Filed under: Our favourite things | Tags: bill tortolini, chin music, Image Comics, steve niles, tony harris
Steve Niles has built a solid name for himself in horror for his works 30 Days of Night, Criminal Macabre and Transfusion among many others in which he deals with zombies, vampires, Lovecraftian monsters and the occult. Tony Harris is an artist whose primary comic experience is working with DC and Marvel, but is stylistically much more complex, also working on commercials, films and television, and this book is a fantastic example of his extraordinary attention to detail. Set primarily in two locations – Egypt and Chicago – Chin Music requires some concentration but is definitely worth the effort.
The first five pages are completely devoid of narrative or dialogue, the only words the onomatopoeic scritches and scratches of Bill Tortolini’s careful lettering which gives each sound a specific font (really, it’s beautiful). Harris’s artwork feels so strange and surreal, mixing as it does photorealistic elements such as focus and reflecting dust particles with the heavily stylised and therefore cartoonish art deco elements of the room. The framing is subtle but effective at first, leading the eye down the page and through the story, and every panel has such exquisite detail (I will talk about this a lot). Over the next few pages we watch this detective at his desk, scratching occult symbols into the tip of a bullet, and his table. Any part of the page that isn’t filled with sequential imagery is filled up with floating symbols which work to frame the narrative, and these symbols seep into the framework. By having separate panels showing lifting the match, scratching it against the table, lifting the candle and then a combined but fragmented panel showing his lighting the cigarette and then lighting the candle, the action is given this slow, precise feel. Reddish eyes glow out from beneath his fedora and he stands slowly, raises the gun out of the door and shoots. The lasting focus of this scene is in his eyes, which are bulbous and a vibrant orange surrounded by a thin ring of purple.
Suddenly, we’re in Egypt. You can tell not just because of the setting and people, but because the panels change from art deco to an Ancient Egyptian style complete with snakes and symbols. A nice three-panel sequence shows a cloaked man, who appears to have helped someone, seeming melancholy. His eyes are that bulbous, wide orange and his nose is broad and mishapen as though broken. When a stranger walks into the tent, Harris includes again that slither of realism in streaks of light breaking through the curtains, but the slightly thicker-than-life features of the characters as well as the newcomer’s glowing red eyes keep the scene from drifting into illustration. The fight and chase scene which occurs next runs through colours, oranges and reds, and the artwork feels like classic Arabian Nights comics. It can be a little tricky to tell who is who, but the key is in the eyes. They dash through fragments of panels before the pursued attempts to fly upwards into the sky, although his chasers follow him up and tear the flesh from his bones with their bar hands before crashing past the face of a sphinx. Harris’ amazing attention to texture his shown wonderfully in the sequence above Egypt – the dessert is made up of so many tiny, detailed squiggles so as to create the grainy look of sand from a distance. They scratch patterns into the bones of what is now just a skeleton, calling him “Meddler”; covered still in blood mist they kick him into the dirt of the pyramids and leave him.
As the charred skeleton crawls across the dessert, the colour tone shifts slowly and subtle from the oranges and reds of Egypt to the purples and blues we saw so much of at the beginning of the book. A vehicle approaches and hits the skeleton; we can see that the driver is a kind person by his large, open eyes and his willingness to leap out to help. The bloody skeleton is speaking Egyptian, he doesn’t understand but he wants to help. I have to say that if I ran over a skeleton which was somehow still alive, I would not get out to investigate, but then I am not a woman of the law. He reaches out but the skeleton grabs his wrist hard, shouting in a language Officer Ness can’t understand. The framework leads the panel down as Ness spits out his cigarette, reaches into his pocket and brings out his badge which is highlighted in its own circular panel at the bottom. The only thing wrong with this follow-through is that you may miss that where the skeleton grabbed Ness’ arm is now bright orange/red. That can’t be good.
Ness calls for backup and follows the ambulance carrying the skeleton back to Chicago. None of them think he will make it (how could he?) but Ness wants to help the family, if he can’t help the victim. In a page we go from outside the city to the hospital, where they open the ambulance only to find it empty except for blood, everywhere.
