Review: Conan the Barbarian #6

Bloody Romantic

Pigeons have flown their arcs, shortened their circuits around ''the glittering jewel of Messantia'' and decided to get their boney bird-asses back home. Smoke chokes the tiered and tiled city, bodies slump in alleys, a head recently separated from its body lays idle, now an obstacle to panicked passers-by -- legs stretched to their limits, feet barely touching the ground -- sprinting across courtyards, boats, ablaze in the harbor, bear witness to the bedlam and the devastation. ''So much destruction … so much chaos … for a robbery?'' says the sword-toting, shackle-free Conan. His interlocutor, the seer, N'Yaga replies: ''This is Bêlit.'' To which the Cimmerian, his face spiculated and swathed in wide veins of blood (not all his own), smiles and says ''Crom. So it is.''

  'The Argos Deception' ends as it began with a ship asea. Artist James Harren and colorist Dave Stewart set the Tigress, laden (presumably) with riches, on a stolid ocean in contrast to a dreamy cloud-streaked sky[1]. The closure that this image provides its arc is apt, a mirrored bookend to a tale in which little happens and almost all is left to the imagination. Writer Brian Wood uses the concept of closure to join up the loose ends of this story, while at the same time, Wood knots this arc with the previous one by using the cords of Conan's budding psyche and lashes them to the most powerful tie that binds: love.  

  In Understanding Comics, Scott McCloud hangs his blue check shirt in the gutter, that space between the panels that transforms images into ideas (the seen and the unseen) and makes us all complicit in the crime and the craft. Comics kids! McCloud draws his definition like so: ''This phenomenon of observing the parts but perceiving the whole has a name. It’s called closure'' (63). Four pages later, an clear McCloud states: ''Comics IS closure.'' The kind of closure, McCloud seeks is from panel to panel, the whole sequential art thing. McCloud ends the chapter emphasizing that closure is (only) the result; the act (the work) must come from the 'faith' and the 'imagination' of the reader.
  Conan and Bêlit's Messantian vacation (escape?) centers on a raid. Sure, Conan 'could' have been executed, but that's a minor detail and Bêlit (and the REH estate) wasn't going to let that happen. Like a practiced pickpocket, Wood has light fingers as he masks the lift and hides the heist. If nobody sees you take it, is it really stealing? In Conan the Barbarian #6, Wood achieves closure with closure. Plans and plot points resolve themselves in the gutter. So why all the friggin' around? Why all this deception? Are N'Yaga's words, ''This is Bêlit,'' the Hyborian Age equivalent of 'it is what it is?' Wood wants this Cimmerian shaggy-dog story to provide more than mere closure; it desires belief and requires trust on both the part of Conan and the reader.     

   The only clue that the crew of the Tigress was successful comes when Conan and N'Yaga arrive dockside. Each notices that the ship has yet to cast off, N'Yaga says: ''See how low in the water she sits. The hold is full of treasure.'' Mission accomplished, sort of. The Tigress's lack of departure signals that something is off, the queen remains afoot. To close out this story, Conan takes off like a speeding bullet, with locomotive might his sword severs heads left and right, and he is able to leap from quay to quay in a single bound. The race to find and rescue Bêlit is all a call-back to the first issue when Conan took his first leap of faith onto the Argus. Bêlit has been belayed by some of Messantia's finest. How this happened (who cares!) is left to closure and the imagination.

  Harren gets his final whacks in showing Conan as he gashes, beheads and impales his foes with a respective 'Whhikkkttt,' 'Slllkkkk' and 'Thukk' and oh the blood doth flow as if from a hydrant. Stewart selects a gooey shade of red as blood bursts from bodies and aprons off the blade of Conan's sword. Harren slashes the page with ferocious speed lines capturing momentum and the precise and precious moment that Conan makes widows of soldier's wives. In the penultimate splash page, Conan embraces his beloved and in what could be called an 80's action-movie-moment, the two gaze into each other's viscera flecked faces, as Bêlit says, ''Conan, you doubted me? When will you learn?'' And scene.

