Jim Taylor

A ponderer with delusions of grandeur...

Aug 202013
 

Celebrated sci-fi author China Miéville spoke about the “geekification of popular culture”, and his desire to build a counter-history of popular literature through the “books that don’t fit” at the World Writers’ Conference event, hosted by the Edinburgh International Book Festival on Saturday.  The event as a whole was rather directionless; despite acting as a sort of epilogue for the “nomadic” World Writers’ Conference which kicked off at the EIBF last year, and has since visited 15 cities around the world, Saturday’s event was not, strangely, based around the series of questions which have united the Conference’s myriad lectures, debates and discussions over the past 12 months.  In fact, of the Conference’s five major themes – “A National Literature”, “Censorship Today”, “Style vs Content”, “The Future of the Novel” and “Should Literature be Political?” – only the latter two were touched upon by Miéville and his fellow speakers, Sema Kaygusuz and Hari Kunzru, during the admittedly short event on Saturday.

At EIBF last August, Miéville gave an eloquent lecture on “The Future of the Novel”, a theme to which he returned this year by considering also the novel’s past and present.  The novel, he argued, remains “as tenacious as a cockroach”, but a quick look at the history of the form reveals that often the most interesting books are the ones over which the author seems to have lost some control.  This loss of control is, said Miéville, undoubtedly a good thing in creative terms, and will hopefully become a more regular occurrence in the future with the possibility of so-called “literary mash-ups”, where readers will take control of and remodel a text themselves.  A radical prediction, but one which is becoming ever more likely, with a process of “geekification”, as he called it, ensuring that what once was subculture is now simply culture, as demonstrated by the widespread success of E.L. James’ Fifty Shades of Grey, which of course began life as Twilight fan-fiction.  There’s room for so many different approaches to narrative, he suggested, because people crave both simplicity and complexity in storytelling, and so both are constantly jostling for position.

Turkish writer Sema Kaygusuz spoke briefly about how writers can reclaim old myths to create narrative around progressive political movements, as has happened recently in her homeland, and how literature will eventually begin to chronicle such upheaval, but it could be as long as ten years before these events begin to seep into Turkish (and international) fiction.  Hari Kunzru outlined his latest project, which involved collaborating with the V&A Museum in London to tell a story (originally in novella form) in a gallery space.  His apocalyptic sci-fi, Memory Palace, was, he said, really an attempt to write about austerity in Britain today, and through his collaboration with typographers, graphic designers and illustrators became an exhibition of non-linear narrative which visitors could each experience in their own unique way.

The event concluded with all three authors discussing the democratisation of publishing, and the role of gatekeepers and “Darwinism” in sorting out the signal-to-noise ratio.  They also tackled the popular comparison of high-quality American TV shows like The Wire to the novel format.  More than once, commentators have likened such shows to “televisual novels”, but all three writers agreed that what they actually resemble, at least in form, is 19th century novels, due to their episodic nature.  The modern novel is capable of things beyond the reach of TV shows, an adaptability that will only be improved, argued Miéville, by the continued undermining of the myth of the “wise author”.

The Edinburgh World Writers’ Conference 2012-13 will conclude later this month in Australia, at the annual Melbourne Writers’ Festival.

Aug 172013
 

Jonny investigates that rarest of beasts: a tie-in video game which is actually really good….

The Walking Dead: The Game is a puzzle-adventure originally released in April 2012, with successive episodes made available over the following four months resulting in a 5-act story.  Since then there’s also been a sixth episode released, titled ‘400 days’ which is set to bridge the gap between the first game and the forthcoming sequel.

Despite taking place in the Walking Dead universe, the game itself features next-to-no crossover with the comics or the TV series.  One of the reasons I’d not picked up this game sooner was that, having neither read nor watched any Walking Dead, I’d assumed I’d be thrown headfirst into a full cast of characters I knew nothing about, and the whole thing would be completely lost on me.  This couldn’t be further from the truth.

The game opens with the player character, Lee, in the back of a police car, being driven down the highway.  The driver asks you a few questions, and from this you’re able to glean your arrest was due to you attacking someone who was somehow connected with your wife.  Before you have a chance to figure anything else out, however, you’re separated from your escort, and must seek aid inside a seemingly empty house.