The last section of the comic book takes a different tone, switching to a group of gangsters in a nice restaurant. The main man who appears to be talking is podgy and stout, with this shiny rose-cheeked look which reminds me of paintings of children. That odd touch of cartoonism works beautifully with a panel which moves in and out of focus; the people in the background are just grey ghost-like shapes and it’s easy to tell who is important. The gangster who is speaking, let’s assume he is the boss, has this incredibly contoured chubby face and the close up of a stubby cigar sticking out from his fat, soft lips make him seem completely unappealing. And the last page? Well obviously I won’t ruin it for you, but it’s a piece of art in and of itself.
It’s very unusual to begin a run of comic books with absolutely no narration; it’s not necessarily easy to tell what’s going on but since when has difficult meant bad? The only name we know so far is Ness the detective, but most other facts have been gained through the artwork which tells the story. It was a risky move definitely, but it seems as though Niles, who has proven himself as a writer, is allowing Tony Harris to take control of the direction and it seems to work. Sometimes it’s pleasant to read a comic which isn’t spoon-fed to you, and when you’re in the mood to linger over panels and appreciate detail, this is a great one to pick up. I definitely want to see what happens next.
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: Avengers, Captain Marvel, Carol Danvers, Chewie, Christopher Sebela, Deathbird, Dexter Soy, Felipe Andrade, Frank Gianelli, hawkeye, Jamie Mckelvie, Joe Caramagna, Joe Quinones, Jordie Bellaire, Kelly Sue DeConnick, Marvel, Monica Rambeau, Spider-Woman, Veronica Gandini
Volume 2: ‘Down’
Written by Kelly Sue DeConnick (Issues 7-12) and Christopher Sebela (Issues 7-8, 10-12)
Art by Dexter Soy (Issue 7 and 8) and Feilipe Andrade (Issues 9-12)
Colours by Dexter Soy (Issue 7), Veronica Gandini (Issue 8) & Jordie Bellaire (Issues 9-12)
Lettering by VC’s Joe Caramagna
Covers by Jamie Mckelvie & Jordie Bellaire (Issues 7 and 9), Dexter Soy (Issue 8) and Joe Quinones (Issues 10-12)
Published by Marvel
£10.99
One of the things it’s been a real pleasure to see Marvel do over the last few years is elevate the status of a couple of their long-standing characters. Hawkeye springs to mind but Carol Danvers is arguably a better example. Marvel have slowly but surely been putting Carol further and further into the spotlight for years and, with Kelly Sue DeConnick as her wing woman, Captain Marvel has finally made it all the way to the big leagues and her own solo title. I’d argue, using PowerPoint if necessary, that this and Hawkeye are the two best books Marvel put out right now and this second collection, co-written by Christopher Sebela, writer of the excellent High Crimes, demonstrates why.
The first story deals with Carol being called out to New Orleans by Monica Rambeau, who has also used the title Captain Marvel. Monica, best known to some readers from her appearance in NextWAVE: Agents of Hate, is investigating a rash of disappearances in the fishing boat community and, when she finds a submerged graveyard of aircraft, calls Carol to help out. This, in itself, is a perfectly smart, fun superheroine story that deals with the fallout (literally) from the sort of battles that take place on a daily basis in the Marvel universe. There’s a nice amount of science, and science fiction, mixed in too and in plot terms it’s practically a textbook study of how to do a two issue story very well.
What makes it sing are the characters. DeConnick has repositioned Carol very smartly as an aviator first and a superhuman second. She’s not a jock, but she is a woman whose life was changed by her military training and who defaults back to that a lot of the time. It gives Carol a cheerful, two-fisted pragmatism that means she approaches the fantastic events of her life in a completely different way to everyone else in the Marvel universe. The X-Men would have taken twice as long and had heated debates over what to do about the situation. Carol and Monica, who shares her mindset as well as her name, work out where to punch the problem and then, go one better and that’s where this story gets exceptional. The last few pages close a circuit that almost no superhero comic ever bothers to, not only picking up on the aftermath of events but showing the two lead characters working out how they can help and then doing it. People are still dead, damage has still been done but the Captains Marvel still leave the situation in a better position than they found it. There’s no ‘thank you, citizens!’ as they fly away from a smoking crater, just two women rolling their sleeves up and helping out where they can. It’s one of the most honestly heroic things in the last ten years of mainstream comics and the fact the book hasn’t garnered more praise for it is criminal.
It’s also really, really fun to read. Carol and Monica banter in a relaxed, completely natural way that’s equal parts affectionate and mildly snarly and DeConnick gets a lot of great material over Monica’s mild professional offense that Carol’s using the name now. They make a hugely fun double act and I hope Monica stops by again soon.