  Six issues in, Wood's adaptation of Howard's ''Queen of the Black Coast'' is as much about sword and sandal adventures as it is a story about boy meets girl. It's a love story, yes, and in some crazy way it's damn near a romantic comedy. Wood appears (desires?) to be interested in the process, the how's and why's that occur to form this relationship between Conan and Bêlit[2]. For some, the early stages of a relationship are fraught with doubts and profound conflict of all kinds. We are all (supposedly) free and can walk away, none beholden to any other. So why stay? What ties one to his or her Tigress?
   As N'Yaga and Conan make their mad dash to the docks, N'Yaga offers some sage relationship advice when it comes to taming or changing Bêlit: don't. Instead, N'Yaga tells Conan, ''you can understand her. And in that, perhaps she will understand you too.'' Ah, yes, understanding, relationship bedrock. If this scene occurred not at breakneck speed while on horseback, though the cobblestone streets of a burning city between a barbarian and his white haired wizened bro, but instead took place at a comfortable bar between the Seth Rogen character and the Paul Rudd character, would it smell as sweet? Good advice is good advice, you take it where and when and from whom you get it. Don't tame. Don't change. Understand. Understand?

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[1] I'm guessing, since the next arc takes place (thanks to the requisite keeper of the letter column, assistant editor, Brendan Wright) in ''the frozen plains of Cimmeria!'' one could add to the end of this sentence: 'And the ship sails on, back to the north / Through the fog and ice … ' but there's no need to force and Iron Maiden reference into every review I write. Right?

[2] So far, the anatomy of this relationship has been one-sided. Perhaps, Wood will plumb the depths of Bêlit's motivations instead of making her only the object of Conan's desires. I, for one, look forward to the Bêlit and N'Gora shopping montage where at the end Bêlit tells N'Gora how much she loves Conan and why. In this scenario, of course, N'Gora is gay.   

Review: Conan the Barbarian #5

Bird Is the Word 

What's with the pigeon?[*] Perhaps this is a case of a cigar standing for a cigar; perhaps not. Since the latter invites conversation that the former eschews, one sees fit to indulge. Under writer Brian Wood, artists James Harren and Becky Cloonan and colorist Dave Stewart, Conan the Barbarian seeks to play with the idea of identity. This series sets Conan as novitiate -- the education of the barbarian -- a student at the alabaster feet of Bêlit, his teacher and lover. It's Conan as he learns to be Conan. In the opening story arc, Conan discovers that appearances deceive and that truth and fiction are seldom the same. In this second arc, 'The Argos Deception,' identity is a con as Bêlit, Conan and the crew of the Tigress use a ruse as a weapon and if their plan is to work, they'll need that pigeon.
  Conan the Barbarian #5 opens on a moneyed Messantian as he tends to his birds. The omniscient narrator's voice speaks of the ''glittering city of Messantia,'' ''favorable tax laws,'' and the ''assumption of freedom.'' On its face, it looks as if Wood is reaching into Conan's world to ascribe a percentage to the haves and have-nots of this port city and maybe he is, but to what end? An artist or writer's partialities or personal politics are bound to find agency in their work, and yet, those biases should serve the work.  Wood has worn his politics on his sleeve before (Channel Zero and DMZ) and if he is doing so again with Conan the Barbarian -- as is so often said on this blog -- so what? A writer of Wood's stripe doesn't force his opinions for their own sake, so what is he trying to say? If longtime Robert E. Howard fans blanch at Wood taking Conan off script how will the base feel as the politics of today occupy the Hyborian age?

  Veterans of Conan campaigns past and raw recruits can agree on one thing: this has to be the most gentle, the most peaceful start to a Conan comic … ever. Stewart bathes Messantia in early morning shades of heliotrope and tangerine as the city slowly stirs. The man tenderly takes a bird (a pigeon) from its cage and with palms upturned offers it into the air, a holy act. Harren's talent for depth and dimension shows in this scene as the smallness of the man and the bird are set off against the high-walled canyons of the city. Stewart paints the bird white to add a layer of peacefulness and tranquility. Few acts are as symbolic as the release of a bird; even if that bird has been domesticated and trained to return to its home, its cage. For now, however, it alights into the sky sans shackles. This scene of quiescent dawn ends in ragged shadow as the sun stands stunted against the wall of Conan's cage in the prison fortress. 

