Saga of the Swamp Thing: Book Two by Alan Moore and others

I know it’s bad form to not start at the beginning when discussing sequential narratives, but please bear with me; I’ve just finished book two of Saga of the Swamp Thing, and I don’t have access to my copy of book one at the moment to talk about it instead. In all honesty, even book one isn’t really the beginning, but only the beginning of Alan Moore’s 1980’s run as writer of the horror comic. No matter where you start, you will be thrown in with characters that have motives and intents that you do not fully understand. However, that is not a detriment to the reading experience all that often when reading this book, and as long as you know that something did come before, you can accept any new information and move on.

Now that I have prefaced this, let me speak quickly about one issue of volume one, and then we can begin discussing the book I have just finished. Moore’s second issue of Swamp Thing (issue #21) was a standalone issue, (the first tying up the loose ends of the previous writer’s story), that serves as a beautiful origin tale to bring new readers into the world of the Swamp Thing. I won’t give anything away, but needless to say, it is a breathtakingly haunting tale that completely changes the character by bringing to light information about who the Swamp Thing is, utterly reshaping the entire mythos of the character. Reading that tale for the first time made that single issue one of my favourite comics ever written, and I am envious of anyone who gets to read that for the first time. What Moore does in that one issue sets the bar high, and he has yet to disappoint or lower my expectations with the close of the second volume.

This second book, while impossible to start here for new readers as Moore builds on events from the previous volume, is even better than the first (as long as we separate issue 21 from everything else, because nothing can beat that). In it, we get a number of different tales that highlight how talented of a writer Moore is. The volume opens with a wonderful piece about burying the past, and really seems like his way of bringing closure to the world of Swamp Thing before he took the writing reigns (which Neil Gaiman pretty much says as much in his introduction, so I can’t take credit for that interpretation). He then gives us a three part story of utter horror, dubbed the Arcane Trilogy. In it we witness absolute depravity, with elements of gore, zombies, necrophilia, incest and demons. The first issue of the trilogy apparently required dropping the Comics Code Authority seal of approval, which was a big deal, since previously, comics had just been toned down to meet the regulatory body’s guidelines. Every issue of Swamp Thing after that left off the seal as well.

Next, we are treated to an issue all about what happens after death, and Moore uses a number of supernaturally inclined DC characters, including The Demon and Deadman, to introduce parts the afterlife. For non-superhero readers, this issue will feel a bit out of place, especially when I feel that Swamp Thing could easily be loved by non-comic fans for the most parts, as long as they have a love of horror. Personally, I enjoyed it, although I feel that one-time guardians would have served just as well and not pulled the reader out of the world Moore had been weaving (although The Demon was a great choice for a guide through hell).

Following this foray into the afterlife, we get the one issue I am not fussy about  (which is still good, mind you), featuring a number of space travelling forest creatures who fly aboard a turtle searching for a place free from violence. The issue is out there, and was meant as a tribute to an older comic strip. The tone is mostly light hearted, with just the right blend of light horror, and Moore’s prose makes the issue rise above what it could have been. In it, mimicking the strip he is paying tribute to, he creates a number of wonderful words that the space creatures use, mashing up terms to make delightful sounding words. My favourite had to be ‘survailed’, which one of the creatures says in relation to wishing that more of the original crew and survived/prevailed to see the new earth.

The second-to-last issue of the volume is a reprint of an old issue of Swamp Thing, meant to give the artists time to catch up with the publishing schedule, but even then Moore managed to write a few sequences to bookend the story. In his bookends he uses two old suspense comic narrators, (who would introduce the stories like Hitchcock often would in his television series), named Cain and Abel. They are very much like the biblical brothers, one always jealous of the other to the point of murder, and while I believe this is the first time they come together in DC’s mythology (each narrator had their own, separate book), Neil Gaiman used them later on in his Sandman series as well. It’s a fun little aside to read, and Moore’s bookends added a lot to the reading experience.

Finally, we reach the end of the book, and are given a story that is not horror at all, but rather a love story, entitled “Rites of Spring”. The art is perfect for this issue, and the prose captures everything perfectly. He captures those first furtive questionings new lovers ask of each other wonderfully, and his description of the couple’s experience is elegant and weaving. Ending this volume with that issue leaves the reader in quiet revere. 

The stories contained in this volume make it a great collection. They highlight very well the talent of Alan Moore, for only someone with real talent can write so many different kinds of stories so well. He understands what horrifies us and what moves us to love. He can write reflections of the past and direct our attention to the future. To say that all he wrote was a simple horror book during his stint with Swamp Thing would be to devalue his work, he created experiences and wrote emotions. A talented collection of artists helped him do it too, and I know I did not give them enough credit in my discussion, primarily however, what I took away from this book was a deeper appreciation for the talents of Alan Moore. His Saga of the Swamp Thing is an incredible joy to read.

