So even with the uproar of support for volume 1, I didn't drop the dough for volume 2. I don't know what caused me to spring for vol. 3, maybe it was the Bill Plympton story, maybe the 350 page/25 dollar price differential, maybe it was the curiosity to see what Ballantine was paying for, but whatever it was, I preordered it, so no turning back.
A book like this can be hindered by the format. The anthology, as a format, is designed to cover as much ground as possible by including a variety of creators and stories; too frequently this means a lack of focus. Anthologies are generally built around a theme, and this series is no different. The theme here is, of course, flight, but this is not readily evident in reading the stories. Nearly every story has an illustration or a character that would seem to support that theme, but it rarely holds true. Upon further inspection most are just a function of design. There are many characters that have wings, which they use to actually fly, rather than to illuminate the reader on why flight is so important (or dangerous, or liberating, or constricting, or take your pick).
So without support for the theme, and with a lack of focus, there's only one thing to redeem the book, but at least it's the biggest thing. The stories.
The book is wrapped in a beautiful cover by editor/designer Kazu Kibuishi, but when I saw it I was afraid it was going to be more of what I didn't want. A beautifully illustrated book with stories about subjects that I had no interest: dragons, fairies, monsters, futuristic environments, and faraway lands. Well, I was right about the subject matter. It is page after page of exactly that.
While it's true that there are weak links, there are some tremendous stories here. Michel Gagne kicks off the book with a wordless story, that while engaging and confidently illustrated, turns out to be the first chapter in a continuing story, the only one I found in this book. If there aren't several continuing stories, why include just one, and if you can get away with putting a "the end" in the last panel, then why not do that.
The next story was contributed by Tony Cliff, whose work was new to me. His story focused on one of my least favorite subjects, fairies, but I thought the art had a great sense of movement, a strong design, and beautiful character designs, everything you would hope from an animator. he also managed to inculde the image of flight in a major plot point, and used storytelling to highlight it.
The next artist who grabbed me was Rad Sechrist, whose story was one of my favorites in the book. His 12 page story was expansive, using the theme to subtle advantage. It seems possible that the 12 pages were set as a maximum for the artist and that the story was written with a larger page count, which created pages packed with panels, but it never to the detriment of the tale. The ending does provide a bit of the O. Henry (or Eisner or E.C.. if so inclined) twist, but the strength in character and plot keep it from being only that.
Phil Craven brings in another wordless story which, while slightly more limited by its twisty ending and sentimentality, features an ultimately likable tale of identity.
Azad Injejikian provides a story notable for its originality in both style and content. He presents his story in a picture book style, with an omniscient narrator leading us through an ultimately tragic story. He also maintains the flight theme, using it on two levels, one for a character's ability, the other to support his overall metaphor for how that character moves through life. A beautiful story.
The next story, by Neil Babra, is notable for the left turn that the art style provides from the rest of the book. His story is also the only one that entirely avoids any of the genre aspects of the rest of the stories.
His art style here is best described as neo-Craig Thompson (has Thompson been around long enough to be saddled with a successor?). A lush brush stroke and a subdued color palette provide the story with the warmth necessary to overlook the blunt storytelling. It has become a little too easy to depend on art-comic autobiography shorthand. Here's my set of young adult characters, here's the narrator reminding me of the importance of what the events that transpire, here's the "true" things I saw that illustrate my feelings, here's the pal ready to carry me as I hobble through my emo-ized existence. What saves the story is the humor and the small sense that I got that the narrator recognizes his self-importance, even if he doesn't excuse or avoid it (well, and the fact that a little emo never bothers me).
Editor/designer Kibuishi provides a story as well, and it is, as near as I can tell, completely disconnected from the theme of the book. It's possible that I missed something, but I didn't get a connection at all. What I did read from it is a comment on today's military, which I may be reading into it, but it seems to me to be the theme of this story. Simple and straightforward, the story covers plenty of ground plotwise, while remaining hyper focused on its purpose. When Kibuishi transitioned out of the flashback in the first few pages and into the story's present, I didn't absorb the purpose of the introduction, however when I read through I could see that every panel is pointing to the next and also to the denouement of the story.
Kibuishi, as an artist, possesses the skill necessary to compensate for his weaknesses. His rendering is average, his illustrations too frequently static, and his character designs somewhat slapdash. He expertly pulls the story together with a fantastic sense of layout and pacing, a n extraordinarily strong sense of color design, and a keen eye for paring down a panel to what is absolutely necessary. The story becomes more than the sum of its parts, thanks to the artist's desire and ability to get his message across.
The story by Alex Fuentes presented here is exactly what I mean by the Heavy Metal influence. Realistic illustration with lush, rich computer coloring (I haven't looked -- is Heavy Metal all computer-colored these days -- or the French albums? Blacksad is the only thing I looked at closely this year and I don't recall that being Photoshop color.) and a cadre of fantasy creatures and characters. Fuentes hits a subdued tone of tragedy that was a nice change of pace from the surrounding stories. He introduces characters efficiently and draws the story to a fulfilling end.
There are many more stories that I chose not to comment on extensively: Ben Hatke's art and story lack polish, the tale here feels incomplete; Johane Matte's story is, well, I'm not a cat person; Joey Weiser contributes a story that's cute enough, but not much more; there's a story with stunning illustration by Israel Sanchez, but the story feels like it's been done too many times before; there's no doubt Bill Plympton is a genius, but maybe I set my expectations too high for his story; Yoko Tanaka's art is assured and cohesive, but the story feels like an anecdote, more than even a short story should, it's more like a comic strip; Rodolphe Guenoden and Bannister provide variations on riding-public-transportation stories, both wordless and both employing a meet-cute straight out of your favorite romantic comedy; I don't exactly know what to make of Matthew Forsythe's story, but I liked it; Chuck BB offers another cat story; Becky Cloonan illustrates a visceral tone poem, sinking her teeth into Viking destruction; Reagan Lodge's story is a quick, fox-got-your-tongue anecdote; Paul Harmon's feels like just an introduction, and it seemed as though it should have said "to be continued..." at the end even though there's plenty of meat here; the bit in the Steve Hamaker story must have been done just as well in Finding Nemo, just with different sea creatures; Dave Roman's fairy tale fable is an entertaining bit of stream-of-conciousness; and Matthew Armstrong and Khang Le wrap up the book with two examples of talented illustrators in need of a writer.
More than most anthologies I've read this year (and I tend to overbuy anthologies), this book is a good example of what can be done when an editor's eye for contribution is strong, even if his desire to maintain a theme is not.
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