Review: Royals – Masters of War, intriguing new alt-history series

The Royals: Masters of War #1
Rob Williams, Simon Coleby,
DC/Vertigo

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I’ve been looking forward to this new Vertigo series from Rob Williams and Simon Coleby for a wee while now – I chatted to Rob a few weeks ago about it (see here) and that just whetted my appetite. First issue hit racks with this week’s new releases and obviously it went straight onto my reading pile.

As you may know if you read the interview with Rob, this is an alternate history tale, mixing superpowered beings with the real events of World War Two. Of course superbeings in WW2 isn’t new – even during the war the Golden Age comics frequently had their characters like Captain America, Sub-Mariner, Superman etc fighting the Axis, more recently Ian Tregillis penned his fascinating Milkweed Triptych, a trio of novels involving an alternate WW2 where British spies fight against a secret Nazi Übermensch, scientifically created beings with powers (much recommended). What Rob and Simon bring to the mix is the eponymous royalty – in this reality there are superbeings, but they are all aristocrats, blue bloods, with the higher ranking, more pure breed being more powerful (so a prince or king for instance, is enormously powerful).

This opening issue takes place in 1940, as the Blitz is devastating British cities, the badly outnumbered RAF, ‘the few’, struggling to hold the might of the Luftwaffe at bay as they try to destroy Britain’s defences from the air as a prelude to the invasion everyone is sure will soon come. Could a few of the Royals use their powers to stop the Nazis in their tracks? Yes. But it isn’t that simple – superweapons rarely are, are they? Whether they take the form of splitting the atom or a superpowered being, there are always consequences, and in the case of the Royals there is an international treaty between ruling houses not to become involved on the battlefields of their nations. Because if one nation’s royals use their powers in a fight, others will join in and an already bloody situation will escalate rapidly to even more dangerous dimensions. Not hard to consider parallels with WMDs like nuclear weapons – used to end one years-long conflict that took vast numbers of lives and caused global destruction, but ushered in an era of ever escalating, finger on the trigger of Armageddon for decades, the promise of an even worse war born from that new power, which we narrowly avoided.

And some royals genuinely don’t care – the eldest son, Arthur, Prince of Wales, is a dissolute prig, happy to not be allowed to become involved (despite his huge powers), content to live a life of drink, women, comfort and who cares if the masses are being burned to death or buried beneath rubble in their own homes as the bombs fall. A prince who wouldn’t have been out of place in Blackadder III, more concerned for the luxuries his station confers than any sense of national duty and responsibility. But some of the young royals take their duty to their country more seriously:

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The East End’s burning, apparently. Although no-one will tell me the full extent of the damage. And there’s always so many more of their planes than the RAF boy… People are dying, Rose. Lots of people are dying, and we can’t do anything… We’re powerless…”

The troubled young Prince Henry borrows an idea from his royal namesake, Henry V, and changes clothes to go incognito among his people. He and his beloved Rose go into the Eest End, he carrying her as he flies over wartime London, a charming scene of two young people drifting through the air, Rose in his arms,  “like Peter Pan” she remarks. But the fairy tale allusions end brutally in grim, blood reality that confronts them as they land. Bombed out ruins that were once homes, fire raging, bodies of the dead burning in the street, exhausted ARP wardens, screaming children… People in agony and despair. Their people. His people. ..

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It’s all handled across a couple of pages, a montage of the horrors of the Blitz, with only two speech balloons throughout; most of it comes through from Coleby’s powerful visions of a burning, devastating London (all the more powerful, because we know this scenario isn’t fantasy, it’s drawn from the real history), until the young royals are left in tears at the sheer suffering they witness.

And enough is enough; Prince Harry’s rage and his desire to do his duty over-ride the royal pact not to become involved, and when the next flight of Luftwaffe bombers appears overhead and the RAF rise tiredly to meet them once more, he is at their head, flying right into them, a wrathful superbeing smashing through planes in righteous fury, blasting them from the skies. The papers rejoice at the royal family joining the war effort finally, but the king realises his hot-headed young son may, albeit for the finest reasons, have condemned the world to a much darker, bloodier, more costly battle…

It’s a gripping first issue, introducing the concept of this alternate 1940s and the idea of superpowered royals and the fragile accord that has kept their powers off the international board for years. Coleby’s art is terrific, with a nice eye for period details (those of us who grew up on Commando Books, Warlord, Victor, Battle etc always appreciate an artist who takes the trouble to get details like uniforms or aircraft from the period correct) and moody – the change in visual tone from the Palace to the hellish inferno of the East End is a kick to the senses (as it should be), while the moral dilemma of the patriotic young prince grabs your attention. I mean what would you do if you had those powers and knew you could defend your people from awful harm? But if you intervene then people with other powers in enemy nations will then join the fray, up the stakes…

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Damned if you do, damned if you don’t, and we all know what paves the road to hell… Each issue will take place in a different year and pivotal moment for the war, and I’m looking forward to seeing where this goes, not least because this first issue opened with a glimpse of 1945 before flashing back to 1940’s beleaguered Britain. There’s often something very compelling about an alt-history story, and this is a cracker. Plus we get a superhero story, a good war tale and a touch of alt-history science fiction all in one tale. Bargain!

