Good Minnesotan #4 - Funding achieved!

Just a quick post to report that 2D Cloud have successfully raised enough cash to print up a first run of Good Minnesotan #4. Great to see the project come to fruition, it's well deserved. The finished anthology is due to ship late August / early September.

Well done Raighne and Meghan!

Good Minnesotan #4 - An Anthology in the making

Good Minnesotan #4 is the final installment of 2d Could’s regional comics anthology focusing on cartoonists and artists based in Minnesota, USA. It’s published by Raighne and Meghan Hogan, who have steadily built a reputation for themselves by putting out consistently beautiful hand assembled comics.

Good Minnesotan #4 continues down the same path, and is presented as four mini comics housed in an eye catching Giclee printed slipcase. At 120 pages, the anthology covers a lot of ground, taking in a wide range of approaches to comics and visual art. If you’re looking for easy comparisons, Good Minnesotan sits neatly alongside the likes of Kramer’s Ergot and Mome, but with a healthy dose of DIY attitude.


There's some outstanding work spread over the four minis that comprise this anthology; my absolute favourite being Martha Iserman’s single panel gag strip ‘Albert the Stuffed Parrot-Beaked Puffer Fish’, which charts the secret life of her taxidermied puffer fish. In a series of one panel snap shots, her preserved puffer fish indulges in a spot of voyeurism, embarks on a perilous trek across the Alps, and mounts a daring attack on a Cylon base ship. It’s as funny as it is ridiculous and I firmly believe the world needs more comics like this.

2d Cloud mainstay Nic Breutzman (Yearbooks) makes a welcome return to the pages of Good Minnesotan, delivering a sparse piece of cartooning that evokes the dreamy haze of adolescence.

Breutzman’s narrative is restricted to only a few panels per page, but is set against the eerie skeletal sprawl of a new housing development. His art is vivid and precise, yet somehow distant and retroactive at the same time. Breutzman taps into a subtly unsettling visual landscape that often verges on the uncanny. It's the very epitome of the familiar, shot through with an atmosphere that just isn't quite right.

Anna Bongiovanni contributes an equally affecting allegorical tale that expounds upon the harsh reality of being forced to grow up too fast. Her deceptively simple story of a group of children who lose their mother, packs far more emotional punch than you might expect from a five page short.

Having buried their mother deep in the onion garden, the orphaned children vow to eat all the onions that grow the following year. The metaphor of one daughter's dogged determination to eat the entire crop is a powerful one; and as she struggles to consume every last bitter, acidic morsel, her appearance slowly begins to change. Forcing down the last of the onions, she ages thirty years in seconds, emerging as a mirror image of her deceased mother.

Bongiovanni draws on all the strengths of her chosen medium, marrying image and language to create an arresting and emotionally charged comic. She deals with themes universal to us all, mapping out the burdens of responsibility and adulthood with astounding clarity and understanding. This one lingered with me for days after I first read it.

In contrast to the aforementioned pieces, Buck Sutter offers up a striking selection of treated black and white photographs. It's beautiful, clearly personal work, riddled with symbolism that springs from the page like half remembered dreams. There's a shadowy, gauzy quality to his images, like distant memories obscured by the fog of time. His photography is a welcome addition to an anthology that deals in visual storytelling in all its myriad forms.

Good Minnesotan #4 is nothing short of excellent and should be applauded for its heady mix of paintings, photography and comics. If you're searching for new talent on the fringes of the American underground comics/arts scene this would be a great place to start.

2d Cloud are currently raising funds to cover the printing costs of Good Minnesotan #4, which will be sold at the highly affordable price of $5. You can help them on their way by pledging some cash, which will net you a copy of the anthology and various other goodies when it goes to print. This anthology deserves your support, and if you like what you see, I’d urge you to head on over to their Kickstarter page to help ensure this gorgeous little gem makes it to press.

Deconstructing Superheroes - Daredevil: Born Again & Kick Ass

Daredevil: Born Again was first published in 1986 and followed in the wake of Alan Moore’s Watchmen and Frank Miller’s own The Dark Knight Returns; both highly influential comics that fundamentally changed the landscape of modern superhero fiction. Although Born Again is perhaps far less well recognised than those comics, it’s certainly no less deserving of attention.

