A little over a year ago, I wrote a relatively sheepish review of the previous two volumes of this comic, confessing that I was a bit embarrassed that it was in my repertoire. However, after catching up on the two most recent trades, I have a hard time understanding my own feelings at the time. This is, in truth, a beautifully conceived story, with a diverse array of well-developed characters and remarkable art. The themes of human endurance, childhood resilience, and reinventing oneself are thoughtfully explored. So what if there are hybrid animal-human children? They simply represent the parts of all of us that we hide from others.
Gus and his hybrid cohort don't have that luxury of hiding what is different about then, but as the series continues, it becomes apparent that that might be preferable. After all, it makes it pretty clear from the start just what kind of folks Gus and his friends--human and hybrid--are dealing with when they encounter new people. In Volume 4, the group of five human adults and three hybrid kids heads north to Alaska, rumored to be the origin of the sickness that is killing all humans and creating hybrid children. Along the way, they encounter potential allies and are tempted to give up their quest. In volume 5, Lemire explores the early history of the sickness and more recent history of several of the characters, furthering our connection to the plot and its people. Like most comics both written and drawn by the same person, there is a unity and continuity here that is hard to match in collaborative projects. The premise seems far-reaching and has lots of room to grow, and I, for one, will follow it until the end.
The other day when we were talking about the "value" of different leisure activities--watching TV, reading, playing Xbox, crafts, etc.--my husband Eddie made a disparaging comment about Sweet Tooth. I was a bit offended at first and asked him what he knew about it. He said he had picked up and flipped through one of my trades when it was sitting on the coffee table at my sister's house. It isn't real literature, he suggested, and I suppose he is right to some extent. It's not the type of thing I would likely read in public--unless that public involved a high number of comic readers--so even I must confess to a degree of speculation. The cover pictures themselves likely lead some of you to raise an eyebrow. A boy with antlers? A girl with a pig snout? Yet, here I am writing about the series on my blog, so I'm not THAT embarrassed.
While I wouldn't be willing to take a side defending Sweet Tooth as a great work of literature, it has some significant merits that put it solidly in the literature realm. The plot is interesting and engaging, the characters are complex, and it addresses societal issues in the guise of metaphor. You see, it's not just that these kids have animal features: some folks don't believe they exist; others know and fear them; and still others--the minority--know and love them. It's mainly the parents of the hybrids that fall into the later category, as the women gave birth to these humans with animal characteristics after a plague struck the U.S.--killing the majority of people and sending things into complete disarray in a short period of time. Unfortunately, that same plague usually kills the parents before too long, leaving the kids alone and defenseless against those fighting for survival. From the very start, the antlered Sweet Tooth--so called for his love of candy--is a sympathetic and endearing character; perhaps it's some built-in Bambi reaction, but I want him to make it. It's an up and down struggle, of course, in the world drawn in these books, and I'm sure the battle will continue throughout the series. Along the way, the premise allows for an exploration of bigotry and fear, what it means to be human, and good versus evil (and shades in between). And, Lemire's story and art are both strong enough for me to continue that exploration--despite a shade of embarrassment.