The sad story of Marius

Today the Copenhagen Zoo has put a healthy young animal to death – Marius, a young giraffe, was found to be genetically surplus to requirements. The zoo allows the breeding then decides if they have sufficient of one particular genetic strain of animal then they can simply get rid of the others to ‘manage the population’. Manage the population. By which they mean exterminating healthy animals. Healthy animals which they encouraged into being through captive breeding programmes then discarded as if they were broken toys. Domestic pet owners are castigated – rightly – if they do not have their animals neutered unless they have specific plans to breed them and to take care of the offspring. This is to ensure fewer abandoned animals left to suffer unwanted (sadly something that is on the rise). And yet in zoos all over Europe they breed species then decide they have sufficient and destroy some of the perfectly healthy offspring. If a domestic pet owner was doing this they would be named and shamed, in zoos it is “managing the population.”

They say they had to cull the animal before it reached breeding age and would want to reproduce. So why not neuter the animal as we do with domestic creatures? Oh, that would interfere with the animal’s ‘natural’ life cycle. Hold on, he’s captive in a bloody zoo! There is nothing natural about that life cycle. Neither is there anything natural about putting a bolt gun to this animal’s head and killing him, you hypocritical, amoral, self-serving bastards. On their page they explain why they have to ‘euthanise’ Marius and again we are into self-serving excuses and outright lies – this is not euthanasia, that’s a last gasp procedure used on animals with terminal illnesses or in great pain which can’t be alleviated, as an act of mercy to end suffering. When it involves a perfectly healthy animal it is not euthanasia, it is slaughter, plain and simple. Stop hiding behind weasel terms, you unethical tossers and stop pretending this is all done ‘for the best’

Marius was offered not one but two different homes in wildlife parks in Yorkshire and in the Netherlands, both of which Copenhagen Zoo turned down as ‘unsuitable’ and declaring it was in the animal’s best interests to be put to death. That just proves the unethical and uncaring stance of those running the zoo, which tries to present itself to the public as a caring place taking care of animals. Well, here’s their real face. It’s not just them, this happens in zoos across Europe, just a year or two ago Edinburgh Zoo got into a PR storm when it emerged they were doing similar with healthy animals they had bred then decided to discard. Unsurprisingly it caused them a lot of problems with many on social media pledging not to ever take their families there to visit again until the policy was halted (many keepers too were upset about it, they look after animals, putting healthy ones to death isn’t what they signed up for). Copenhagen Zoo is apparently one of Denmark’s top attractions – I wonder if a lot of folk will refuse to visit after these vile actions? Earlier in the weekend the director of the zoo said he didn’t understand why there had been such an international outcry at the zoo’s plans. I would submit if he doesn’t understand why this has outraged so many people then he is not a suitable person to be in charge of the welfare of animals and should resign his position.

March Book One

March, Book One,

John Lewis, Andrew Aydin, Nate Powell,

Top Shelf

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A cold January day in 2009, Washington DC, and a venerable politician goes about his morning routine before heading to his congressional office, preparing for inauguration day – a new president is about to be sworn in. Always an important day, but this particular occasion is more remarkable than most – Obama is about to take the oath of office, the first black president of the United States of America. The veteran old politician we see preparing for the day is congressman John Lewis, not just a man who has served his constituents for decades, but a veteran of the Civil Rights movement, a campaigner who stood there during the famous March on Washington in 1963, giving an important speech alongside Doctor Martin Luther King’s iconic “I have a dream” speech, surely one of the most moving and inspirational political speeches of the 20th century.

In a way I found this quite a daunting book to review – not, I hasten to add, because of anything wrong with the book. It’s beautifully put together, open, accessible. It was more a worry that anything I might say wouldn’t really do justice to the events recorded here, from eyewitness testimony of someone who was there, who stood up for rights for himself and others and had to struggle terribly for it against vile, brutal, racist thuggery that it is hard to credit was ever allowed to happen in a free and democratic society. And so I delayed it, kept rethinking it, rewriting it and eventually just had to decide to post it, warts and all. I’m not sure any review can do justice to someone’s memories of events like these that helped shape the world (and are still shaping it, Lewis is still fighting the good fight), but at the very least I can commend it as a book very worthy of your reading (and hopefully the sort of book you will want to pass around friends), and also one of those stand-out works which again emphasises how well the comics medium is suited to tackling any subject.