The Mysteries of Pittsburgh by Michael Chabon

I have been wrestling with writing about this book for a few weeks now. Its daunting to think about having to write about it; I have no confidence that Chabon’s book is something that I can write about. The ideas are deeply textured in a way that talking about them requires careful wording so not to misrepresent the book. Overall, it’s a piece of literature compared to easily digestible pop fluff that I consume daily, which makes it tough to speak on. When you condition yourself to absorb certain things, absorption of other things becomes harder. Ask a former vegetarian about the first few times they ate meat and you’ll hear the same thing. Regardless, part of the point of this writing exercise to see what I can write about, and what I need to improve on, so here goes…

The Mysteries of Pittsburgh is the second novel of Michael Chabon’s that I have read. The first was Wonder Boys, which I read a few years back while in Australia. Wonder Boys was a book that I both love and feel indifferent about.  Let me explain; there are moments in that book that were incredible, and gave me almost orgasmic shivers, the writing was so good. Chabon’s wording is beautifully poetic and he is the kind of author that makes anyone who dreams of writing a huge hit to their confidence, as they can never fathom having the talent with words that he has. However, there are also parts in the book, while still featuring numblingly wonderful prose, that just fall flat. His subject matter just becomes unrelatable. This isn’t something that should happen. Even if a reader can’t relate to the actual event, there should be sub context that we can grab onto and find relation to in order to be carried along with the book and not be broken from the author’s spell. This same thing happened to me again in Mysteries, and while it was less so –perhaps to the smaller gap in age and experience- it still crept up more often that I would have wished.

Mysteries gives us a glimpse into the summer of Art Bechstein -the son of a mobster- just after he has completed his undergraduate, who sees his immediate future as wide open. Summer is to be his paradise, allowing him the potential to live the life he only reads of in books. He quickly begins to associate himself with newfound, interesting friends, and meets a girl that he originally thinks is his quintessential woman. The events and pacing of the book is set up to mimic the thematical arc of summer; the bright and infinite possibilities of June as the summer begins to open up, the explosive, oppressive power of July, and the dying flicker of summer receding in August. Chabon himself described the narrative arc as “a story that always began with a comedy of expectation and ended with the tragedy of remorse” (from the book’s appendices).  This principle is something that I expect most people can relate to. Everyone has had a summer where you are at the very pinnacle of high hopes, and as summer progresses it fades, tatters, and as labour day rolls around, you look back to see nothing but shreds of sailcloth, expectations dashed upon the reef, and wasted moments marooned and irretrievably lost. As you can gather, this story is a downhill slide for the character, (yet one spackled with delightful, rewarding moments), and at the best, you hope that he can take something away from the experience.

Watching everything come together, and then slowly dissolve is crucial to the story, however. For me, these stories always hurt just a bit more than I think they are supposed to, but I do understand the appeal in reading such a book. For myself, I enjoyed it as a whole, but leaves me a touch empty overall. There are wonderful moments in it, followed by wonderfully written ones that cause the reader to feel poorly for the characters. These moments are real too, they do not act as obstacles for the protagonist to surmount and move on, but as (grandiose) real life events that have consequences that the protagonist must carry with them for the rest of their lives. This hyper-reality is something that permeates modern literature, and makes it what it is; stories of characters that, even though they lead much more interesting lives, still carry the burdens that we too must carry with us. Reading these books are not the form of escapism that we associate with popular fiction and storytelling aimed at the popcorn eating masses, but yet clearly still exist along that same plane of escapism. It is something that I may not have yet been able to come to terms with entirely.

On a whole, this book is about (arguably) two things. The first is that there are risks to not knowing who you are and thus letting others dictate this for you, as this will remove your ability to direct yourself, and instead you are forced to go down the paths others have set for you. The second is that the people that you let into your life have the ability to change you in wonderfully, horribly, surprising and unexpected ways. Art learns both of these things during the course of the book, the first far too late, and the second is something that is discovered through reflection. However, neither of these can be categorized as wholly good or bad either. The risks that are taken by not defining yourself often lead to you not being happy with yourself, but also open your eyes to things that you would never have discovered. This helps inform who you are just as much, and, as Art did find, the knowledge gained through being whisked along, can in fact help later. The costs may be great, but rewards can exist as well. These overarching themes may not be specifically the intention of the author, however, as I read the through the later portions of the book, having this context in mind gave events much more significance for me.

