Comics That Should Be Translated: Silence

Originally published in 1980, Silence is a graphic novel by the Belgian artist Didier Comés (1942-2013).Set in Beausonge, a fictional village located in the Ardennes, some decades after the second World War, it tells the story of its titular character, a young man who has been mute since birth.

Possessing considerable physical strength, Silence is nonetheless mocked and exploited by the rest of the village, particularly his 'master', Abel Mauvy, the richest and most powerful man in Beausonge. 

Not that Silence realizes any of this, pure of heart (or simple-minded, whichever you prefer), he knows nothing of hatred or the evil that dwells within the human soul.

However, an encounter with the blind woman who lives in the outskirts of Beausonge will change all that. It is this woman, known only as 'the sorceress' who will reveal to Silence the truth behind his origins and spur him to assist her in her revenge against the village who has made them both suffer. 

Silence made a great impression on me when I first encountered it in its Swedish translation many years ago and I'm happy to say that time has not diminished its potency. The Drama that unfolds is dark and utterly absorbing, blending the everyday with the fantastic and exploring several themes (good and evil, love and  hate, resistance against tyranny superstition, the treatment of 'the other' in society and so on). Comés' black and white artwork perfectly matches the writing, being very expressive and atmospheric.

As for the characters, Silence's innocence, his connection with nature and his empathy with all that lives makes him a moving and sympathetic protagonist, while  his antithesis, Abel Mauvy is one of the most striking portrayals of human evil I've come across in comics. 

As a rule, the characterization is superb, with each character from the blind sorceress, to her rival, the villagers and others all being memorable in their roles.

In conclusion, Silence is without a doubt a masterpiece. However, now that I think about it, its a bit strange that this is the only comic by Comès I've read, despite being aware of his other works for years. 

I think its about time that I did something about that.

Comics That Should Be Translated: Dr. Merling

Previously in this irregular series of posts, I've focused on comics from the Southern part of Europe. This time, however, things will be a bit different. Today, we're going to move up north (though its still to the south from where I'm sitting) to Scandinavia or, more precisely, to Denmark, to talk about what I'm sure is the most obscure comic I've yet mentioned on this blog: Dr. Merling.
Dr. Merling is a Danish comic strip created by Knud V. Larsen which ran from 1970-1980 in Berlingske Tidene. At one point during its run, the comic's title was changed to Dr. Merlind for legal reasons (apparently, there was actually a family named Merling). For the purpose of this post though, I'm going to keep using its original title.

A bit of personal history, before we start (don't worry, this won't take long): My first encounter with Dr. Merling came thanks to my father's old childhood copies of Seriepressen; a Swedish comics anthology magazine which existed in the 1970's and featured quite a wide array of comics. In a poll which the magazine ran, Dr. Merling came out the winner. Quite impressive, considering that in the pages of Seriepressen one could also find such works as Herriman's Krazy Kat and Lee's & Romita Jr's Spider-Man. Clearly, the Swedish readers of the time had taken Larsen's opus to their hearts and, reading the comic several decades later, I could definitely understand why.

Sadly, Seriepressen only had the chance to publish the first two story-arcs of Dr. Merling before the magazine went under. Obviously, the comic continued for longer than that in its homeland, but unavailable to the Swedish reader, especially those of us who became acquainted with it several years after the fact.
Fortunately, works of quality have a tendency to resurface: In the 2010's the entire run of Dr. Merling was collected in three volumes by the Danish publisher Forlaens.

So, what is Dr. Merling all about? Well, in the 1870's, the family Merling; consisting of our main character Albert, the titular doctor, his wife Anita, their daughters Alice and Bettina travels the countryside of Transyldavia (no, that's not me screwing up the spelling, that's what its called in the comic. Actually, its called Transyldavien, I just translated it) with their magic show. Accompanying the family is also their assistant and coachman, Boris.
Between performances, the Merling Family find themselves involved in various adventures, often with some kind of supernatural tinge. Sometimes, there's a human hand behind the events that occur, but other times the supernatural turns out to be quite real.

In the first story-arc, titled Mesmer, Dr. Merling himself is almost a supporting character and, with the exception of Anita who has a cameo at the beginning of the arc, the rest of the core cast does not appear at all. Instead, the main focus is upon the arc's villain, Dr. Scyk; who with the help of his creation Mesmer, a reanimated corpse intends to wreak bloody vengeance upon the teachers at the universty in Uldz, who mocked his theories (classic mad scientist stuff in order words). The Faculty is eventually forced to beg Dr. Merling for help in dealing with Scyk and his creation, despite the fact that they had previously dismissed him as a charlatan.