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But, as I said this first book of John Lewis’ memories of the long march for Civil Rights is, quite deliberately I would think, made as open and inviting as possible to the reader, regardless of prior knowledge on the part of that reader – if you’ve read the history of the period or if much of it is new to you, this will still welcome you in gently. In a way it reminds me of Walter Scott’s approach to retelling Scottish history, the “Tales of a Grandfather”, and it did feel like that to me, as if a much-loved, warm-hearted older relative, a grandfather or favourite uncle, were telling a tale. And what a tale it is…

Through the framing device of a lady bringing in her young boys to meet Lewis and learn a little about the history of the struggle for equality we are taken back to his earliest days, as a young boy on the family farm in Alabama, his love of the animals, especially the chickens (although, as he points out wryly, there is a bit of a pitfall to becoming emotionally attached to your animals on a farm, since eventually they end up in the pot…), an early desire to become a preacher prompted by the gift of a Bible which he read and re-read and then school – especially school: “But school was important to me, and it was ultimately the reason I got involved in the Civil Rights movement.” In a simple but moving scene he also highlights the roles of educators, librarians and books in creating awareness, an enthusiastic school librarian telling the children “read everything.”

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But how does a young lad in a rural county start to learn about the movement, much less get involved? Especially when much of the advice he is given is to keep his head down, not to attract the attention of “white folk”. A favourite uncle clearly sees something in the young boy, something he himself is probably not yet aware of, and he takes him on a road trip to expand his world a bit. This isn’t the usual road trip we’d think of today though, the freedom of the open road, seeing new places – as the book explains the trip took careful planning, such as carrying their own food because there are no roadside restaurants ‘coloured’ folk will be allowed in, some places they just can’t risk stopping in. It’s a simple part of the tale, but like many simple examples it illustrates a complex and distasteful truth, that a century after the end of the Civil War some citizens of a democratic country couldn’t fill up the tank or eat at a roadside diner in the Southern states simply because of the colour of their skin. And that was simply the accepted norm. Until some very brave people started to challenge it.

The early episodes where young Lewis is introduced to those creating the Civil Rights movement are fascinating and horrifying in equal measure – on the one hand to see a young man realising that he and others can make a difference, can work with others to make their society a better place, it is uplifting, inspiring, empowering, even; you feel, perhaps, just a little of that excitement he and his friends must have felt that they could make things better (and isn’t that something any of us in our societies should always aim to do?). And the determination to follow that model of Ghandi and remain resolutely non-violent is admirable in the extreme. Turning back on violence and hate with more violence and hate in response only fuels an endless cycle, trapping both parties. In some very upsetting, harrowing scenes we see activists (black and white) subjecting each other to harassment, derogatory remarks, pushing and more, to train themselves not to react with violence. I’m not sure I could bite my tongue or remain still in the face of that sort of provocation, and yet here are these young people disciplining themselves to do just that. To be better than those who want to ‘keep them in their place.’. It’s remarkable.

And it is at the same time horrifying in exposing the virulent face of unreasoning bigotry and pure hatred based on nothing more than seeing an entire group as ‘different’, and that difference justifying Jim Crow laws of discrimination, actually using institutions of state to repress and control black people, something you would have thought unthinkable in a free, democratic society, that it would do this against a section of it’s own citizens. And of course there is the raw hatred, indoctrinated into each generation to generation which justifies this control and repression, and which all too often leads to outright acts of sickening violence, with the perpetrators rarely held to account in any hall of justice, because those who are supposed to administer justice are as swollen with the same hatred – or indeed sometimes the acts of violence are perpetrated by those such a policemen who are supposed to ‘protect and serve’.

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Throughout Nate Powell, whose work I have admired greatly since his powerful  and atmospherically drawn Swallow Me Whole, brings this to life with quiet, un-showy monochrome artwork, clearly striving not to let the art become more important than the story here, but also still ensuring these moments of memory are brought vividly to life. It’s obviously quite an emotional story, and Nate’s art captures this essence and enhances it, most notably, for me anyway, in the expressions, from the haunted, worried look as some of the black characters traverse a mostly white area to the hideous, contorted expressions of unreasoning hate as police lay into peaceful protestors, or the opposite, the gentle, loving expression of friends helping one another, that simple expression on a friend or loved one’s face that can be enough to get us back up the floor and make us keep going because we know they’re lending us their strength.