Walking Dead 1

After a run in with your first few walkers, you’re introduced to Clementine, an eight year old girl who has lost her parents.  Taking direction from likes of The Road, the responsibility to protect Clem quickly forces you to make decisions not just for your own safety, but for hers as well.  With the aid of some survivors, Lee and Clem find refuge at a farm outside of town where a selection of new characters are introduced, but thereafter I can’t say much more.  Not for fear of spoilers, but because decisions you make beyond this point will have such a major impact on the game world that the way my story turned out could quite possibly be unrecognisable compared to someone else’s.

The Walking Dead is one of few games where I’ve truly felt my actions were changing the story in ways that were massive; I couldn’t imagine how it would work in any other way.  Although it does have sections based around problem solving and puzzles, more like Monkey Island, the majority of the game is played like an interactive movie, with you choosing dialogue that will affect everyone and everything.  To keep you on your toes the game uses a timer when selecting what to say, so during a heated argument, you really have to think fast and go with your gut, as you won’t have time to mull it over.  This is such a brilliantly engaging innovation; I was left speechless at a number of key points in the game, where I simply couldn’t decide what to say before I ran out of time.  The other survivors react to your silence realistically, and will often scold you if you appear to be taking sides, or avoiding tricky subjects: I even opted to purposefully remain quiet during a dispute between husband and wife, because zombie apocalypse or not, I know when not to get involved!

Walking Dead 2

Not only is the dialogue system well-executed, but the choices you’re given are more diverse than I’ve seen in any other game, so at no point was I forced to compromise my decisions.  For instance, at one stage early on in the series, after finding a survivor who’s been bitten, she asks you for your group’s pistol so she can kill herself before she turns.  Not only could I refuse to give it to her, but I was also able to refuse to shoot her myself, and opted instead to simply try and leave her.  When later confronted about this, I was able to reason with my fellow survivors that we couldn’t waste the bullet.

The game is short, there’s no arguing that; you can comfortably play it once over the course of five days, taking an episode each evening. However, due to the hugely branching direction in which the plot can develop it has considerable re-playability, if you want to take the time to answer all of those ‘what ifs’.  That said, after certain events occurred I felt such dread at the prospect of ruining everyone’s chances of survival by playing the next episode that part of me wanted to simply stick my head in the sand and pretend everything would be fine for Lee and Clementine!  The only other game to ever make me feel so conflicted at the prospect of progressing further was Amnesia: The Dark Descent, but that’s another story.

The Walking Dead: The Game is sure to leave a lasting impression on you, and I’m not in the least bit ashamed to admit tears were pricking my eyes on more than one occasion.  I honestly think that £20, which seems to be the average retail price, might be a little much, if only because it is such a short game, but if you can grab a copy for £15 or less, you shouldn’t miss the opportunity.  I’d advise you to take a box of tissues to go along with it though, as it gets pretty grim.

Jonny West

The Walking Dead: The Game is available now across multiple platforms.  The sequel is slated for release later this year.

Aug 162013
 

Journalist and cartoonist Joe Sacco used his appearance at the Edinburgh International Book Festival to talk about the unique strengths of graphic reportage, the importance of “honest journalism” and the power of outrage.  His most famous works, the harrowing travelogue Palestine and the Bosnian war chronicle Safe Area Gorazde, have set the benchmark in comic book journalism, a medium with huge potential impact in which the reporter’s reproduction of events is limited only by their ability to draw.  The comic book medium, said Sacco, is somewhat at odds with traditional, (apparently) objective journalism, since the very act of drawing is itself subjective in nature.

Throughout his journalistic career, Sacco has embraced this subjective approach by featuring himself as a character in many of his works.  Asked whether this was a deliberate comment on the inherent subjectivity of all news reporting, he said no, but suggested that many viewers/readers are indeed beginning to twig that so-called ‘traditional journalism’ is actually subjectivity portrayed as objectivity, since everybody has preconceptions and assumptions that they bring to reportage.  The inclusion of himself in his reporting is, he said, merely his attempt to emphasise that what we’re reading are his experiences, as well as to preserve the reaction of local people to outsiders, which is always interesting to watch.

A well-travelled man, Sacco has lived in Malta, Australia, the United States, Germany and the middle east.  His experience of so many different people and places has helped him over the years to refine his style, and better appreciate the strengths of graphic reportage.  Not having a TV crew around, for instance, has meant that he’s been able to blend into the background, and that his interviewees haven’t been able to simply “play for the camera”.  According to Sacco, he works mainly from photographs when he draws, as he discovered over time that a sketchpad can get in the way when conducting interviews or capturing events as they unfold.  This doesn’t always work, though; Sacco reminisced about a particular Israeli military checkpoint where it would have been unwise to brandish a camera….