I am not one to dwell on individual passages of a book, but in this case, I have a dozen or so sticky notes littered through the book, marking sections that I couldn’t stop rereading, or that resonated with me. I will be leaving them in now that I am finished, both as a reference for those days I feel like going over those passages, as well as for that far off day when I read it again and see if I still see the meaning that I did when I first read them, or if I have changed since that first reading. I like doing this sort of thing with excerpts every so often to see if I’ve grown or changed, and to see if I can better understand who I was before; it’s a simple method of introspection that helps put perspective on things for me. Whenever I find a book or movie that connects, I try to keep it on my shelf in an easily accessible place, always there for a quick glance through to ground me, and thus, I expect The Mysteries of Pittsburgh to be there for quite some time.

Botanicula by Amanita Design

Amanita Design is a small video game/art studio that I have been following for a few years now. They make beautiful games that can only really be described as creations of wonder. They use hand drawn art, photography, and immersive sound design to create an environment that invites the player to experience it. While the game mechanics are simple one-click affairs with the occasional puzzle, (which, when using this word in relation to their designs, can mean something as simple as “find the next thing to click on” just as much as “solve this brain teaser”), they require just enough of the player’s thought process to keep them engaged within the environment without being challenging show stoppers . Their game that was the closest to having true puzzles as one would normally think of them, was a small game called Machinarium, which featured a small robot trying to reach his true love after being separated from her. In it, the puzzles required some thought, a piece of paper for notes, and some patience. This new game, Botanicula is not nearly so puzzle heavy, but still gives plenty of reasons to play it through.

What I really wanted to start off saying, but feared it would be too bold of a statement was: everyone should play Botanicula. It is both an art piece and a game, something meant to create more of an experience and atmosphere than to test dexterity and fast thinking. The interface is simple so not to be intrusive, and a one-click-does-everything method means that even those with very little gaming experience can still easily interact with the creation.

The game itself is meant to bring about an emotional connection with the participant and invoke their interest through this emotion rather than trying to hook the participant through the standard gaming tropes of challenge, reward, and overcoming obstacles. While there is an element of those within the game, they are not the key force driving the player forward, but rather act as secondary supports for the atmospheric and emotional connection.

This connection is something that Amanita has done with all their products, and has continued to do here. They create these connections using a number of tools. First off, they paint with broad strokes when it comes to story. There is always an underlying narrative structure to their games, but it is always told through visual cues and a collection of singular events. Instead of having a narrator tell the audience the story, or have the characters speak to each other, they instead use images and basic animations displayed within thought and speech balloons, allowing the viewer to interpret the events within their own culturally pre-developed knowledge base. This allows the developer to forego the expenses of localizing the game before releasing it to other regions, but it also has the added benefit that it makes their game infinitely relatable and the story can surpass the usual restrictions language places on events, thus freeing it from one interpretation.

The other ways that Amanita builds emotional connections is through their sound and art design. In Botanicula the soundscape they create is both whimsical and upbeat. The sounds that each creature makes is not a pre-recorded nature sound from a sound library but created by a vocalist. Thus each hum, buzz and sound of surprise is a spoken onomatopoeia, pulling us back to the memories of young childhood when every sound could be recreated by us during play, whether it was the whirr of a helicopter or the sound of water spraying from a fire hose. The soundtrack itself is surreal mixture of fairy garden notes and joyful clapping of hands and small drums, and might be one of the most cohesive mixes of music and game that I have ever played. It’s a soundtrack that becomes part of the full experience instead of the usual droning sounds punctuated by rare moments of elation that most games seem to relish using.

Art design, as you can most likely gather from earlier, is another of Amanita’s strong points. The mellow, translucent world-scape evokes feelings of freedom, organic life and purity and the creatures that inhabit it are beautiful hand drawn creations that, while usually contrasting with the environments, also complement the world they live in superbly. The creature designs themselves, while all based on insects, fungi, small mammals, and the occasional undersea oddity, are really completely unique creatures that at first appear as if they are just stylized interpretations of the real things until you really look deeper, and see that they are wholly original and alien. 

It is this similarity to the expected while still being entirely unique that makes this game worth experiencing. You want to touch every detail of the world to see if -and how- it will interact with you and the cast of creatures that you lead along your journey. The plight of the creatures you meet and the world they inhabit will become something you care passionately about within just a brief span of time, and by the time the game has wrapped up three hours later, you will feel like you have experienced something that was worth being part of.

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For those interested here is a video to show you what the game looks and sounds like:

Here is a link to Samorost 1, one of their earlier, free to play games to give you a feel for what kind of games the usually create.

