark secret, both revolve around fear, and in both stories a truth is revealed to one of the central characters that will change their life forever.

In “Wolves,” the story focuses on a young man, a hunter who tracks down and kills werewolves for the king.  However his own secret comes to haunt him, both literally and figuratively, during one of his darkest and most difficult assignments, handed out by a vengeful king.

In “The Mire,” a young squire is sent by his master in the midst of a war to deliver a message to a castle that lies on the other side of the swampy forest for which the book is titled. It’s haunted, of course, and the young man is terrorized by real and imagined fears as he makes his way to his destination. When he arrives, he discovers a deeply haunting and personal truth, which is revealed to him in order to save his life.

Both books have a hypnotic, fairy-tale feel that is both sophisticated and simple at the same time.

The artwork is fantastic. There’s a certain Game of Thrones quality to the illustrations, but with more mythology mixed in – more like an Ang Lee film, when Ang Lee is at his artsy best.

 Cloonan dedicates “The Mire” to “those of you who have crushes on your characters.” And you get the clear sense that she cares deeply about the characters in her books, and she knows them well. As a result, with just a few words, or a few panels, the reader feels as though they know them too.

Great to see a successful writer/illustrator like Cloonan still releasing independent work. Keep it up!

'Corto Maltese: The Early Years' sets the stage for future adventures(Hugo Pratt, 1983)

While "Corto Maltese: The Ballad of the Salt Sea" took place in a dreamy, sun-kissed South Pacific, "Corto Maltese: The Early Years" is set in China at the messy conclusion of the Russo-Japanese war around 1904.

A young and cheerful Corto, already established as a world-traveller with friends in every port, of every colour and creed, has wound up in China.

His timing is bad, as Russia and Japan are grappling over trade access through Korea and Manchuria and he appears to have become stuck in the tail end of the war.

But it’s almost two-thirds of the way through the book before Corto even makes an appearance.

Instead we meet Rasputin, Corto’s villainous soon-to-be ‘frenemy,’ and Jack London. Yes, that Jack London. Throughout his books, which are Tintin-esque in their efforts to fuse fiction with good storytelling, Hugo Pratt places real historic characters in Corto’s path wherever he goes (though strangely not in "Salt Sea".)

It’s London, who is in China working as a foreign correspondent, who first meets Rasputin, and, unaware that he has just murdered two Japanese, sets him up with Corto for passage on his sailboat out of China.

Corto, who has been busy convincing the other journalists to fund his search for King Solomon’s gold, happily agrees to take Rasputin out of the country as a favour to London. And even after he finds out that Rasputin is a cold-blooded killer, he keeps his word to help the Russian deserter flee China -- a characteristic though sometimes bizarre loyalty that Corto displays repeatedly throughout the books.

The book moves at a faster pace than "Salt Sea," and the artwork is a little rougher too. Where the Salt Sea felt gentle and peaceful, with incongruous splashes of violence, "Early Years" is clearly a war memoir of sorts, and has the urgent, desperate feel of the times. Anyone could die at any time.

As a longtime Jack London fan, it was a nice surprise to see him in these pages. Pratt has some fun at his expense, though, apparently based on London’s reputation as a know-it-all who had a habit of one-upping everyone else’s stories.

In one exchange he pompously asks Corto if he is a “vision of L’Arlesienne,” which appears to be a reference to this.

Corto looks at him strangely and replies ‘Not really…”

In another conversation he is asked by a fellow journalist if he has heard of King Solomon’s mines.

“Yeah, it’s an African novel by RH Rider Haggard,” he responds. “I like ‘She’ or ‘The Witch’s Head’ Better. But his main opus is ‘Rural England.’

“Well…thanks for the bio. London. And after that bit of showing off, I’ll ask again: What do you know about King Solomon’s mines?”

Classic.

Though this book is purported to be an introduction to Corto Maltese, there’s unfortunately very little of him in the book. But it’s still a fun read and a great set up for future adventures, laying the groundwork for the weird relationship he has with Rasputin and giving you a sense of his character.

The art is good too, particularly the sketches in the first few pages depicting Japanese soldiers in various uniforms. Beautiful.

Worth a read!

Corto Maltese: Captain, castaway, pirate

I’ve been on a graphic novel and comic book kick for a while. I’ve also been on a Cormac McCarthy kick. But since I’m not in the mood to plunge deep into the darkness of human depravity right now, I’ve decided to get back in the blogging habit with a series of reviews of the graphic novels and comics I’ve read recently.

I have to start with Corto Maltese: The Ballad of the Salt Sea.

What a fantastic book. The cover art sucked me in with its promise of a South Seas, damsel-in-distress, vagabond, pirate/anti-hero kind of tale. Add in cannibalistic but mostly helpful Polynesians, and that’s exactly what it delivered.

Corto is the invention of Hugo Pratt, an Italian writer and illustrator who wrote the books between 1970 and 1984 while living in France. I’ve so far been able to find Salt Sea and Corto Maltese: The Early Years, in English.

Corto, a sea captain, is the son of a British sailor from Cornwall and a gypsy Andalusian witch and prostitute known as “La Nina de Gibraltar.” Maybe because of his dubious pedigree and the fact he seems to earn his living carrying out sketchy deeds on leaky ships in the South Seas, he is loyal to no flag and seems to base his allegiances on individuals, trusting everyone until they give him a reason not to.

Perhaps his only loyalty is to underdogs – even Corto’s enemies, when they are down, seem to elicit his sympathy and often his help, which he usually comes to regret.

His escapades take place in the early 1900s. In Salt Sea, the story begins when a villainous rival of Corto’s named Rasputin picks up two shipwrecked Dutch cousins, whom he believes might be worth a large ransom.

Soon they encounter Corto, tied to a piece of driftwood and floating in the open ocean, and the adventure begins as he comes on board and tries to decide whose side he is on – another South Seas disrepute, much like himself, or the wealthy castaways, one of whom is a beautiful girl.

Complicating the story is the addition of the Monk, a powerful pirate who controls the region, playing nearby navy ships from the Netherlands, Germany, Japan and America off each other whenever it suits his purposes.

Pratt has a way of capturing the alien experience the two cousins have, and putting the reader in their place, far from home, surrounded by gruff captains and seamen, violent pirates, ruthless or clueless military officers and local natives.

And it’s the natives that he uses most effectively to convey a sense of unease – their tattooed faces and strange, stilted way of talking revealing little about where their loyalties lie.

The artwork is also compelling. Remember, these were drawn between 30 and 40 years ago, so there’s none of the intricate detail and sophisticated artwork and printing techniques we see in today’s comics.

Instead, there’s a simplicity to it that forces the reader to fill in some of the gaps on his own. Pratt’s attention to facial expressions is especially well done. There’s a perfect mix of excitement and fear as Pandora, the girl, says, “I’m curious to see this famous ‘Monk’” – referring to the murderous and mysterious pirate she is about to meet.

It’s a compelling adventure story, especially for anyone who has been to that part of the world, or who grew up fascinated by Herman Melville or Jack London’s South Sea tales of adventure, like I did.

I couldn’t put it down but also forced myself to read it slowly in order to stretch it out – it was that good. I recommend this book.