My sister Sarah introduced me to Mouse Guard at the 2008 Comic Con, when she insisted we visit David Petersen in Artist Alley. I'm happy for her commitment as well, since the Mouse Guard series is one of the most charming and beautifully illustrated comics that I read. We've stopped to see David at every Con we have attended, and he's a nice guy with wonderful stories and products; you can often see me sporting a Mouse Guard t-shirt in my leisure time, and there is a board game for those who might be interested.
Petersen is both author and artist of Mouse Guard, and this goes a long way toward explaining the tightly-interwoven plot and complimentary artwork. Additional strengths are the regular use of songs, legends, and literature created for the mouse world, giving it a rich history and cultural depth. Of all the comic series I read, it's also the only one I would recommend as being suitable for all ages: young kids will love the detailed mouse, weasel, rabbit, bat, and bird characters that populate this world; older readers will further enjoy the tales of struggle and heroicism that the Mouse Guard--a middle-ages-style military force that keeps its citizens safe from external predators and internal intrigue--documents within
these seasonal collections. There are two larger collections (Autumn and Winter), as well as two shorter collections of spin-off story lines; all will charm and entertain you.
It's the end of 2011, and I'm posting my 104th book. I didn't quite make it to my goal of 111 in 2011, but it does verify my estimate that I read an average of 2 books a week. Not only that, but I'm pleased that I have managed to complete a blog entry for most of what I've read. Looking back at the year's entries, I see that 11 are unfinished, bearing a promise similar to "Recently finished. Review coming soon!" While I did finish these at some point along the way, I never did make it back to record my thoughts. Maybe I'll go back and add a few lines some time in the future, but more likely I'll simply move forward with the goal of having fewer unfinished entries in 2012. There's resolution #1 for 2012. And, I am challenging myself to read more this year: 112 books in 2012. Perhaps you'll join me?
Wildwood is a charming book to end the year with. It's an illustrated novel for ages nine and up, created by a husband (the lead singer of the Decemberists) and wife team in Portland, Oregon. Since all things cool come from Portland these days, it's not surprising that the book is a magical, eco-conscious adventure. The story begins when Prue and her friend Curtis enter the wild area that Portlanders know as the Impassable Wilderness in order to rescue her baby brother. Oddly, but appropriate in Portland, where surfaces are covered with images of birds from the Corvus genus, Prue's brother was stolen by a murder of crows. Immediately upon entering the wilderness to find him, Curtis and Prue are separated and fall in with people from two parts of the hidden world: Prue with a mailman serving the "civilized" North Wood (rural) and South Wood (urban) human and animals and Curtis with a coyote army serving the human Dowager Duchess of the Wildwood. As is usual for books targeting younger readers, animals can talk--and frequently wear clothing. Really, though, it's a wonderful novel for children of all ages who want to exercise their imagination and delve into a world of excitement and hope. I'd highly recommend it as one of your first reads in 2012.
Those who read Selznicks's The Invention of Hugo Cabret--an illustrated novel describing a young boy's secret life living in a train station--have been eagerly awaiting the release of Wonderstruck. After reading it, I can't see any of these folks being disappointed, and I suspect those who start with this book will go back and read the earlier release. Like tIoHC, Wonderstruck integrates full pages of text with full pages of drawing--hence the illustrated-novel versus graphic-novel designation. In this book, however, there is even more illustration, adding to the richness of the reading experience. Even more interestingly, though, the book starts by alternating text pages of one story with illustrated pages of another story. The two seem completely separate and unconnected at first, but over the course of the novel the two story lines merge interestingly.
The book is enchanting and unusual, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. However, after finishing, I began reflecting on the underlying premise of both books. In Hugo, a 12-year-old orphaned boy lives in a Paris train station after the death of his father (mother already deceased); in Wonderstruck, a similarly-aged boy runs aways from home after the death of his mother (father already absent/unknown), traveling from rural Minnesota to hide out in NYC's Museum of Natural History. Both successfully manage to feed themselves, remain safe, and meet other people. I can't help but wonder about this, as it's hard to imagine such success stories. I know this is fiction and allows room for fantasy--and many Tween/Teen books rely on a premise of absent parents and independence--but it's a bit scary too. Of course, I'm not in any way suggesting this book should be kept from young kids, and I don't believe it would cause them to run away, but I certainly think there are some conversations that could be held around the premise. After all, there's a difference between this type of "fantasy" world and one that you find through a secret door in the back of a wardrobe: it is accessible. And, there are no talking animals to offer guidance.
[Also visit my friend/colleague Stephanie Vanderslice's blog Wordamour for some more conversation on this concept of real world fantasy.]
In college, my roommate loved it when our digital clock read 11:11--whether morning or night. It's only one of many small details of this graphic novel that make me enjoy it, but it's a good example of the mundane things that end up being more significant as Revolver continues. In this instance, 11:11 is the time when Sam crosses back and forth from his typical life--a boring job, a girlfriend he adores, and furniture shopping--to another, parallel life--featuring a post apocalyptic version of the same people and places. Or does he? With an intelligent story line, weird coincidences, and modern psychobabble, it's hard to know which of Sam's lives is real. Or if either is.
I really didn't enjoy this graphic novel, so I can't muster up the energy to tell you much about it. In a nutshell: father dies, politically incorrect/racial artifact left behind, PC son tries to appropriately place said object, crazy/unPC brother shows up, hilarity and heartache ensue, successful resolution and family reunion conclude. If it was a regular text-based book, I never would have finished it, but I managed to pull through it in graphic form. I know I haven't sold it well, but if you're interested in a copy, contact me to get mine before I drop it at the local used bookseller.
In the graphic novel Fun Home (2006), Alison Bechdel told her story of growing up with a father who hid his secret life under a blanket of normalcy: his jobs as English teacher and funeral home director and hobby as a home conservationist covering his other life as a homosexual with a penchant for young boys. In this book, Sandell tells the opposite story--one in which a very average man covers his mediocrity by creating a fictitious persona who stars in intellectual and political power roles. As a child, Sandell reveled in her father's stories, ignoring the telltale signs of falsehoods and avoiding confrontations that would uncover the truth.
As she enters adulthood, Sandell begins to question her own flamboyant behavior--the effects of which lead to bad relationships, insomnia, and drug rehab--and recognizes that she has to come to terms with who her father really is in order to be at peace with herself. Ultimately, she uses her skills as a journalist to unravel her father's lies, which throws her family into disarray.
The novel is both written and illustrated by Sandell, and is told with a wry sense of humor and openness that engages the reader. Not a huge fan of other people's I-have-a-rotten-father stories, I nonetheless found the memoir engaging and insightful.