The second story takes a different, very personal tack. Starting with a call from Tony Stark it follows Carol through a day that takes in an interview, a dinosaur-based team up with Spider-Woman and the sudden, crushing news that she may have a tumour in her brain and flying makes it worse. Suddenly, a woman whose whole identity is defined and shaped by the idea of flight is told she can’t and the effects are both massive and completely believable. Carol takes the hit square, sits down hard, dusts herself off and gets back to it firstly because she’s trained to and secondly because denial is a river that takes about four issues to cross. Besides there’s still constant near-love interest Frank Gianelli, everyday superhero stuff like saving subway trains, helping out the people in her apartment building and dealing with increasingly brutal attacks from a new Deathbird to deal with. So Carol tries to muscle through and sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn’t but she always gets back up, because that’s what she knows how to do.
There’s a lot going on in this story, which leads directly into the Avengers/Captain Marvel crossover title The Enemy Within, but anyone thinking it doesn’t stand on its own would be mistaken. The entire story is built around Carol bulling her way through the problem and welcoming Deathbird’s attacks because nothing clears the brain like a good, meaty fight. Underneath the action, and the wonderful dialogue though is a very real fear. She’s had her wings clipped, she’s superhuman but still mortal. This may be a problem she can’t punch. Having had family members deal with cancer I’m overly sensitive to how I’s dealt with in fiction and I’ve rarely seen it done better than it is here. As the story closes we don’t quite know what the thing in Carol’s brain is. We do know she’s worried. We are too. That’s a level of subtlety and engagement that so few books manage but here, DeConnick and Sebela manage it again and again.
If there’s a sticking point for the book, it will be the art. Dexter Soy’s work in the first arc is excellent, combining fluid motion and scale with a nicely muscular take on character and real subtlety of expression. Felipe Andrade’s work on the back four issues is incredibly kinetic and fluid to the point where some of the fights put me in mind of Aeon Flux. It’s great work, but some people may have trouble marrying it to the pragmatic way that DeConnick and Sebela write Carol. Regardless, stick with it because the artistic side of the book, from Soy and Andrade’s artwork to Soy, Gandini and Bellaire’s colouring and Joe Caramgana’s lettering is great.
Carol Danvers has taken a while to get into the spotlight but she absolutely deserves to be there. Not just because of her superheroic lineage or her training, but because she’s one of the most complete characters in the Marvel universe. Carol’s, weirdly given her love of flying, a grounded, pragmatic figure who comes at her life with equal parts compassion, humour and bravery and it’s a pleasure to see her written so well. Great job, Princess Sparklefists. Keep doing what you’re doing.
Filed under: Uncategorized
Issue 8
Written by Brian Michael Bendis
Art by Brandon Peterson
Colours by Paul Mounts
Letters by VC’s Cory Petit
Cover by Brandon Peterson
£2.85 (Or £1.99 with SuperCard Go!)
There are, at this point, three books happening in the same space here. The first Age of Ultron is the slightly slow paced but still very interesting, gutsy story about the end of the Marvel universe and Ultron’s almost casual domination of it. The second is a character-driven time travel story which sees Sue Richards and Wolverine both in completely different places to where they normally are and forced to grow and act as a result. The first one of those books is interesting, the second is great.
The problem is the third book. As of last issue, Age of Ultron became what it had to be; an alternate universe story. That’s not just understandable, its compulsory given the apocalyptic change Wolverine and Sue made to the timeline. That’s not the problem. What is, unfortunately, is the same problem the book has had from the start; pacing.
Three things happen in this issue; a mutilated almost full-cyborg Tony Stark interrogates Sue and Wolverine, the Defenders arrive and their version of Wolverine, to say nothing of The Thing, react to Sue and (our)Wolverine’s presence the only way they know how; directly. The ensuing fight is further interrupted by the arrival of Morgana Le Fey and a huge army of Doom/Loki hybrids (Loombots perhaps?) and another apocalyptic battle.
That’s issue eight. Of Ten.
There’s a growing sense that this is a book which isn’t going to go quietly, especially as at least another full issue looks to be set in this alternate present. Which technically shouldn’t be a bad thing but we waited so long for this story to get going that it can’t help but feel frustrating. The awful thing Wolverine and Sue did has to have consequences and those consequences have to be major but the stop start pacing of the book outstayed its welcome an act and a half ago. There needs to be some sort of hint of what’s coming next, soon because the more distance there is between readers and the embattled, desperate survivors in the Savage Land, the less impact the book has.
