Four Color Apocalypse 2018 Year In Review : Top Ten Original Graphic Novels

So — here we are. The end of the road as far as our year-end “Top 10” lists go and, I would imagine, the one of most interest to the greatest number of readers — my picks for favorite original graphic novels of 2018, emphasis on the word “original.” One of our selections started life as a mini-comic, but was fleshed out greatly to become what it is today, while everything else on the list is a wholly original, not-previously-serialized work, designed and constructed especially for release in the “graphic novel” format. I think that’s about all the preamble required, so pardon me while I roll up my sleeves and type my ass off for a few minutes —

10. Monkey Chef By Mike Freiheit (Kilgore Books) – Our resident “rule-breaker” is first out of the gate, a book whose eventual greatness was hinted at in some self-published minis, but really came into its own when completed and collected between two covers. Freiheit’s autobiographical saga of his time cooking for primates (and their evolutionary descendants) in South Africa while falling in love with someone halfway across the world is possibly the most flat-out enjoyable read of the year, as well as a spectacular showcase for his fully-emerged skills as both illustrator and colorist. If Hollywood’s paying any attention, this would make a great movie — but it’ll always be an even better comic.

9. The Winner By Karl Stevens (Retrofit/Big Planet) – Another autobio book? Why yes, it is, and a downright spectacular one at that, as Stevens shines a brightly illuminating light on “the artist’s life” of underemployment, addiction/recovery, and the never-ending struggle to find both something worth saying and a way to say it. Illustrated in a breathtaking variety of styles with painstaking attention to detail as well as care and emotion to spare, this book is also an understated but deeply moving verbal and visual love poem to his wife and muse. Genuine tour de force stuff in every respect.

8. Poochytown By Jim Woodring (Fantagraphics)  – The first of three essentially wordless books on this list (take that to mean what you will about my own discipline as a reader — or, rather, lack thereof), Woodring’s latest excursion into the “Unifactor” results in his most harrowing, “trippy,” lushly-rendered, and hilarious “Frank” story yet. So goddamn charming it’s almost painful — but it’s the kind of pain that feels really good and looks even better.

7. I Am Young By M. Dean (Fantagraphics) – Heartfelt, bold, and addictively page-turning — to say nothing of absolutely gorgeous to look at — Dean’s examination of love’s sudden arrival and slow-burn diffusion is virtuoso work, each page replete with raw and honest emotion and eye-poppingly beautiful illustration. Love hurts, yeah, you know it and I know it — but you’re gonna love this book precisely for that fact, rather than in spite of it.

6. Soft X-Ray/Mindhunters By Alex Degen (Koyama Press) – A sci-fi silent movie rendered in lavish and explosive color that’s part breakneck adventure yarn, part dystopian nightmare, and all unique unto itself, Degen throws down a gauntlet here that few should even attempt to pick up, simply because no one else speaks his entirely self-created sequential art language. “Like nothing before or since” is the starting point of this book rather than the end result — go with its flow, and end up somewhere entirely and alluringly unexpected.

5. Lawns By Alex Nall (Kilgore Press) – One of the most exciting new talents to come along in the last few years, Nall “puts it all together” in his strongest work yet, a vaguely Lynch-ian examination of one small town resident’s quest to simply be left the fuck alone to live his life, his way. We’ve been hearing a lot about comics that capture the “cultural moment” in 2018, and while I intend no offense to works like Sabrina or A House In The Jungle, the simple truth of the matter is that, for my money, this book manages that task with much more humor, heart, and deceptive ease than its “fellow travelers” by a country mile. Where and who we are is a deep and profound question, of course, but equally important is whatever answer we come up with. I would submit that Nall hits the nail precisely on the head in that regard, and does so in a manner that almost anyone can relate to.

4. In Christ There Is No East Or West By Mike Taylor (Fantagraphics Underground) – This one arrived late and shook up the preliminary “running order” of my entire list more or less immediately. A metaphysical travelogue of the soul that journeys inward precisely at a time when so many comics are focused outward, Taylor’s book resonates so deeply and so strongly that reading it is akin to an epiphany — and the fact that it boasts arguably the finest production values of the year certainly doesn’t hurt, either. My God, that fold-out poster cover! Even leaving aside the bells and whistles, though, this is about as confident and unforgettable an artistic and philosophical statement of intent as you’re likely to encounter in this medium of ours this year — and possibly for many to come.

3. The Lie And How We Told It By Tommi Parrish (Fantagraphics) – Don’t let the amorphous and eternally transient (in every sense of the word) nature of Parrish’s dual protagonists fool you, this is a story that knows exactly what it’s doing, even if the characters in neither of its concurrent narratives seem to. Picture one raw nerve spread out over the course of well over a hundred pages and getting thinner and more frayed as it goes and you’re getting some idea of what’s going on in this comic, even though it’s ostensibly simply “about” two estranged friends catching up on their lives after a chance meeting, and the book one of them finds along the way. Parrish’s vibrant painted comics certainly have a singular look to them, but it’s the singular way the cartoonist grapples with issues of personal, sexual, gender, and body identity that makes them one of the most ground-breaking and challenging talents to come along in — just about ever, really.

2. Grip Vol. 1 By Lale Westvind (Perfectly Acceptable Press) – A non-stop tidal wave of action, dynamism, and unapologetic feminism that leaves the need for dialogue and captions in the dust, Westvind manages to do something hitherto-unseen in this book by marrying superhero tropes with a salute to working women (particularly those in the so-called “blue collar” trades) to create the most visually stimulating comic of the year, but also one that fully engages the mind and heart as surely as it does the eyes. One of the most powerful comics to come down the pipeline in ages, actually, but ultimately even more notable for how empowering it is. Simply put — prepare to be blown away.