Sacco said that there should be more outrage in journalism, although not for its own sake, and that he “crossed the line early on” in 1982 when he learned of the Sabira and Shatila massacres in Beirut.  That was the point at which, he said, he became aware that he didn’t actually know what was going on in the world, and began to distrust what he saw as one-sided news reporting in the US media.  He has subsequently reported on conflict and social upheaval in Gaza, the West Bank, India, Malta, Bosnia, Iraq and Chechnya, his anger at the situations he encounters being somewhat tempered by the knowledge that he can at least tell the story of the people suffering, even if it only makes the smallest of differences.  He strives for honest reporting, but also recognises that portraying people simply as victims can be dehumanising; the situation is always more complicated than that.  “It’s only when you get there,” said Sacco, “that you realise what’s really going on.”

The publication of a compilation of his work, entitled Journalism, last year seemed to draw a line under one phase of his career, so what can we expect from Joe Sacco in the future?  He says the plan is to move away from conflict reportage, or at least find a new approach to it.  He’s now looking at ancient Mesopotamia as the basis for a possible historical project, but his next publication actually sounds like one of the most ambitious he’s ever undertaken.  The Great War is due to be published next month, and will consist of a single, foldout panorama of one day at the battle of the Somme during the First World War.  According to Sacco, such a project was very attractive to him because of the challenge of producing something entirely without words, his desire to portray a “mass human event”, and his deep and abiding personal interest in the history of the First World War.  If the quality of his previous work is anything to go by, it should be horrifying and breathtaking in equal measure.

Journalism is available now, priced at £18.99.  The Great War will be published on 3rd September.

Aug 132013
 

Book Festival entrance

They don’t seem to be making much of a fuss about it, but this year is in fact the 30th anniversary of the Edinburgh International Book Festival.  That’s 30 years of bringing some of the world’s best writers to Scotland’s capital, a city awash with festivities during the summer months.  Though they don’t shout as loudly as the Fringe or the International Festival, the Book Festival’s organisers have once again put together an exciting and varied programme for this year’s event, one which will feature over 800 authors across two weeks of fascinating talk and debate.

Building on the success of several comics-related events last year, the 2013 festival sees the inclusion of a special theme dedicated to comic books, called Stripped.  Under this banner, writers and artists as varied as Grant Morrison, Melinda Gebbie, Dan Abnett, Chris Ware and Joe Sacco will be discussing their work over the next fortnight, and there’s even a special event with Neil Gaiman (one of the four that he’s doing this year) where he’ll look back at his graphic masterpiece, The Sandman.  For those of a geeky inclination there’s also plenty of other stuff to enjoy, such as events with Ben Aaronovitch, Paul Cornell, Neil Gaiman (in his non-comics guise) and Margaret Atwood.  Last but certainly far from least is Geekzine editor Andrew Jamieson’s appearance at the festival on Wednesday 14th August, when he’ll be talking about his steampunk-fantasy epic The Vengeance Path, as well as the future of digital publishing.  It’s a veritable cornucopia of geeky delights!

Your humble Geekzine correspondent will be in attendance, of course (the free coffee and occasional morning pastries will see to that), bringing you coverage from the heart of one of the UK’s premier literary festivals.  Hope to see you down there!

The 2013 Edinburgh International Book Festival will be running in Charlotte Square until Monday 26th August.

Aug 122013
 

This month sees the entirety of Grant Morrison’s classic run on Animal Man republished in a hardcover omnibus edition, so what better time to revisit this groundbreaking piece of superhero fiction, and remember just why it came to be regarded as a cult classic.

Running from 1988 to 1990, Grant Morrison’s renovation of the forgotten, B-list superhero Animal Man was his first major piece of work for DC, and was originally intended to be merely a four-issue relaunch for the character before the ongoing series was handed off to another writer.  Fortunately for the world of comic books Morrison stuck with the title, having thought of an intriguing and novel direction in which to take the newly-reborn superhero.  Starting with the fifth issue of his run, Coyote Gospel (itself a concise masterpiece of tragic metafiction and religious allegory), Morrison began to foreshadow the more complex spiritual and existential themes which would come to dominate the comic, as the main character’s consciousness is elevated to the point where he begins to suspect that he might just be a character in a comic book…..