That isn’t to say there’s nothing to enjoy here. Bendis continues to write Sue Richards as the calm, smart, tough woman so few other writers ever do and the hints we get of the new status quo are nicely handled. Best of all there are some great character moments here, especially the alternate universe Ben Grimm’s frantic ‘WHERE IS SHE?!’ as he realizes that the Sue he lost is still, somehow alive. Only Stark disappoints, the quiet rage Bendis gives him offset by a bizarre design choice which sees him picking up the gurning duties from Cap a couple of issues ago.
This isn’t a bad book by any stretch, it’s just an immensely frustrating one. The odd pacing has never seemed to settle down and with two issues to go there’s no indication of how it’s going to end. Still absolutely worthy of your attention, if not your patience, Age of Ultron remains one of the most weirdly obtuse stories Marvel have put out in years. Enjoyable, but you may be confused as to quite why.
Alasdair Stuart
Filed under: Exquisite Reviews | Tags: Image, Konstantin Novosadov, Nathan Edmondson, The Dream Merchant
Issue 1
Written by Nathan Edmondson
Art by Konstantin Novosadov
Published by Image
Issue 1
£2.50 (£1.85 with SuperCard Go! And it’s totally worth it)
Winslow has a dream where he’s flying. There’s a red, pitted landscape filled with cliffs and fog and Winslow flies and falls over it every single night. It’s the only dream he ever has and after a while it begins to spill over into his waking life. The dream is his world and Winslow is flying over it, there, present but distanced, unable to interact with anything.
Things get worse. Winslow gets institutionalized and there, to his exhausted amazement, things get better. In Burbank, California, behind locked doors, Winslow makes two friends. Ziggy is a schizophrenic and Anne is a lunch line volunteer with an unusual past who wants to help him. The world becomes real, almost in arm’s reach.
Then the dream becomes real.
The Dream Merchant is an amazing debut in what seems to be a never ending stream of amazing books from Image these days. Edmondson’s script manages the near impossible task of subtle exposition, cluing us in to Winslow’s mind through his own words and experiences in therapy and nests one of the central concepts of the book within that exposition; everyone contains worlds. Winslow, Anne and Ziggy all have very different views of reality and all of them get expressed in this first issue. One is a schizophrenic, one can’t escape a dream and another is so desperate to escape their old life, they choose the asylum. Even though the three aren’t together for most of the book, there’s a real sense that this is the foundation the book will be built on; three broken young people who know they’re broken but also know they’re young, out in a world filled with bright, sharp, deadly objects. There’s a sense of danger to this book you almost never see, and Novosadov’s stunning art makes a sequence where Winslow and Anne jump off a bridge into moving traffic an exercise in light, movement and horror. These are fragile people in a hard world and the fact none of them quite have a grip on reality only makes them more fragile. The character design helps immensely too, with all four leads recognizably normal. There’s no attempt to make everyone thin or handsome, and Winslow especially is a triumph of awkwardness, a gangly haired mess of a young man. As a result, the fantastic elements of the book, especially the mercurial, wraith-like figures pursuing them, have a presence these things normally don’t have. They feel like curdled parts of the world, something so wrong you instinctively recoil from them as, of course, do Winslow, Anne and Ziggy.
There’s incredible pace and confidence to this issue, Edmondson’s set up and neatly realized script perfectly meshing with Novosadov’s expressive characters and wide palette to create something very special. At the end of the issue both you, and Winslow, have very little idea what’s going on. But at the end of the issue, both you, and Winslow are desperate to know more. This is one of the best first issues I’ve read this year and I think it’ll make your top ten too. Utterly recommended.
Alasdair Stuart
Filed under: Exquisite Reviews | Tags: Anne, Image, Konstantin Novosadov, Nathan Edmondson, The Dream Merchant, Winslow, Ziggy
Issue 1
Written by Nathan Edmondson
Art by Konstantin Novosadov
Published by Image
Issue 1
£2.50 (£1.85 with SuperCard Go! And it’s totally worth it)
Winslow has a dream where he’s flying. There’s a red, pitted landscape filled with cliffs and fog and Winslow flies and falls over it every single night. It’s the only dream he ever has and after a while it begins to spill over into his waking life. The dream is his world and Winslow is flying over it, there, present but distanced, unable to interact with anything.