This is a slice of recent history, but it is also a personal tale, a beautiful reminder that all historical events were enacted by people. Actual people, not remote historical figures, real people with families, loved ones, hopes, dreams and fears and that to make that history they had to embrace the dreams and overcome the fears. And this is history that remains painfully relevant to modern society – just a few days ago a UK politicians tried to claim that recent extreme winter storms were God’s wrath because of Parliament allowing gay marriage; there is always someone, for whatever reason, prepared to justify treating others in an unfair manner because they are ‘different’, and March reminds us how hard the road to equality for all is and that we’re not at the end of that road yet, but perhaps we can see it, and we can all keep marching towards it. March made it into my top three graphic novels from 2013 in my Best of the Year.

This review was originally penned for the Forbidden Planet Blog

Lanterns of the Terracotta Warriors

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For only a few days starting this week to mark Chinese New Year, there’s a wonderful art installation by Xia Nan. Originally created for the Bejing Olympics and now touring the world, they are inspired by the famous Terracotta Warriors but here they are done like Chinese paper lanterns.

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The artist decided that the original Terracotta Warriors were a bit lonely, so for these paper lantern sculptures he also gave them some wives and kids to go along with them – including a pregnant wife as you can see in this one above. A trio at the back must have been more important than the others, they had their own raised platform above the others, and with the lights they cast these huge shadows over the old stonework:

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The exhibition is in the quadrangle of the historic Old College building of Edinburgh University each evening for just a week or so (handily right across the road from my work, just strolled right over after finishing up). Beautiful location and what a magical sight to see on those long, cold, dark winter nights, glowing in the darkness. I noticed the other day that I’d had a huge spike in views on Flickr, with two photos I’d taken of this exhibition especially going bananas. In fact the one below had just under 3000 views in a single 24 hour period, turned out it had been put into a gallery on Flickr of photos celebrating Chinese New Year, resulting in a huge number of views in a brief period, which was quite rewarding (click on the pics to see the larger versions on my Flickr):

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Beauty

This short film by Rino Stefano Tagliafierro is stunning – working through centuries of art in a few moments and using some subtle animation to bring it to life it raises questions about how humans perceive beauty; as it progresses it becomes darker, even the lusciously painted nudes start to become a little disturbing as they hint at more than beauty but a darker sensuality, and as it moves into scenes not only examining external beauty but within the body it also becomes a little horrific. But it’s all fascinating…

B E A U T Y – dir. Rino Stefano Tagliafierro from Rino Stefano Tagliafierro on Vimeo.

Birthdays

Noise of letter flap on the door opening and closing – ah that will be the postie with all those cards… Nope, pile of junk mail. Oh well, could have been worse, I suppose, could have been bills…

I find my birthday pretty redundant as a ‘special’ day – it’s a rubbish time of year to have it, it’s often forgotten or it is quick afterthought between the rush of Christmas nonsense and New Year celebrations, the latter also meaning even if you feel like doing something special it is pretty hard to do it – restaurants are booked up and also tend to be closing early for Hogmanay, similarly even a night out in the pub with couple of friends is overshadowed by everyone else crowding in there to celebrate New Year.

And that’s assuming anyone is free to be around for doing something, most often they are busy with festive season stuff already. I’ve not been out the door once to do anything on my birthday – did think about going up to the movies nearby, but going tomorrow so didn’t really fancy going up today as well. Considered nipping into town and having a wander around, maybe take some pics, look at the sales, maybe treat myself to something with some money I was given for birthday and Christmas, but rained until late afternoon and to be honest there’s nothing special I wanted so it seemed pointless. Kept thinking I should go off and do something, but everyone else I know in town is busy with family, travelling, getting ready for tonight etc so no-one to meet up with to do anything even slightly special as a treat for the day. If I wasn’t going round to chum’s this evening for Hogmanay I doubt I would have gone out the door or spoken to another human being in person all day.

As I said, it’s a rubbish time to have a birthday, just thinking about it doesn’t make me want to celebrate, it just depresses me. Besides which I don’t really see why I would want to celebrate it, similarly no idea why I’d particularly want to celebrate New Year. Celebrating it infers you think there is something good to look forward to. These days I often feel that I am just waiting for the next bad thing to go wrong, for the next accident, bad illness or worse. Career, finance and romance front all look equally bleak as they have previously and I don’t see why 2014 would be a shining beacon of hope for things being better. Bugger birthdays and bugger the New Year celebrations and frankly bugger life; fed up with it all and don’t see much likelihood of anything changing for better (certainly hasn’t in recent years), and far from happy celebrations days like this just leave me feeling more isolated and more depressed about the grey, oncoming, unfriendly future.

Christ but I could do with snuggling up with my purring kitties again…

The End of the World – Signal to Noise

Signal to Noise Hardcover (New Edition),
Neil Gaiman, Dave McKean,
Dark Horse

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This is a story about the end of the world, but it’s not a science fiction apocalypse. This is a tale of a dying man, a great director, who is diagnosed with a terminal illness just as he is planning his next film, a story about the End of Days as the Millennium approaches, but not the year 2000, this is 999 AD, and a group of simple villagers are gathering on a mountainside to await the end of the world and God’s judgement on them all.