Born Again saw Frank Miller team up with David Mazzucchelli, a pairing that might raise a few eyebrows were it to happen today. Miller brought his trademark hard boiled crime stylings to the book and Mazzucchelli delivered art to match, with an unparalleled spatial awareness of what could be done on the page. By modern standards, it’s almost a given that Miller and crime noir go hand in hand, but it’s worth noting that his gritty detective fiction slant on the superhero genre started with his work on Daredevil.

By the time Born Again hit the shelves, Miller’s darker, Hell’s Kitchen inspired template was already firmly in place and ripe for exploitation. The addition of Mazzucchelli’s detailed, multi dimensional art, adds a visual clout to the book that goes far beyond simply rendering the urban backdrop of Hell's Kitchen believable. All this adds up to a pretty great book, but it’s not just the noir leanings and evocative art that make it such a standout piece. What makes Daredevil: Born Again truly special is its psychological deconstruction of Daredevil, aka the blind lawyer Matt Murdock.

The book opens with a down and out Karen Page selling Matt’s secret identity to a drug dealer. Of course, it isn’t long before this information drops into the lap of crime lord Wilson Fisk, who is only too pleased to discover that Matt Murdock and Daredevil are in fact one and the same. With this information in hand Fisk begins to systematically dismantle Matt’s life, methodically striping away his reputation, wealth, career, and friends. As things begins to unravel, his only means of escape is his alter ego Daredevil. Left homeless, friendless and deeply suspicious of everyone around him, he becomes increasingly violent, frenzied and animalistic as he plummets towards rock bottom with alarming speed.

Here Miller tackles the inherent paradox of superheroes; on the one hand Matt Murdock is a shining beacon of all that is good and just in the world, and on the other, he’s a violent vigilante whose secret double life borders on clinical schizophrenia. Miller acknowledges the death and destruction that surrounds Daredevil, and then follows those veins of poison as they seep into every corner of his personal life. There are some wonderful pre-echoes of Mazzuccehlli’s later work, especially his inventive use of colour and space. In issue 228 of Born Again, Matt confines himself to a cramped, seedy hotel room. Paralysed by fear and paranoia, the room becomes both a physical and mental prison. There’s a repeating motif of long thin vertical panels, lined up like prison bars, further adding to the calutrophobic nature of events. As everything closes in, fighting for space on the page, Matt struggles against seemingly insurmountable odds.

Ben Urich, the wayward Daily Bugle reporter receives a similar visual treatment when he finds himself under Wilson Fisk’s watchful eye. Following a series of unsuccessful attempts to ease Matt's plight, Ben finds himself under constant threat of physical violence from the Kingpin. As his situation turns from bad to worse, Mazzucchelli begins to visually morph Ben’s features, switching from his realist style to exaggerated elongated lines, stretching out Ben’s face so it radiates stress and nervous energy. Ben is painted a cowardly yellow, the panels themselves become narrow, boxing him in on the page as the omnipresent force of the Kingpin moves in for the kill.

In both cases mood is expressed in terms of colour and space, and it’s interesting to see Mazzucchelli experimenting with these stylistic techniques. As the attentive reader will know, these particular traits would eventually become an integral part of his artistic approach, most notably in his adaptation of Paul Auster’s City of Glass and his recent solo effort Asterios Polyp.

What fascinates most about Daredevil: Born Again is its inversion of classic comic book conventions. It takes a long hard look at the cold reality of being a superhero and doesn't shy away from the more unpleasant truths that emerge. Take ‘Nuke’ for example, the book's drug fueled nemesis; a blindly patriotic, failed military experiment who’s forever popping pills and spouting militaristic non-sequiturs. Nuke is post Cold War politics embodied. He's the anti- Captain America. Nuke is clearly cast as a villain, yet maintains the psychotic delusion that he's allied to the forces of good. He is the darker side of warfare and politics, blindly following orders, sworn to protect ‘our boys’ and his beloved USA. When a disillusioned Captain America finally lays his misguided fellow comrade to rest, it’s abundantly clear that superheroes aren’t what they used to be. All is not right in the world of the superhuman, and although the book reaches a typically ‘wrapped up’ resolution of its main plot points, it still asks some stark questions about what it would truly mean to be a superhero.