Things get worse. Winslow gets institutionalized and there, to his exhausted amazement, things get better. In Burbank, California, behind locked doors, Winslow makes two friends. Ziggy is a schizophrenic and Anne is a lunch line volunteer with an unusual past who wants to help him. The world becomes real, almost in arm’s reach.
Then the dream becomes real.
The Dream Merchant is an amazing debut in what seems to be a never ending stream of amazing books from Image these days. Edmondson’s script manages the near impossible task of subtle exposition, cluing us in to Winslow’s mind through his own words and experiences in therapy and nests one of the central concepts of the book within that exposition; everyone contains worlds. Winslow, Anne and Ziggy all have very different views of reality and all of them get expressed in this first issue. One is a schizophrenic, one can’t escape a dream and another is so desperate to escape their old life, they choose the asylum. Even though the three aren’t together for most of the book, there’s a real sense that this is the foundation the book will be built on; three broken young people who know they’re broken but also know they’re young, out in a world filled with bright, sharp, deadly objects. There’s a sense of danger to this book you almost never see, and Novosadov’s stunning art makes a sequence where Winslow and Anne jump off a bridge into moving traffic an exercise in light, movement and horror. These are fragile people in a hard world and the fact none of them quite have a grip on reality only makes them more fragile. The character design helps immensely too, with all four leads recognizably normal. There’s no attempt to make everyone thin or handsome, and Winslow especially is a triumph of awkwardness, a gangly haired mess of a young man. As a result, the fantastic elements of the book, especially the mercurial, wraith-like figures pursuing them, have a presence these things normally don’t have. They feel like curdled parts of the world, something so wrong you instinctively recoil from them as, of course, do Winslow, Anne and Ziggy.
There’s incredible pace and confidence to this issue, Edmondson’s set up and neatly realized script perfectly meshing with Novosadov’s expressive characters and wide palette to create something very special. At the end of the issue both you, and Winslow, have very little idea what’s going on. But at the end of the issue, both you, and Winslow are desperate to know more. This is one of the best first issues I’ve read this year and I think it’ll make your top ten too. Utterly recommended.
Alasdair Stuart
Filed under: Our favourite things | Tags: adrian younge, black mask, dave murdoch, dennis cole, ghostface killah, matthew rosenberg, patrick kindlon, soul temple, the RZA, twelve reasons to die
If you’ve read many of my reviews, you might have noticed that I have a particular fondness for multi-media stories and thematic pieces of art – so it’s no wonder really that I would enjoy Ghostface Killah’s comic book Twelve Reasons to Die, a collaboration with Adrian Younge designed as an accompaniment to his newest album of the same name. With both the album and the comic executive produced by The RZA and produced by Adrian Younge, GFK manages to pull together pieces of crime fiction, horror, soul and the supernatural to create the story of a vengeful spirit taking down the twelve mob bosses of Italy. The first ever release from Black Mask Studios, created by the man who has been described as a “compulsive storyteller”, Twelve Reasons to Die is an ambitious project, only for mature readers who are not easily offended. You have been warned.
The first issue actually contains four stories which are woven together, with the largest portion of the book dedicated to the story of how the 12 Delucas formed out of a mutual interest in increasing the quality of crime in Italy. In a series of Polaroid-style flash-backs, Mussolini’s influence on the crime families of Italy is spread out before us in scenes of violence, rape and war, but out of this come the twelve men who act with honour. The irregularity of the panels takes us smoothly through the evolution of the crime syndicates, with each mob boss driven by different motivating factors. Bodies dripping with blood are subtly placed in the trunk of cars as civilians walk by, no one paying any attention to the horror and with a seeming smile on everyone’s face. A ten-panel double page spread spells out the highs and lows of power that crime brings, and how easy it is to abuse that power; it’s obvious that things are far too easy for these men who are not as honourable as they think.
In a night club, a mysterious woman reports to an unknown companion that the twelve members have arrived and it’s obvious that the men are about to be in some trouble. In walks this new gangster – who bears a striking resemblance to GFK himself – and with only the words “Evening fellas” promptly destroys the 12 Delucas in some incredibly brutal ways. The narration reveals that they never had a chance, that they were only soldiers but Anthony Starks was a weapon. Fans of Ghostface Killah will most likely know that he has previously adopted the monikers Tony Starks and Ironman (with vital spelling differences), therefore it’s perhaps unsurprising that he appears as his comic book alter-ego.