It’s a film he now knows he will not live to make.

But as he comes to terms with the horror of his own situation, the knowledge that he is facing his own personal apocalypse, he begins to plan his film anyway, in his head, writing lines, blocking scenes, borrowing the faces of people he sees in the street for the cast in his head. To these simple, religious people they know for a fact – just as he now does – that the world is going to end, and they fear it and the wrath of their god for all their sins. Some embrace a late burst of piety, some give away all their possessions, partly because they believe they will soon have no earthly needs any longer, but partly hoping these acts will be seen as selfless and charitable come the Last Judgement, desperately hoping a sudden access of charity in the last days will help them slink into Paradise. Of course, the director knows there is no bargain he can strike with his own disease, no change he can make to his life or offer he can make to appease it.

We know the world didn’t end as 999 became 1000 AD any more than it did come 2000 AD, despite all the millennial doomsayers (who despite being wrong go right back to predicting a new end of the world and someone is always ready to believe it…). But individual worlds… Those, sadly, are always ending. There isn’t a day when some individual and some family somewhere, will not be touched by the spectre of personal extinction. The numb horror of his prognosis is handled with great sensitivity by McKean and Gaiman, and anyone who has experienced loved ones going through the same will recognise the emotional surges and tides that such news brings, and the slow gnawing of disease reducing the person (until at one point he looks into a mirror and seeing his weakened, prematurely older state feels for a moment he is looking not at himself but his old father). We’re in his head with him and his final story and it’s hard not to feel as he does.

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I’m, fifty. That isn’t so old. And I’m thinking about the pain in my chest. And I’m thinking about the end of the world. And I’m thinking… That’s all I see to do. In ten years time I’ll be… (dead) .. sixty.

But this isn’t just about death, about the end of the self. Nor is it really taking the opposite road and “raging against the dying of the light”. Our director may not be happy about his impending end, but he slowly comes to make his peace with it, and his work helps, as he plots out this film no-one will ever see, a film which will only be projected in the private cinema of his own imagination. And that story of the end of the world isn’t really about the End of Days either, not really – it’s about life, and the fact that even in what seems the bleakest times there will always be some sort of life, that the world will keep turning, day will follow night; we go but life, that stays, stubbornly clinging to the surface of our world and defying the cold cosmos with its simple existence. And so he begins to think about his film and how, perhaps, he will not live to make it, but he can still write it, leave it behind him, a last burst of creation before his own end, a gift to his friends he has worked with so often before. Perhaps it may live on after he is gone.

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It’s been three months, now. Today I did something strange. I started to write. There can be no purpose in this. Still, I am writing.”

It’s a beautiful, haunting tale, originally serialised in the late 1980s for the old Face magazine (remember that?) during that sudden burst of media enthusiasm for more mature comics work around that time. It’s a remarkable piece considering it is such an early work by McKean and Gaiman. Not just in storytelling, but also in the artwork and layout – McKean has always been keen to explore and push what he can do with his art, and even in this early work that is clear. There are some pages which take drawn art, photographs and more collaged into unusual layouts – it looks like the sort of thing you’d see when Desk Top Publishing made it much simpler to manipulate elements on your page, but this is pre-DTP, using printers, cameras and scanners to painstakingly build up those layers. It’s far ahead of its time in terms of art and design, and even now with this fine new edition it still stands up as an unusual and beautiful looking piece of work by two now very (and justly) famous Brit creators right at the start of their careers. A beautiful, emotional tale, well told, and one you will only appreciate more as the years pass.

this review was originally penned for the Forbidden Planet Blog

Earthrise, 45 years on….

Forty five years ago this week the roar of the enormous Saturn V rocket filled the Florida air, a huge structure carried high on a pillar of fire, raw power and ingenuity overcoming gravity, a technology pioneered as a dreadful new weapon of war harnessed now for a voyage into the final frontier, boldly going where no one had gone before. Apollo 8 took flight for the Moon in December of 1968; Neil and Buzz Armstrong’s historic first walk on the Moon was still a year away, but this too was a tremendously historic flight and a major milestone in the long, long history of human voyages of exploration – this saw human beings, for the first time, leave the orbit of their own, small world and travel beyond, circling right around our Moon. As Christmas 1968 approached those three astronauts were the furthest from home any human being has ever been in the history of the world – as their tiny craft’s orbit took them around the dark side of the Moon even the slender thread of radio connecting them tenuously to home was broken for a brief spell. On the dark side no contact with home, just three explorers in a piece of 1960s tech, circling another planetary body.