Animal Man (real name Buddy Baker) is an unconventional superhero in that for him it’s a part-time job.  Although able to absorb the abilities of any animal in his vicinity, he spends most of his time worrying about paying the mortgage, keeping his costume clean and landing TV spots to promote his services to the general public.  For Buddy, a chance with the Justice League is an opportunity to help make the world a better place, but it also represents a steady salary, and a way to better support his wife and children.  Deciding to take a chance and go full-time as Animal Man, Buddy’s first adventure sees him uncover barbaric animal experimentation at STAR Labs in San Francisco, an experience which gives him a new purpose: fighting for animals rights across the world.  When the Justice League offer Animal Man a job it looks like things are on the up for the Baker family, but a series of increasingly bizarre occurrences causes Buddy to question his place in the world and whether he’s really in control of his own destiny.  The aliens who gave Buddy his powers reveal that they’re only following the orders of a higher authority, and invite him to question the reliability of his memories; the supervillain Psycho-Pirate, imprisoned in Arkham Asylum, refuses to sleep for fear that he’ll be “removed from the continuity” before he wakes; and a physicist called James Highwater begins to suspect that he may not have existed until he became involved in Animal Man’s exploits, and his new theory of physics seems to suggest that the universe is shaped very much like a comic book page.  Buddy endures profound personal tragedy and an epic battle to save the universe before his quest for existential certainty leads him beyond the boundaries of his reality, to the doorway of a young comics writer called Grant Morrison.

Morrison’s grounded depiction of Buddy’s home life was his concession to the trend of realism that started to dominate comics in the late ’80s, but casting his main character as an everyman who just happened to have superpowers also allowed him to satirise the superhero genre by addressing the inherent ridiculousness of the concept.  Buddy’s musing about the nonsensical nature of his animal powers, for instance, is both a gentle swipe at attempts to bring realism to a fundamentally unrealistic world, and a foreshadowing of the metafictional odyssey which would come to define the character of Animal Man.  Morrison also used the comic to address political issues, specifically environmentalism, animal rights and South African apartheid; his approach to these storylines was sometimes a little clumsy and overly earnest, but groundbreaking nonetheless.  Also refreshing was his attempt to depict the awkward early career of an inexperienced superhero, twenty years before Mark Millar’s Kick-Ass, and the mixture of pathos and comedy that resulted from it.  But what elevates Grant Morrison’s Animal Man into true cult classic territory is its brilliant combination of extensive metafictional elements and gut-wrenching emotional resonance.

You care about Buddy Baker.  You care about his family, his pets and all the little things that make up his world.  Despite having superhuman abilities, Buddy is essentially an ordinary guy, trying to do the right thing and find his way in the universe.  You can’t help but root for him as he throws himself into a world of monsters, aliens, time travel and magic, so much so that when tragedy finally strikes it comes as a genuine, horrible shock.  Buddy’s gradual realisation that he is actually a character in a comic book makes for compelling reading, but the true genius of the series is the way in which Morrison shows you that all the characters you’re following are nothing more than ink on paper, and then still makes you care deeply about what happens to them.  In many ways, Animal Man is a paean to the magic of storytelling, something which becomes apparent in the series’ final pages.  It tackles the cynical myth that darkness and violence somehow makes stories more “realistic”, and instead embraces the fragile wonder that lies just beneath the surface of the everyday.  It is simultaneously a critique of the superhero genre and a celebration of it, and although Morrison would explore many of its core concepts more extensively in later works like Flex Mentallo and The Invisibles, his Animal Man remains to this day one of the most innovative and affecting superhero stories ever written.

The omnibus edition of Grant Morrison’s Animal Man will be published on 13th August (RRP £55.99).

Aug 062013
 

The 2013 Edinburgh International Book Festival starts in 4 days’ time (Geekzine coverage will begin shortly), and one of the themes of this year’s programme is ‘Stripped‘, a celebration of graphic novels (or comics, as they used to be called).  It might seem unusual, given the traditional snobbery of the literary establishment, for comic books as a medium to feature so prominently at one of the country’s biggest book festivals, but this is actually part of a recent trend in the world of literature that has seen comics “come in from the cold”.  Slowly but surely, comic books are gaining a modicum of respectability within the literary establishment, a gradual shift which some would argue dates back to 2005, when Time magazine named Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons’ Watchmen as one the 100 greatest novels in the English language.  I’m not convinced that this was quite the paradigm shift many hold it up to be (acclaim for one “graphic novel” does not lend legitimacy to the entire medium – indeed, it can be considered the exception that proves the rule), but it was perhaps nonetheless a harbinger of things to come.  Recent years have seen celebrated prose authors such as Ian Rankin, China Mieville and Jodi Picoult make the transition (albeit a temporary one) to scripting comic books, and the triumph of Mary and Bryan Talbot’s graphic biography Dotter of Her Father’s Eyes at last year’s Costa Book Awards seems to confirm that sequential art storytelling is now finally being recognised as a ‘serious’ literary art-form by the movers and shakers of the book world.  Those of us who have always loved comic books are encouraged to take heart in this change of fortunes, but while it’s nice to see the writers and artists who work in the medium receiving more widespread acclaim for their efforts, I can’t help but feel that there’s something wrong with this picture.  Why?  Because comics are not books.