  So what? So some 'Richie Rich' releases a bird! Big deal. But it's a pigeon. Words and symbolism cut both ways. A pigeon is another word for a dupe, a fool, a mark. Wood uses this very subtle sign to set up the deception that will take place later in the issue with the sudden entrance of the woman [†]in white. In a twenty-two page comic with a ten page fight scene and another single page where Bêlit is masked in arterial spray, Wood takes two-and-a-half pages to show a man setting a pigeon aloft.

Why? Sure this 'free bird' juxtaposes Conan backed up against the wall of his prison cell, but even that is too pat, too on-the-nose. The pigeon counts because it symbolizes a city that can be had, it's world-building by swindle. From the jump, Conan the Barbarian has been about subverting expectations through pledge, turn and prestige -- a magic trick in tripartite arcs. Wood has taken an ordinary commodity, Conan the Barbarian, and turned him (and it) into something extraordinary.

In Messantia, money talks and a pretty face (and an arcane tradition) can overturn blind justice. Conan is kept from the hangman's noose only to be tossed into the arena against an opponent Harren draws as an upside down triangle, a bare-chested, bullet-headed bruiser with a face that looks like it was cut by a jigsaw[‡]. The champion cast to clash with Conan is from a class ''little more than court pets, warriors in retirement.'' Messantians like their fighters like their birds, kept. N'Yaga, the seer, free from the hold makes an appearance in the tumult to offer Conan a blade and sharp words about the fates. The fight finishes in a bloody ''are-you-not-entertained'' splash-page. It's the one image (besides the Massimo Carnevale cover) that misses its target. Harren ends strong with a street-level view of a Messantian boulevard buttressed by two buildings as tendrils of rosy smoke stream heavenward. The image smolders with anticipation of the story arc's conclusion in the next issue as its perspective eerily invokes the attacks of September eleventh.

  At the start of the contest, the narrator says: ''Since he was six years old, Conan has fought bigger opponents.'' It's a sentence that resonates beyond the plot or the page. Conan is totemic and at the same time open to interpretation. Brian Wood brings a novel quality to Conan the Barbarian that shows this character is more than muscle and more than a sword and sandal cliché. The narrative is drum tight. The smallest details (the littlest birds) in the art embellish overt themes and ideas of the story. To dismiss Conan the Barbarian as solely another Conan yarn is like saying the Odyssey is 'only' about a guy trying to go home or that Ulysses is 'only' about a guy who can't get laid. Conan endures.           

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[*] In an inspired (read insane) bit of chutzpah I tweeted to Mr. Wood to ask: ''pigeon or dove?''. Wood responded that the script said pigeon.

[†] Little Wilke Collins reference for you English Majors out there. You’re welcome.

[‡] Old-school Mike Zeck era Punisher shout-out for those of you old enough to remember.

Review: Conan the Barbarian #4

Trust Exercises

  The images of splendid isolation that bookend Conan the Barbarian #4 present a poeticism that epitomize the themes of identity and belief that have been inherent in the series so far. Artist James Harren announces his presence with authority as he draws a 'Crom's eye view' of seagulls awhirl on thermals above as below the Tigress plies the waters of the Western Ocean. Harren invests this ship asea with a primal and indomitable quality as it cuts its briny wake. The image is made more resolute by colorist Dave Stewart[1] who affects a painted ship upon a painted ocean of grays and greens. In the issue's final image, Harren and Stewart change perspective and ratchet up the majesty as they call attention to starry skies and cloudy climes that dwarf a lone sentry atop a parapet. What chance does a barbarian from the north, his influential queen and their stalwart crew stand when set against the vastness of the ocean or the immensity of space? Who is on their side? ¶ Existentialism sets no sail and pulls no weight upon the deck of the Tigress. Harren's barbarian is an uncarved block, an object of pure potential. Gone is the boyish charm that Cloonan had conferred on Conan in the story's first arc. Harren hatchets[2] the Cimmerian into a sinuous cast with a wide grin that slips into awe (and awwww) when his Queen -- ''the she-panther of the Western Ocean'' -- Bêlit blots out the sun. She is his world. In Harren's hands, Bêlit becomes elfin with big doe eyes and while she still retains Cloonan's wide-hipped and long-legged design, Harren's Bêlit has become less seductress and more softened; her time with the ''grey wolf from the North,'' it seems, has taken off the edge.