Just over two decades later, Nicholas Cage (Big Daddy) and Chloë Grace Moretz (Hit Girl) face off in a disused reservoir. Big Daddy calmly points a gun at his daughter and pulls the trigger. Thus begins their journey on the road to becoming masked vigilantes in the big screen adaptation of Mark Millar’s comic Kick Ass. Big Daddy and Hit Girl are a case in point, they’re the apex of modern superhero fiction; and as apt a parody as you’re ever likely to see. Morals are swept neatly under the carpet and bloody justice reigns down at the hands of an 11 year old girl, whose aptitude with firearms and knives is nothing short of frightening.

Kick Ass is an undeniably funny film, but the reason it elicits so many laughs is, I suspect, due to the sheer perversity of the whole setup. I need not explain to you the strange pleasure of watching an 11 year old girl brutally dispatch dozens of hardened criminals, and whilst I laughed as much as the next man, I couldn’t help but feel that Kick Ass makes some interesting points about the pysche of the superhero.

In much the same way that Miller and Mazzucchelli strip down Daredevil to his very core to reveal an unbalanced, yet highly driven individual, Kick Ass too, quite adeptly acknowledges the savage duality of the modern day superhero. There’s a dark and nihilistic streak lurking just under the film’s playful action flick sheen, and therein lies the all too knowing recognition that such heroes would be flawed and unbalanced individuals long before they even put on a mask and cape.

MD.

Lauren Barnett - Secret Weirdo

Lauren Barnett was kind enough to send me some of her mini comics. I hold in my hands three short form pamphlets, Secret wierdo, A story about a fish and I'd sure like some fucking pancakes. Snappy titles, I think you’ll agree.


What strikes you immediately about these mini comics is that Lauren’s cartooning is very off the cuff, all rendered in a primary school style scrawl, which has more to do with her overall narrative approach than it does with her artistic ability. It’s obvious that Barnett is capable of a much more considered style, but the messy simplicity on display here suits her subject matter perfectly. Barnett relates childhood memories and snippets of her adult life with a singular, almost childlike innocence, taking obvious pleasure in the simple joys of life. Her wonderfully honest, off kilter sense of humour is more than enough to balance out any reservations you may have about her purposefully regressive art.

Barnett’s comics aren’t about artistic finesse, in fact they’re quite the opposite; coming across like a scribbled postcard from her younger self, serving as a reminder of all those wonderful childish things we keep buried deep within our subconscious. It’s at once reassuring and comforting to see such uninhibited work, as Barnett dredges up memories of her past for all to see, whilst reflecting on the present with an uninhibited sense of optimism.

When doubts and worries do enter the picture, they’re warped and bent into curious forms for Barnett’s own amusement. The serious sharp stabs of the real world are rendered blunt and ridiculous, but somehow maintain an underlying air of solemnity that can take you by surprise. In one strip a chicken loses its feathers, and to add insult to injury the errant plumage refuses to return to its owner, “I’m moving on”, say the feathers. It’s a funny little gag, but it could just as easily be read as a poignant tale of betrayal. It all depends on what angle you come at it from.

Barnett gives us occasional flashes of her full artistic potential. In I'd sure like some fucking pancakes there’s a particularly striking dream sequence based around killing a unicorn. The sketchy, lifelike art is far more accomplished than anything that precedes it, and again it marks a more thoughtful, even melancholly moment amidst otherwise light hearted content. It’s also worth noting that the painted cover of Secret Weirdo displays a remarkably different artistic style to Barnett's interior pages. The exterior of her mini comic is impressionistic and detailed, whilst the interior harkens back to her rougher, more immediate line work. Interior and exterior here are presented as two very different things, and I imagine they’re just as wildly divergent as Barnett’s daily surface level experiences and her own personal inner world.

It would be easy to write Barnett's work off as 'cute' or 'amateurish', but personally, I think there’s a lot more to her strange world of goldfish, cats and featherless birds than first meet the eye.

You can check out more of Lauren’s comics here. Give her a look.

The eye of every storm - Von Allan's 'The Road to God Knows...'