1. Qoberious Vol. 1 (Self-Published) – As thematically and conceptually dense as it is physically slim, the debut graphic novel by the mysterious (and pseudonymous) D.R.T., rendered in a style that most approximates the look of weathered or otherwise-muted animation cels, is something I honestly don’t think this medium has ever produced before : a work that not only reveals new depths with each successive re-read, but literally forces you to interpret and analyze it in entirely new ways. I’ve read it something like 20 times now, and no two experiences have been the same, even if certain themes (physical bondage, alienation from society, from family, and even from oneself) persist. Readers will be poring over this one for decades to come, unable to even verbalize the nature of the feelings it elicits, never mind how and why it manages to do so. An artifact from another, infinitely more artistically advanced, civilization than our own, language is too outmoded a tool for expressing the sheer sense of admiration and amazement I have for what is unquestionably my pick for book of the year.

And so — that’s 2018, boiled down to six lists. I read a lot of other good stuff, as well as plenty of crap, in the past 12 months, and would sincerely like to thank those of you who came along for the ride and made the first year of Four Color Apocalypse a bigger success (in terms of sheer readership numbers, at any rate) than I ever could have possibly imagined. Next week we get back down to business as usual, and start the long, but no doubt enjoyable, process of finding out what the best books of next year are going to be!

Won’t You Take Me To “Poochytown” (Advance Review)

Here’s the thing : Jim Woodring’s been at it so long, and done it so well, that it’s almost easy to — dare I say it — take him for granted.

There’s really no reason that you (or I, or we) should, though — after all, the guy is basically a cartooning national treasure. Dating back to the (very) late-1980s debut of his first series, Jim, and continuing through Tantalizing StoriesJim Vol. 2Frank, and a number of subsequent graphic novels and occasional short strips set in his (and I use this term with precision) visionary world known as The Unifactor, he’s been making comics like no one else has ever made — hell, like no one else has probably ever thought of — for going on three decades now, and here’s another thing : his stuff seemed about 100 years ahead of anything that anybody else was doing back when he started — and it still does.

So, yeah, when a new Woodring book comes out, it’s still a big deal. Always has been, always will be. His latest (okay, fair enough, still forthcoming at the time of this writing) hardcover graphic novel, Poochytown, has been in the works for three years, and while it employs the same patterns, rhythms, and storytelling methodology of all the stories featuring his anthropomorphic quasi-stand-in protagonist, Frank, it achieves a fresh and compelling balance between the old and the new, the familiar and the unexpected, by taking his ever-wordless visual narrative into entirely unforeseen new directions by the time all is said and done that blow open the doors on a universe — okay, Unifactor — that really didn’t have any to begin with.

Carrying on the throughline that began with Congress Of The Animals  and continued/re-started with Fran, this book, like its predecessors, can be viewed (and, crucially, enjoyed) either entirely on its own or as part of a larger whole, and I can only imagine the expressions on the faces of folks at the Fantagraphics offices as the pages of this one came in : you go into any Woodring work expecting that anything can and will happen, and yet somehow, the “anything” that does happen goes well beyond whatever you could have possibly (or even impossibly) expected, anticipated, or bargained for. He blows your mind on page one and then just takes it from there — to anywhere.

Frank, as is his custom, goes through some serious shit in this story — physical, emotional, and psychological peril being utterly par for the course, yet consistently foisted upon him in entirely inventive ways, the departure of friends/sidekicks/antagonists Pupshaw and Pushpaw for the debauchery and excess (or maybe it’s enlightenment?) of the titular Poochytown serving as the catalyst in this case for a suddenly-despondent Frank to strike up a new alliance/friendship that ultimately leads him to and through a succession of ever-more-harrowing trials and tribulations that eventually deposit him at the physical and mental outskirts of The Unifactor itself, a place where where the “bleeding edge” has bled out and where the “rules” that never applied in this wholly bizarre-yet-familiar world/dimension/what have you in the first place don’t even appear to exist. The end result? Well, that would be telling — so I won’t! — but suffice to say, whether you are a Woodring/Frank veteran or a first-time reader, you are in for one hell of a shock.

As always, the art in this book will knock your socks off. Post-psychedelic, fever-dream imaginings delineated with so much painstaking care and precision that it’s hard to believe one human being armed with nothing but pencils and brushes came up with them. Woodring’s double-page spreads offer the most to study and ogle over, positively awash with poetically-constructed, hyper-dense visual information that bypasses the rational mind and goes right for the id, but in truth there’s not a panel here you won’t feel the need to pore over for 10 or 20 minutes — maybe more. The lines and whorls and swirls and textures and I-don’t-even-know-what-the-fucks are taking Frank — and, consequently, his readers — somewhere darker and more potentially unforgiving this time, though, right (although not directly) into “things are never going to be the same” territory. And yet for all its added import and consequence, Poochytown is no less deliriously charming than previous Woodring works — so while a draining, harrowing phantasmagoria of inexplicable delights may sound like a contradiction in terms, I assure you it’s not. Besides, if you’re stuck in such old ways of thinking, this book doesn’t have time for you, anyway. Woodring is all about sweeping you up — and sweeping you away. And he’s never done it with more confidence, gusto, and sheer bravery than he does here.