A comic book works completely differently from a novel.  True, both have dialogue (usually), and both will employ some amount of narration (usually), but comics are primarily works of pictorial art, rather than an attempt to paint pictures with words.  Anyone who has ever seen pages from a comic script (i.e. what the writer actually writes and then sends to the artist) will know that this form of writing arguably has more in common with screenwriting for movies and TV shows than it does with the work of prose authors.  In the film world, the words of the script are realised through the use of cameras, actors and special effects, whereas in comic books, the script is brought to life through the efforts of the artist.  Although sometimes the writer and the artist are the same person, the process of creating a comic book (and reading it) is completely different from the writing (and reading) of a novel or non-fiction book.  There are things you can do in one art-form that you simply cannot do in the other; both have their strengths and their limitations, and these are what separate them as mediums.  Both tells stories, both are printed on paper (usually) and both are stocked in bookshops, but this is where their similarities end.  Recognising this fact has major implications for how comics should treated in comparison with books.

Comic books have always been respected as an art-form in countries like France and Japan, but mainstream critics in the English-speaking world seem to have a particular problem with taking the medium on its own merits.  Treating comics as a subset of books for the purposes of literary reviews and awards has become the only way that these critics can bring themselves to acknowledge their existence, even though this diminishes the medium as an art-form in its own right.  This is why graphic works like Dotter of Her Father’s Eyes are strangely being shortlisted for literary prizes alongside works of prose, even when judging two different forms of art for the same prize seems faintly ludicrous.  It is also why the term “graphic novel” has now become the preferred designation for comic books, even in geekier circles.  The use of the term “novel” is thought to lend the medium respectability because of its literary connotations, and as such is used by fans to aggrandise their passion, and by critics to make their subject more acceptable to literary peers.

There seems to be a great deal of confusion over how the term “graphic novel” should actually be used.  It is not simply an invention of the literary establishment, or of comics readers desperately seeking credibility, but is a legitimate description of one particular form of comic book.  There are in fact three such forms, each with their own designation:

Single issues (or “comics”) – These are the slim, individual issues that you can usually only find in dedicated comic shops.  They tend to be published on a monthly basis, and – outside of newspaper strips – are the original form of comic books.  Although “comics” is my preferred catch-all term for the medium as a whole, it can also be used to refer to this particular form.

Collected editions (or “trades”) – These make up the bulk of comics that are sold in bookshops.  They are collections of previously published single issues, grouped together by story arcs or a writer’s/artist’s run on the title.  Each collection will typically feature anything from three to twelve issues of a title, although there are also omnibus editions which collect dozens of issues in a single hardback or paperback form.

Graphic novels – The proper use of the term refers to those collection-sized hardback and paperback comic books whose content was not previously published as individual issues.  They are wholly original, long-form works.

Most comic books that are referred to as “graphic novels” are in fact collected editions.  Moore and Gibbons’ Watchmen, Neil Gaiman’s Sandman and Frank Miller’s The Dark Knight Returns were all originally published as single issues, meaning that calling their collected editions “graphic novels” is technically erroneous.  Only those works originally published in a longer format, such as Bryan Talbot’s Grandville and Craig Thompson’s Blankets, really qualify as “graphic novels” in the true sense.  Any attempt to stretch the term beyond this application smacks of striving for faux-acceptability, when comics really shouldn’t have to try to impress the world of literature at all.

Saying that comics and books are separate art-forms does not imply a hierarchy; neither is a more ‘worthy’ pursuit than the other.  The fact that comics have to sneak into respectability by disguising themselves as books in award shortlists and review columns flies in the face of this notion, and devalues the medium as a whole.  Comics are a legitimate art-form in their own right, and need to be recognised as such, rather than being thought of simply as an offshoot of prose writing.  Only when this happens can comics truly be said to have become respected in their own right.