Von Allan’s debut graphic novel The Road to God Knows deals with the author’s experiences of growing up with a mother suffering from schizophrenia. Instead of taking the tried and tested route of straight autobiography, Allan has chosen to create a work of fiction that's closely informed by his own experiences. Casting the 13 year old Marie as his lead allows him a certain distance from his subject matter, and whilst this is clearly a highly personal book, it benefits greatly from this approach. Never once did I find myself gritting my teeth because the book was overwrought or too self obsessed.

By using Marie as his main vehicle, Alan limits the amount of information the reader has access to, keeping the emphasis very much on Marie’s world as she perceives it. Events and experiences are all magnified though the lens of adolescence, making the emotional turmoil that Marie faces all the more immediate. As a result, The Road to God Knows is a focused yet strangely blinkered reading experience; we never learn the full extent of Marie’s mother’s illness, nor are we privy to any of the medical ins and outs of her schizophrenia. It might have been beneficial to gain some deeper insight into the mental disorder that sits at the heart of the book, but in many ways, this is very much in keeping with Marie’s perspective, focusing squarely on the social and emotional fallout that begins to spill over into her everyday life.


Setting out how a thirteen year girl deals with the ramifications of her mother's schizophrenia is a difficult task in itself, and Allan takes an even handed, almost observational approach, sketching out events but rarely delving beneath the surface to reveal the inner workings of his characters. The overriding impression is that even Marie doesn’t fully comprehend the extent of her mother’s condition, only that her life is very different to that of her peers.

Reading The Road to God Knows is a little like sitting in the eye of a storm, gazing out at the damage and debris that surrounds you, yet safe in the knowledge that you’re momentarily sheltered from the destructive forces responsible. We’re privy to the impact that Marie’s mother’s schizophrenia has on her life, but very rarely do we see the storm itself. In all but a few key scenes everything is internalised, and this has as much to do with her mother’s private battle with her own demons, as it does with Marie’s ability to fully process the events occurring around her. What's good is that Allan leaves more than enough space for you to draw your own conclusions, resisting the temptation to hammer home his message with the blunt implements of cheap melodrama and tragedy.

In Marie’s world simple joys become precious to the point of obsession. She seeks solace in wrestling magazines and televised matches. Her fascination with the wrestling duo The Northern Rockers serves as both an escapist fantasy and a symbol of her sexual awakening. When, early on in the book, she learns that her wrestling heroes are due to pass through town, getting the cash together to attend the event becomes a driving force in her life. Wrestling and her close friends are the grounding forces that tether Marie to something approaching a balanced existence.

It’s interesting to note that Allan chooses wrestling as a focal point for Marie. It's one which serves as both a cultural calling card for the 80s as well as a fitting metaphor for the book’s subject matter. Wrestling, after all, is a sport that deals in split personalities; the high theatre of the 'on stage' alter ego vs. the normal person who exists outside the ring. Wrestling here seems to function as a sanitised socially accepted form of conflict, providing a stark contrast to the domestic unrest that Marie has to face in her day to day life. In the end it’s wrestling that offers a salvation of sorts, an affirmation that Marie can lead a normal life, indulging in the same pastimes that regular teenagers do. Her future is left wide open, riddled with uncertainty, but not without the spectre of hope looming just over the horizon.


The Road to God Knows depicts the all too common battle of getting from A to B under difficult circumstances, clinging all the while to every remaining thread of normality. The book feels like a small piece of a far larger history, and much like being granted a fleeting glimpse into someone else’s life, it’s an all too brief examination of a series of incredibly complex social issues. Historically, mental illness has been a subject that’s frequently discussed in hushed tones, and despite its brevity The Road to God Knows gets its point across with clarity and conviction.

Although Allan’s work still has hints of the fledgling artist to it, this is solid stuff. His style of clear line art, coloured with soft watercolours is more than capable of carrying his story, and with the exception of some slightly ill considered page layouts and a few instances of exaggerated body language his art gets the job done. If anything, it's his characters facial expressions that let him down, veering from slightly wooden to too overstated. Admittedly, these are fairly minor quirks, quirks that will no doubt be ironed out as Allan continues to develop as a cartoonist.

Taken as a whole, this is a strong debut told with unflinching honesty and a genuine desire to educate.

You can download The Road to God Knows as a free PDF here, or alternately it can be purchased from Amazon should you wish to show your support. More information on Von Allan can be found on his website here.

Review by Matthew Dick.