And then on one Lunar orbit… On one glorious moment, largely by accident, as the ship was being rotated they saw something out of the small windows on their little craft. The Moon’s surface filled the viewport and there, in the distance, on the Moon’s horizon, the planet Earth rose above the Lunar vista. Earthrise. A cosmic ballet of interleaving gravity wells and orbits that have been taking place for billions of years almost like the beautiful clockwork orrery models of the solar system. But unseen, always unseen. Until December 1968 when three men saw it for the first time – in all the ages of the world a sight no-one had beheld, a view of our entire globe slowly rising above the Moon, the sky deep black, the Earth a magnificent, shining blue, an oasis of life and warmth in the cold distances of space. And they rushed to take a photo, one of the greatest images from the history of exploration, shared with the entire world, our first view of our whole world, not just a part of it seen from low orbit, but the entire Earth seen hanging in space.

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On Christmas Eve, all alone and so distant in their small vessel the astronauts read out a passage from Genesis about the mythical creation of the world and, looking back at their distant home in a way no-one before them ever could, they concluded “And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas and God bless all of you – all of you on the good Earth.” I was born in 1967, a child of the space age, grew up with my little astronaut play suit and my passion for reading took in books of astronomy and space exploration as well as daring tales of science fiction; it’s been in my blood since as long as I can recall, I still get shivers at the image of a Saturn V roaring into the heavens, watching Gravity last month, taking in that spectacular opening scene of the astronauts floating above a glowing Earth I still ached to travel there myself, as I have always dreamt of since I was a very small boy.

For me the Apollo 8 mission has always summed up both the majestic awe and the terrifying dangers of manned space exploration – an environment we never evolved for, but through a mixture of invention and courage we’ve created ways for us to venture into it, to dip our toes “into the cosmic ocean” as dear old Carl put it. So dangerous, a tiny impact on that fragile vessel and it’s all over, no great protective shields like they have on the Enterprise, no transporters and emergency shuttles if anything goes wrong, no chance of coming back if your complex calculations – carried out on primitive computers that couldn’t match a cell phone from today, or on slide rules, if you please – there isn’t enough power, air or fuel, no mighty impulse and warp engines to carry you where you want, just enough thrust and fuel to match a complicated figure of eight orbit around Earth and the Moon, get it wrong and you will drift for ever through the heavens. And yet people still dared to do it. It reminds us of how magnificent our species can be when it turns from our damned destructive impulses and towards something wonderful.

To celebrate the forty fifth anniversary of that historic voyage NASA has created a new visualisation of it, taking in the original images and crew recordings mixed with the very latest research and findings from far more advanced unmanned Lunar probes.

And from the crew of Apollo 8, we close with good night, good luck, a Merry Christmas and God bless all of you – all of you on the good Earth.

The World Has Gone to the Dogs – Rover Red Charlie

Rover Red Charlie #1

Garth Ennis, Michael Dipascale

Avatar

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It’s the end of the world – but from the perspective of Man’s Best Friend. Everything has suddenly, irrevocably gone wrong with the human world, and like the canine protagonists in this tale we have no idea why, but it has and the people are turning on each other and on themselves, while the poor dogs look on, terrified, upset, uncomprehending as the world falls apart all around them, blood, violence, fire, as their former “feeders” (as the dogs refer to the humans) go insane and destroy themselves.

Ennis and Dipascale drop us right into this, with Charlie, a Collie and a Guide Dog (or Seeing Eye Dog as they call them in America), desperately trying to free himself – his former owner is now a burning corpse on a smashed underground station, others are in a similar conditions nearby, and he is still attached by his lead to the hand of his now dead owner. “I’m a dog! I’m a dog! I’m a dog!” he howls in despair – yes, the dogs here ‘talk’, although it seems only they understand one another (and obviously we understand their speech bubbles). Charlie’s shrieks of “I’m a dog!” are clearly, to any human in the story, barks, not words. Once you understand that the rhythm of the dog’s ‘speech’ becomes quite clear to anyone who’s spent time around our four legged friends.

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Suddenly through the flames comes Red, perhaps not the brightest canine in the pack (as his friend notes later, he sometimes has to sit and let this ‘thinks’ fill up a bit first) but loyal in that wonderful way that so many dogs are, charging in, leading his friends Rover and Max to help Charlie. Max, a rather up-himself pedigree German Shepherd decides Charlie is doomed and runs off to save himself, while Red and Rover strain with Charlie to bite through the lead and rescue their friend. Fleeing the burning remains of the station the dogs pause on their flight to safety as Red is very worried about his bottom and absolutely has to stop for a few seconds while a reluctant Charlie has to sniff it and make sure it is okay.