The other stories, which are flashbacks and connected to the story in various ways, deal with terrifying sheep, a haunted record collection and an incident of death by bees. This first issue is a really interesting mixed bag and feels like a huge teaser for the rest of the run, setting up some interesting plot devices in this supernatural giallo work. Written by Matthew Rosenberg and Patrick Kindlon, the idea to bring in a rotating team of some twenty artists (from the little-known to the well-loved) is an inspired idea which echoes the collaborative ethos of Wu-Tang Clan and ensures that the comic is not defined by just one artist’s style. Dave Murdoch’s transition splash page which shows the vengeful entity Ghostface Killah is a beautiful piece of work and while it took me a moment to adjust to the rapid shifting of artistic style it should be really effective over the series. The colouring from Jean-Paul Csuka varies from blood-drenched reds, to pastel auction-houses, to soul-inspired pink and blue pop-art – the abrupt changes add to the frenzy of this comic, and a shout-out has to go to the smooth lettering of Frank Barbiere.
The album Twelve Reasons to Die is available on CD, vinyl and cassette as well as digital, and subscriptions for the comic book can be found in the Black Mask store. The movie-style advertisements show the influence of European B-movies and 70s psychedelic soul on the story.
Filed under: Exquisite Reviews | Tags: Chris Ryall, Doomsday .1, IDW, John Byrne, Leonard O'Grady, Neil Uyetake
Doomsday .1
Created and written by John Byrne
Colours by Leonard O’Grady
Letters by Neil Uyetake
Edited by Chris Ryall
Published by IDW
£2.85
I’ve never really followed John Byrne’s superhero work. It’s not that I’m not a fan, he’s clearly immensely talented, but rather that I’ve never been dragged in by any of it. Byrne’s science fiction however, is a very different story. The High Ways, the four part mini he just finished for IDW is huge fun, equal parts Red Dwarf and John Carpenter, and Doomsday .1, a do over of one of his earliest projects is equally entertaining if much, much grimmer.
The world’s ending. Now. Today. And the astronauts aboard the International Space Station are both blessed and cursed to see it coming. A colossal solar flare, four times larger than the planet itself, is hours away. There’s nothing to be done but warn home and try and work out if they want to survive at all. The crew all deal with it in different ways; mission commander Yuri is desperately concerned about the welfare of his team, Hikari Akiyama, the scientist who makes the discovery is ruthlessly determined to survive and Boyd, the mission pilot, turns down a last chance to reconcile with his father. The end’s coming, and not everyone is interested in making their peace.
To show the scope of the disaster, Byrne cuts between the station crew making their plans and events on Earth. Once the story goes public, the panic is absolute and we get interesting glimpses of where the series will go from here. One of the best sequences is a two page spread dealing with the Vatican and the desolate, angry emissary they send to survive. Another sees a high security prison in the US taken over by its worst inmates whilst a third sees a nuclear submarine crew realize they may be uniquely positioned to survive. None of these people are safe, none of them have a plan but they all might, just, have a shot at surviving. The crux of the series, I suspect, may be whether or not they want to.
But the focus remains on the station crew and this is where the book really shines. The minor alliances and petty feuds that months in close proximity bring out look set to be a cornerstone of the book, with mission engineer and massive tact vacuum Benning equal parts antagonist and ally and the question of who’s leading the group already making for some interesting conflict. Byrne cleverly keeps the focus on the characters, using them to show us the scale of the disaster. The final few pages, when they land, really work this angle and the final two panels are especially great. The world has ended. Welcome to tomorrow.
Byrne’s characterful, expressive art style is perfect for this sort of story and there’s really some really smart storytelling on display here. The first few pages use panel orientation to remind you there is no up in space for example. Similarly Neil Uyetake’s lettering is smart and functional and Leonard O’Grady’s colours balance the tranquil blue of the Earth with the nightmarish fires of the solar flare, grounding the whole piece as solidly as the ISS crew themselves. This is a grim, fun piece of science fiction that hits the ground running and only accelerates. The world may have ended, but the work, and the story, are just beginning.
Alasdair Stuart
