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CBG SATELLITES
The ADD Blog by Alan David Doane
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Nightjar #1-4; Nightjar: Hollow Bones
And yet, Avatar is haunted by other reputations, specters unattached to
story content. You’ll be hard-pressed to find a mention of Avatar books
today that doesn’t mention their prolificacy in releasing variant covers.
This isn’t breaking news; Avatar was releasing scores of alternate covers
long before it became trendy again. But just as the moves of the Big Two
dictate the tenor of so much conversation on our comics internet, so does
the radiance of their actions shine onto the smaller publishers, the color
absorbed into them, and previously little-minded activities now explicit to
so many more eyes. Variant covers are more noticed now, and Avatar’s are
sometimes more noticed than others’.
At least, when the books are around to observe. Which brings me to Avatar’s
next predominant trait. These books are often late. Perhaps it’s Avatar’s
continued utilization of the serialized pamphlet form that draws attention
to the slow march of their continuing stories, but the lateness is noticed
in any case, and there’s been more than a few opportunities for such notice
to occur. Frank Miller’s Robocop (now finally with only one issue
remaining), Garth Ennis’ 303 (delayed perhaps due to the recent
departure of colorist Greg Waller), the monster mash anthology series
Yuggoth Creatures (no idea what happened to that one), the expanded
trade collection of its parent title, the Alan Moore odds ‘n ends collection
Yuggoth Cultures, and not only a few more.
Among their number, for a while, was Nightjar, which began its formal
four-issue run in March of 2004 and just wrapped a few weeks ago. Its true
origins date back much farther; originally created by Alan Moore and Bryan
Talbot for Warrior Magazine (also the original home of such Moore
classics as Marvelman and V for Vendetta) in the early ‘80s;
subsequent to Moore’s falling out with Warrior the project collapsed, and
the initial 8-page chapter remained unfinished until Avatar convinced Talbot
to complete the art for display in issue #1 of the aforementioned Yuggoth
Cultures in 2003. It was pure set-up, but had a lot of potential; young
Mirrigan Demdyke, having recently suffered the loss of her father, becomes
thrust into a world of danger when her grandmother reveals that dear old dad
was killed as part of a power play by seven wicked magicians, their eyes on
controlling the throne of the Birds, an underground league of magic-users,
each one named for a feathered friend, the titles passing down through the
family line. Mirrigan is a Nightjar, and now she must face the cabal that
killed her father.
And what do these characters have to do? Well, mostly they wander through
what’s very much an early chapter, complete with allusions to a mysterious
agate bird that will doubtlessly come into play in a future miniseries, and
cameos from major villains (an evil Conservative member of Parliament, and a
portly rhyming fellow chief among them) who don’t really do much other than
stand around and occasionally set events in motion. The true villain of the
piece is the Phoenix, a working-class misogynist who’s sent out to snuff the
Nightjar cleanly and quickly with his awful fire magic. I suppose there’s
something in here about the lower classes dutifully fighting at the beck and
call of regal politicians who merely use them for their own gain, but it’s
not very pronounced. More to the fore is Mirrigan’s droll semi-friendship
with a trendy young (non magic-using) Wiccan, the flighty and thoroughly
harmless focus of fear and superstition by the local clergy. It all
culminates with a huge confrontation at an all-night party out in the
sticks, all of the expected scenes of fat and frothing churchgoers accusing
the poor lass of conjuring up arthritis and diabetes trotted out for us
wizened comics-reading sages to nod at with dutiful solemnity. Luckily, the
real magicians soon begin flinging the lightning and fireballs, those fizzy
energy trails permiating the raining night sky, and various factions react
in occasionally amusing ways.
Which is perhaps my special little way of saying that issues #3 and #4 are
one big fight scene. A good one though.
The story ends as it began, with questions unanswered and characters moving
to various places. Expect little resolution. If you’re interested in a touch
of world-building, though, you can do worse than Nightjar: Hollow
Bones, a separately released, Johnston-written, pamphlet-format prose
story (actually titled Nightjar: First Feathers) of 24 pages, with
spot illustrations by the Fiumaras, following Mirrigan’s grandma on her
exciting adventures through a New York of the Roaring ‘20s. Well, actually
not a terrible lot happens; a bunch of Birds defy the authority of New
York’s magic-using authority and get their sorry asses thrashed, but we do
get some background info on the Bird world, and some sinister hints at
possible future storylines. Rounding out the package is Johnston’s complete
script for issue #1 of the proper Nightjar comic, for process junkies and
interested writers.
But we are left in an uncertain place, with our cast scattered and many of
the villains either at large or still unseen from that original Moore/Talbot
short. When will they become seen? That will depend on the interest of the
creative team, and the niceties of scheduling. And maybe, on Avatar itself
rising to counter another nasty reputation.
-- Jog
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Avatar has, to its credit, managed to almost completely shed its former
persona as a purveyor of dire bad girl books, brow-clasping specimens of
stroke fuel, hailing straight out of the most shadowed corners of the seedy
side of the ‘90s comics scene. No more. These day, when Avatar deploys a
fresh wave of Brian Pulido concoctions, we see them as part of a whole, not
an embodiment of the same. Years of hard work with Warren Ellis and Garth
Ennis and Alan Moore have paid off; today’s Avatar is still one of extremes,
but the extremes are now varied. They’ve even managed to score a trio of
big name movie licence deals. Very nice work.
Not a head-exploding opener, but there’s potential. Obviously Avatar felt
the same way because they opted to continue the story in a series of
miniseries, now written by the prolific Antony Johnston (both an
accomplished writer on his own, and the go-to fellow for sequential
adaptations of Moore prose and poetry work at Avatar) with art by Max and
Sebastian Fiumara. I’ve not heard of the Fiumaras before this, but they’ve
got quite a lovely style, though extremely separate from the weighty, shaded
work Talbot displayed on the same story. The Fiumaras prefer thick shadows
and sharp features, with several scenes sprinkled with a sooty feel. Ink
effects are oft used, with all the expected energy blasts and fire effects
spread across the page with sprinkles of white space, burning off luxurious
ozone smoke as they trail from combatant to combatant. Only sometimes does
it get to be too much, the ink and white-out and detail so congealed that
one can barely discern what’s going on. Fellow Avatar stalwart Juan Jose Ryp
suffers from the same problem, albeit to a much greater degree; Max Fiumara
does not have Ryp’s individuality in character design, though; his
characters occasionally seem nondescript, though it ought be noted that he’s
already tied to a goodly number of Talbot character designs, revoking some
room for creativity.