This piece of doggy etiquette out of the way they emerge onto the city streets, wondering what is going on, only to find the big picture is worse than they thought, the entire city aflame, humans everywhere going mad (save one who in a desperate last act tries to save the dogs, knowing he himself is as doomed as the other humans). A human confronted with this sudden destructive madness wouldn’t comprehend what was going on, so imagine the mind of a dog trying to grasp what’s going on… The poor animals are desperate to find a friendly ‘feeder’ who hasn’t gone mad, they will look after them, tell them what to do…

This could be a very cheesy, schmaltzy tale, but actually, given it focuses on ‘talking’ animals (well, we understand their ‘speech’, as I said it’s clear they aren’t actually talking in English) and has a buddy-movie feel to it, it is actually fairly light on the cheese. This is not one of those Disney ‘incredible journey’ stories. The decision to let us understand the dogs’ growls and barks via speech bubbles works well, allowing us to share their point of view of events, but it also works because Ennis nails the rhythms and structure so well, not to mention focusing on what you expect would be a domestic dog’s concerns (friendly owner to look after them, feed them, pet them, tell them when it is time to go somewhere) that you find yourself thinking yep, this is pretty much how I’d expect a dog to be thinking.

Of course that reminds me of the talking dog in Morrison and Quitely’s superb We3 (“bad dog, bad dog…”) but there the comparison ends with that story.  This is an unusual take on the end of the world, seen from the perspective of three dogs who are best friends – a buddy movie at the end of the world, but with canines (and what better friends can anyone, human or dog, have than a good dog?). The three main dogs are all clearly defined with their own characteristics, while Dipascale’s art manages the tricky combination of having to show human violence and mass destruction on city streets with believable dog poses and movements, and he manages this very well. The animals comes across very believably – the movements, the little stances with the eyes opened up big and head titled just so are familiar to anyone who has been around dogs, and of course to any animal lover it evokes that response that just makes you want to take care of them, and this digs us further into the story emotionally – the scene where a mad human attacks another dog is especially heartbreaking, somehow more shocking and sadder than the human on human violence, especially as Charlie barks “Feeders don’t hurt dogs! Feeders don’t hurt dogs!” as it happens, unable to understand how their friendly feeders have become suddenly crazed and violent.

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In some ways it is like a child’s perspective if the adult population went into destructive madness like this but young children didn’t, what would they make of it, how could they begin to comprehend what would confuse and terrify a full adult mind? They seem so vulnerable having to suddenly cope not only on their own but in a world gone so dangerously insane, and again this ties us even more emotionally to the story and characters. Non animal lovers probably won’t get the same levels of emotional investment in it, but those sorts of people clearly need to go out and stroke more warm, furry tummies anyway. I really didn’t know what to expect from this at all when I picked it up and here I found a rather charming, engaging read. One of the more unusual new comics releases.

Review: Winter’s Tales

Winter’s Tales.

Metaphrog

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Here’s a lovely little piece from Metaphrog, a couple of graphic short tales with a distinctive fairy tale feel about them (indeed the second story, The Little Match Girl, is inspired by the story by the immortal Hans Christian Andersen). The Glass Case takes place only a few moments from where I am sitting as I write, in Edinburgh’s Old Town, where we see a school outing to the Museum of Childhood on the Royal Mile (well worth a visit). Each of the kids is instructed by their teacher to pick something from one of the displays and draw a sketch of it.

For some reason young Sam feels compelled to sketch an old toy doll called Molly; predictably enough some of the other boys make fun of him for being a ‘sissy’ and picking a ‘girl’s doll’ as his subject. Sam doesn’t seem to care though, he clearly feels drawn to this small toy figure in her museum case. Home life is far from happy and Sam soon finds he is drawn back to the museum to see Molly again, and a strange sort of relationship begins to form.

Given the brevity of the story I won’t ruin it by revealing anything more, save to say it is rather lovely – if also tinged with sadness – and, quite rightly I think, Metaphrog never make it clear what is real, what is fantasy here. Are some of the events actually happening or just the imagination of a lonely young boy’s mind desperately seeking escape to somewhere better? It’s up to the reader to decide when they finish the tale, and that’s how it should be. There are also some lovely scenes – a view of the ancient city from the rooftops captures that magical feel of this old place wonderfully, so much so I will forgive them for getting the geography of the city slightly wrong!