  The plot of issue #4 is a customary caper in which Bêlit by proxy of N'Gora turns Conan in for a bounty (he is an escaped criminal after all) and while the good and law-abiding people and magistrates of Messantia celebrate the capture and fit out the gallows, Bêlit and the gang rob the place blind. N'Gora says, ''what else would pirates like us do, safely docked in the richest port in the land.'' 'Nuff said. In order, however, to pull off the ol' 'Wookie to cell block 1138' ruse the faux felon must believe that his friends will bust him out. Bêlit, in confidence with Conan, says, ''give me your trust.'' Conan hesitates and does not answer. Bêlit tells Conan that an army could not keep her from his side, she asks him again, point blank: ''Do you trust me?'' Conan remains silent. Conan is a work in progress at this point. Sure, he's got the girl and adventure is on the horizon, but Conan is a sole proprietorship. Conan answers only to Conan. The next stage of his apprenticeship aboard the Tigress will be to see how well he can crew.

  The port authorities take the bait (shocker!) and Conan, bound and broken, spends a dark night of the soul in a prison cell. Conan dreams -- in what's becoming a trend, Conan always dreams in the first-part of a three-part-arc -- he is out in the cold and on thin ice. He hosts a pity party, calls himself a ''fool,'' ''stupid'' and ''doomed'' for throwing in his lot with ''criminals, murderers and strangers.'' One night apart from Bêlit and Conan becomes a forlorn and lovesick naïf, ah the vagaries of the infatuate.

  As before, Conan's dreams summon Bêlit to his side. She arrives in disguise at his cell with a revised plan for escape; more than that, she gives him what he needs: solace and assurance. She confirms his thoughts and belies his fears, ''You are a fool'' says Bêlit, ''for thinking I would not shift this mountain off its base to find you again.'' What a woman. Conan still has much to learn about the power of love and that ''to become as one,'' as Bêlit says in issue #3, means more than sex, it means mating the physical (the self) to something larger, the spiritual -- love grows where Bêlit's Conan goes.

  There is an alternate and (perhaps) much more thought-provoking (and zany) reading of Conan the Barbarian #4 as a petition to long-time fans of the franchise from writer Brian Wood. Here goes: Wood is Bêlit; and the question that he asks is the same one she puts to Conan: ''Do you trust me?'' 'The Argos Deception' takes Wood off script which assistant editor Brendan Wright confirms in the letters column: ''Chapter 2 [of the source material] begins with an account of the Tigress's growing infamy … beginning in this issue Brian is creating new stories set during those years.'' When it comes to the work of Robert E. Howard, 'The Queen of the Black Coast' is a canonical text, so taking the story off course can be, as is said in Wood's native New England, tough sledding. The plot of this issue is a bit old hat, a barbarous retelling of the Trojan Horse, the Trojan Conan(?). Wood works as well with themes (see DMZ and Local) as with characters, so it would follow that this stopover in Messantia means more than a chance for fortune and glory. Longtime Conan readers refer to Wood's adaptation of the Cimmerian as unconventional[3] [my emphasis]. How an artist adapts source material is a highly personal choice as is the audience's reaction to that adaptation. A further investigation into a Conan's psyche (his identity) and his anxieties about trusting someone as powerful and influential as Bêlit -- not to mention that she is his lover and a more experienced one at that -- would seem to be a valid tact and consistent with the story so far. DMZ and Local are both bildungsromans. Is Wood, perhaps, attempting to do something similar with Conan? Or is Wood playing it safe by making Conan fit his style?

  Bêlit needs only a couple of minutes to convince Conan that her aims are true. How long will it take Wood to do the same? The question remains: Do you trust him?

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[1] It seems like every week I read at least one book in which Stewart is listed as colorist: Fatale, B.P.R.D and Conan the Barbarian to name a few. The man either requires very little sleep or is the pseudonym for a collective.

[2] Harren also hacks up N'Gora's face by carving deep fissures into his skull.

[3] In his review on Comics Bulletin, Zack Davisson writes, ''Wood is showing us a side of Conan rarely seen in comics … It was hard to grasp at first, because I am unused to this side of Conan. Most writers would give Conan a paragraph or two at best of brooding, and then have him shake such doubts from his head, realizing they won't help the situation.''