Super Mario 3D Land by Nintendo

I should start this by saying that I am most likely going to talk about the game in its entirety, so if you are one of those people who want to know absolutely nothing about how Bowser kidnaps Princess Peach, or how Mario saves her by defeating Bowser in a heated battle of macho manliness you should most likely stop reading. Also, if you don’t want to know about the special, post-world eight game bonus stuff, you should probably just go ahead take off as well.

“So, how about that newish handheld Mario game for that newish Nintendo handheld system that is held back from being a great portable device by a terrible, less than three hour battery life?” you might ask.

It’s a lot of fun. It’s Mario, there are goombas and koopa troopers and star coins to collect. It’s all the platforming you come to expect from a Mario game, although it’s been slightly castrated by being far too easy for far too much of the time. That is my only big complaint really, so let’s get it out of the way now. The first half of the game (World 1 through 8) were dead simple, with the Nintendo gods feeling the need to rain down 1-ups for being marginally proficient at jumping atop flag poles and finding “hidden” green mushrooms. And while they handed out psychedelic, life giving fungi, they also decided to make the gauntlet of trials and tribulations Mario must overcome to save his one true -though perhaps promiscuous- love about as challenging as World 1-1 from the original Super Mario Bros. By the time I reached the Final Bowser boss fight, I had well over 100 lives, and never really felt threatened by anything the game threw at me. (Although, yes, I did once have the game offer me an invincible Tanooki Suit, Nintendo’s way of saying that it felt I might be incapable of completing the level because I had failed to make one irksome jump a handful of times and was worried I might give up and fall upon my Master Sword in shame and frustration). However, there are two things that balance out this complaint. First off, the levels are fun, and well designed. I liked seeing what the designers had thought up next, and it kept me playing (though at first I was bothered by the fact that each world was not a themed collection of levels, but a simple hodgepodge of gimmicks strung along, though I eventually got over that). The second thing that counterbalances the severe easiness of the first eight or so hours is that you can almost view them as a (very) extended tutorial before the real game begins. The last eight special worlds, unlocked after you defeat Bowser, feature a lot of challenges. So if you can keep yourself playing through the first eight hours, which feature well designed, easy levels, you will find a lot to like from the last half (and one or two levels where you want to throw something in anger, which is dangerous considering the streamlined, easily huckable shape of the 3DS itself).

In all honesty, I could probably stop there, since I kind of said all those little, nibbling things that I have been mulling over since beating the game. However, I guess I could quickly discuss the 3D elements of the game. First of all, the 3D effect in the game does add some depth, but doesn’t really do anything for me either way. While the first time I handled the 3DS, (at a kiosk in a Toys R Us), I was blown away by how cool the 3D was, (I wasn’t wearing glasses! The screen wasn’t a darkened mess due to the glasses! There was depth and my eyes were trippin’, man!), after playing a full game with the feature, I like it, but if it didn’t exist I wouldn’t feel like I was missing anything. The only time I really took notice of the feature and thought it added a little something was with the two top-down levels where lava rose up toward me, and Mario dropped down deep holes in the ground to collect coins before hitting a springy block and popping back up at me. Those moments were cool, but only really lasted a few short minutes. I went back and replayed those levels a number of times because they were so cool. Sadly, Nintendo didn’t feel like making more of those. What they did do instead was make a few cloud sections were a little 3D notification floated in the bottom of the screen letting you know you needed to see depth to make the jumps between clouds, so turn on the 3D screen effect if you had turned it off. These sections were boring and the 3D, while suggested by Nintendo, didn’t seem very wow to me, or very necessary to beating the sections. The M.C. Escher-esque demo screen off the start menu was more impressive. The reason for this lack of great 3D use can be traced back to one thing, I feel. Nintendo wants to include everyone, even at the expense of limiting fun for the majority, and this is one example: there is a health and safety warning that says 3D effects should only be used by those ages 7 and up. So, for that huge subset of kids ages 1 month to 6.99 years old who play video games, Nintendo has avoided doing anything where 3D is required as a portion of game design. I do understand that not everyone will be able to see 3D, and that there are lots of kindergarten aged kids that want to play Nintendo, but when the ability to include a touted feature of your system on a flagship brand is squandered you have to wonder why you felt it should be a hardware design component at all. Was it just an excuse to sell me a new handheld when the old one was treating me just fine? Regardless, I feel that Mario could have used a bit more 3D pizzaz.

In general, I had fun with the game, collecting star coins, hoping over lava pits, and trying out all the little gimmicks that Nintendo inserted into the platforming formula. The game featured a number of levels that have stuck in my mind and have enjoyed playing them over a few extra times for fun, and will be going back to every once and a while for brief forays when I start to miss Mario’s mustachioed mug.