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In the Little Match Girl the eponymous lassie is on a bitterly cold winter street, shivering in the snow; dusk is falling, she is cold and hungry but frightened to go home as she’s not made a single sale all day and she knows her father will be angry. She desperately wishes for light and warmth, not just the physical attributes of those qualities but the emotional light and warmth which none of us can really do without, least of all a child. It’s one of those stories that is beautifully sad, if that isn’t a contradiction in terms, and the art cleverly manages to convey that 19th century Victorian cruel street and the hapless waif upon it while also inferring that actually this isn’t the Bad Old Days when children were left to suffer cold and alone on the uncaring city streets, it may well be today. And given how many children do go hungry or sleep with a pavement for a pillow around the world (an abomination in this century for which the adult world should forever be ashamed) I suspect this is a deliberate device.

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Winter’s Tales is a lovely little item – a small, landscape format limited edition Metaphrog are selling this month. At only £3.50 it would make for a lovely and unique little Yuletide gift for someone, but there are only a couple of hundred, so you better be quick!

Time to Shine,

Metaphrog

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Richard has already blogged a bit about this – it’s an interesting project Metaphrog have done in conjunction with Creative Scotland, as part of a government scheme to encourage younger Scots in the creative arts. I know how busy a schedule Metaphrog’s duo maintains when it comes to library and school visits and workshops where they never fail to get the kids excited about creating their own stories, so I think they were a perfect choice for this subject.

The story follows kids at Greenvale high school, an everyday secondary school where the kids have the usual problems any teen deals with, about discovering who you are, where you fit in (especially when sometimes it feels like you don’t), what you want to do and how to articulate what you feel as all these changes and pressures on your young life build up (and we do put some much weight on young shoulder – hey, you, 13 year old kid, get those grades, pick the correct courses to follow so you can get the correct college course later and then the right career, decide now how the whole rest of your life is meant to be! What a thing we do to kids, sometimes…).

It’s a fairly compact tale but we’re still introduced to the school and a range of characters, teachers and students alike, recognisable types to anyone, the quiet, shy one, the loud annoying older sibling, the ‘bad boys’ who act big and menacing to hide their own worries and insecurities. This isn’t stereotyping though, more, I think, making sure in a short work that these are characters the target audience – secondary school age students – can recognise and empathise with (and that’s no easy task, given secondary covers from around 11 or 12 through to 17 or 18 years of age).

When an idealistic new teacher proposes a school talent show (to the usual sighs from older, more cynical teachers) the kids find themselves being inspired, suddenly realising that they all have talents they can nurture and express, be it on the stage performing or using other skills behind the scenes to make it all happen. Even the ‘bad boys’ get drawn into it eventually when the teacher shows them that their spraycan wizardry can be put to more artistic uses than defacing school buildings.

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The artwork has a very manga feel to it, appropriate enough given that’s a style many younger readers are more familiar with in their comics reading. I took part in a lot of various school shows (some by choice, more than a few I was ‘volunteered’ into doing) and I thought the story caught that atmosphere of excitement mixed with nerves that goes along with doing anything like that, but also that feeling of triumph when it all works and the way that builds confidence in young hearts and minds that they will need as they go on. And that’s really what Metaphrog and this arts project from Creative Scotland are trying to do, to encourage kids to explore their artistic side, to be creative.

I’m sure some old cynics will make the usual chorus of “waste of money” at this project, but they can go and eat their family sized bag of Bah Humbug because not only does engaging younger people’s imaginations and creative sides make them happier and more productive students (a bonus in education) it also, if we want to be pragmatic about it, contributes considerably to our economy – think on the writers, singers, game creators, artists and more we produce who go on to bestride a global stage (and you never know when one kid who is inspired by this may grow up to be a new JK Rowling-like success, do you?). And we know from first hand experience how comics can engage with young minds so successfully, so I am delighted at Creative Scotland asking Metaphrog to use the medium to help inspire a new generation – perhaps in a few years we may even be reviewing some comics from some youngster who picked this up. I do hope so.

The graphic novel is being distributed to school students and is also available through various government agencies, or you can read the online version for free right here.

This was originally penned for the Forbidden Planet Blog

Retro Robots

The annual Christmas market and winter wonderland fair are running now in Edinburgh around the Mound and Princes Street Gardens, and of course I took a few photographs on the way home from work one evening. It’s not the easiest to shoot – a tripod is useless in the busy market so it means hand-held after dark photography and I don’t normally use the flash either, so a fair chunk simply don’t come out, but sometimes you get lucky, and this series I shot of a traditional toy stall with hand-carved wooden toys, the old tin-type toys, clockwork wind-ups and these gloriously retro, 1950s style robots. I was really pleased considering I was shooting hand held, no flash and at night that these came out so clearly

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In fact they got picked up by one of my favourite sites, BoingBoing, who ran a couple of them on their blog, which was rather nice

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I do love the traditional toy stall, doesn’t matter how old you get there is something still magical about them that makes you feel like a five year old craving Christmas. And on a cold, dark, December night in winter how nice is to see this splash of colour, life and magic?