Review: DEOGRATIAS

Originally posted at The Low Road May 10, 2006.

DEOGRATIAS
by J.P. STASSEN
translated by Alexis Siegel
96 pages Full Color
ISBN: 1-59643-103-2
US $16.95 / CANADA $22.95
First Second

J. P. Stassen’s Deogratias is a fictional account of the personal impact the Rwandan genocide had on those affected by it, Rwandans and foreigners alike. The story is horrific, captivating, and important–it sheds light on a foreign conflict that isn’t discussed as often as other issues abroad, one that many might not know much about.

Fortunately, Alexis Siegel’s introduction to the book helps catch readers up on the real-world events that inform the setting; I imagine that, for some readers, this may be the most they’ve ever read on the Rwandan genocide–that’s how it was for me. While I’ve heard news reports on NPR on the subject throughout the years, Siegel’s introduction provided some much appreciated historical context beyond what I knew going in.

If Siegel’s introduction provides the broad strokes and the facts of the Rwandan genocide, Stassen provides the personal element that puts faces on it–he gives the emotional context. There may never have been a Deogratias or an Apollinara, but Stassen fleshes the characters out so well that the line between history and fiction blurs a little, and the formal aspects of the book heighten that. One thing I’ve noticed in some comics from Europe is that the word balloons tend to have sharper edges than in some American comics; while that’s more of a trend there, in Deogratias it may help foster that verisimilitude in American readers–the dialogue reads as if it were captioned, which gives the book a touch of a documentary feel. The characters help give that impression as well. Stassen provides an ensemble cast of characters, none of whom can be easily distilled into simple archetypes–while the focal characters act heroically or villainous at certain times, Stassen doesn’t make any fit heroic or villainous roles–they’re just people thrust into a horrifying situations, and they act like one would expect people to act in that environment.

While the formal aspects of Deogratias make the story feel real, its structure also acts as one of its best features–it’s constructed very well in its narrative and rhythmic cadences. Stassen’s use of flashback is exactly right for the story he’s telling–the jumps between “this is where we are” and “this is where we have been” lets the thematic elements progress in a linear fashion even though the timeline doesn’t, and gives the ending more of an emotional impact. There are no notes indicating the timeshifts in the storytelling; Stassen relies entirely on the character’s visual portrayals to indicate when things are happening. Another visual aspect worth noting is Stassen’s illustrations of Deogratias’s subjective self-interpretation; his madness manifests as him turning into a dog, an image that works very well both in terms of artistry and as a way to show Deogratias madness through visual representation. Stassen also uses a repetitive panel of the Rwandan sky with an area of empty white space beneath it as punctuation and a refrain, which keeps the pace of the book on tempo–it’s highly formalized, but in a very organic way.

Like all the First Second books that I have seen, Deogratias is a very well-designed book. In a way, their line realizes the potential of the space where comics publishing and traditional book publishing meet. The cover takes the recurring starry night panel from the book, and adds a foreground image of a cowering Deogratias, whose body language suggests his canine self-image. He and the rest of the foreground are printed more glossy than the background, which provides even more contrast, and the effect of dark-on-dark tones makes his reddish eyes more pronounced. Really, what’s most striking is how dark the whole cover is–at first, or on a casual glance, the whole cover looks muddled and dark, but just as it takes a moment for eyes to adjust in a dark room, it takes a moment to adjust to the cover to see that there is a lot of detail in what initially looks like shadow.

Deogratias isn’t a comfortable book. If there’s comfort food (the kind that sticks to the ribs and fills the body with warmth), there’s comfort reading. And if there’s comfort reading, then this book might be considered discomfort reading–it sticks to the ribs, sure, and it satisfies, but it provokes contemplative uneasiness and demands that the reader takes his or her time to digest everything. While Deogratias might not be a comfortable, lazy Sunday book, it is satisfying because it is emotionally resonant without being emotionally manipulative. It won’t tell the reader what to feel, but it should provoke an honest reaction. It’s a book worth sharing with readers of all kinds: NPR junkies, people who appreciate the craft of comics creation, and people that want to read works that not only provoke contemplation, but demand it.

Review: THE STEREOS: BATTLE OF THE BANDS and THE STEREOS: IN THE GARAGE

Originally posted at The Low Road July 28th, 2005.

the stereos: battle of the bands
by Brandon Hanvey
$5, The Geekout

the stereos: in the garage
by Brandon Hanvey
$7, The Geekout

At MoCCA, I picked up two books by Brandon Hanvey. I knew Hanvey as moderator of the Comic Book Resources independent and small press forum and enjoyed the links he posted for his web comic The Little Things, so I made a point to pick up the stereos: battle of the bands and the stereos: in the garage. The books focus on a small garage band making their way in the local scene.

Just looking at both books, one can see the impact Hanvey’s gig as a graphic designer had on the production quality. Both books have the look and feel of a 7″ record dust jacket that (at least, when I was still in high school) local bands put together to showcase their music. Not only is the packaging attractive, but it meshes the content with the format. The album vibe is enforced through the “track listings” on the back that track the plot points.

The real selling point of the story is Hanvey’s sincerity. While the band members fit stereotypical modes (the stereos are comprised of a geek, a goth, a slacker and a punk), they don’t come across more as archetypes than caricatures. The band’s name even plays off the image they present; “the stereos” is an abbreviation for stereotypes. While the characters roles are fairly stock, Hanvey isn’t presenting them with a knowing wink or an ironic detachment–they’re presented simply as what they are, which gives both books a certain charm. The little touches in both books, like the similar opening sequences, make the characters and the story accessible; there’s no need for a recap or information page to bring the reader up to speed–these are ground-level comics.

Hanvey’s art is crisp and refreshing. In the stereos: in the garage, his line is more confident, and the background details are better illustrated than in the earlier book. Reading them together, it’s fun to watch Hanvey’s growth as an illustrator. Hanvey’s strength is in using facial expressions, body language and other non-verbal cues to show who the characters are, as the cover to the right demonstrates (click on the image to see the full-size version at Hanvey’s site).

The weakest point in these books is the dialogue. While the characters come across through what they are saying, they don’t have distinct voices–everything feels slightly wooden. Jonas’s slacker tendencies come across through the rhythm of his dialogue better than the other characters’ personality traits do, but if one were to take a random line from any of the four characters and print them out of context, it would be difficult to attribute the quote correctly (although the lyrics capture the characters better than the dialogue does, particularly with Rain, the goth character). Also, Hanvey relies a little heavily on conversation rather than dialogue. The flow of the conversations is authentic–perhaps a little too authentic–but it doesn’t move the story forward. I hope this doesn’t come across as too negative, because I really did enjoy both books. With a little work done on making the words and rhythm flow as well as the visuals do, Hanvey could easily be one of the few cartoonists making books that just about anyone could enjoy.

The stereos: battle of the bands and the stereos: in the garage don’t resonate. They’re not “deep” books setting out to make a statement or to “change the comics industry.” They’re cleanly illustrated, accessible and comfortably familiar. By playing with the stereotypes the characters represent, Hanvey’s doing the same thing one imagines John Hughes intended to do with his ’80s teen movies–providing something most people can look at and find something reflective of their adolescence.

On the basis of the two stereos books, I’m looking forward to Hanvey’s as-yet-untitled romance comic (a sample page in stages can be viewed at Hanvey’s blog); as he grows and matures as a cartoonist and as a writer, his design sense and sincerity could pay off well in that genre.