The Stories told by Larsen vary in tone: Some of them are fun and lighthearted, while others, such as the one mentioned above, are considerably darker. However, Regardless of what kind of story Larsen tells, he never fails at making it entertaining. Of course, since the stories were originally published in a newspaper and intended to be read one strip at a time, it occasionally leads to some repetition when the characters have to summarize what has happened for the benefit of readers who come in late, but that's par of the course for serialized newspaper comics and one simply has to accept it.

Of course, a huge part of what makes this comic successful is its characters, particularly the main cast. I really like the dynamic between the Merlings; they ocasionally quarrel and tease each other, but nonetheless, have a genuine love for one another, which always shines through in their interactions.  Aside from his core cast, Larsen also presents the reader with several memorable side characters, ranging from likable kooks like the two rival alchemists Fixo & Faxo to pitiable villains like the albino Count Cherzek.

During its run, Dr. Merling was cancelled twice. The First time it happened was in 1975, but it was soon brought back after the readers protested. Next time was in 1980 and this time, no amount of backlash could prevent it. Larsen never managed to get his comic picked up by another newspaper and as such, the final story-arc of Dr. Merling ends on a cliffhanger which has never been resolved. Larsen himself passed away in 2002.

Regardless of this, Dr. Merling remains, as far as I'm concerned, one of the best comics to come out of Denmark. As well as one of the most underrated comics, period. It definitely deserves to be more well-known.

Gallery:

Comics That Should Be Translated: L'Epee d'Ardenois

Originally, I had planned on writing this review late last year, but alas, other things got in the way. Still, better late than never; its been awhile since I last made a post focusing on a comic that I enjoyed and L'Epee d'Ardenois is certainly worthy of being the subject of the first comic-related post of the year and I can assure you that it won't be the last one.

L'Epee d'Ardenois (The Sword of Ardenois) is a French anthro comic created by Etienne Willem; it was originally published in four parts and when was later collected into one hefty volume. Its the latter version that I have read.

Set in a medieval fantasy world, L'Epee d'Ardenois is the story of Garen, a young village-boy who idolizes the aging knight Godefroid. Twenty years ago, the dark lord Nuhy sought to conquer the world (as dark lords are wont to do), but was defeated by an alliance of the three kingdoms, led by a group of heroes known as The Companions of the Dawn (could this be a reference to Bourgeon's Les Compagnons de Crepuscule/The Companions of the Twilight, I wonder?), Godefroid being one of them.

Unfortunately (or fortunately, otherwise we wouldn't have a story), evil never stays vanquished for long and so, almost as soon as the comic has begun, Garen's peaceful village is attacked by Nuhy's right-hand man; Hellequin of the Cursed Woods. During the attack, Godefroid is killed and his blade, the titular sword is taken. Garen tries to come to his hero's aid, but is easily overpowered and left for dead by Hellequin. Garen is nursed back to health by the ow Maquis, who gives him the mission to find the reaming Companions of the Dawn; Arthus, Grimbert and Lafouine and with their help unite the three kingdoms against Nuhy's forces once more, before Hellequin can assemble all the pieces of Nuhy's old armor and thus, bring his master back from the grave. 

Not an easy task and it does not become easier due to the fact that the kingdoms once allies now eye one another with suspicion and distrust. 

L'Epee d'Ardenois is one of those comics that I knew I had to read from the moment I first heard about it and saw some of the artwork and once I had the complete volume in my hands and began to read it, I was not disappointed. In preparation for this review, I re-read the whole thing and I am pleased to say that my feelings toward the comic have not been diminished. . What starts out as a fairly clear-cut story about the never-ending struggle of good versus evil, gradually becomes more complex and morally grey, with many of the "good guys" being willing to use less than ethical methods in order to ensure peace.

I've read my fair share of anthro (or if you prefer funny animal, though the term seems a bit misleading in this case) comics in my day. fFom Barks' Donald Duck to Macherot's Chlorophylle and Sakai's Usagi Yojimbo, just to mention a few. L'Epee d'Ardenois, with its detailed vivid artwork,  engaging characters and page-turner of a plot, stands among the best that this genre has to offer and is a comic that definitely should be translated.

Gallery

Cover to the complete collection

Garen trains with Godefroid

Hellequin attacks

Comics That Should Be Translated: Le Cri du Peuple

Been awhile since I did one of these, hasn't it?
Hello and welcome to a new installment of Comics That Should Be Translated; a recurring topic on this blog in which I write about a comic that I feel deserves to be available to an English-speaking audience. Today's comic is Le Cri du Peuple (The People's Cry), by Jacques Tardi, based on the novel by Jean Vautrin. Tardi and Vautrin are both friends and the two have collaborated closely on this adaptation. As was the case with Ibicus, I am not familiar with the original novel, but if Vautrin's enthusiastic foreword is any indication, the comic is to be regarded as the more or less, definitive version of this story.

Le Cri du Peuple was originally published in French between 2001 and 2004. Recently, a translation was available over here in Sweden thanks to Placebo Press, who published the first two parts in one volume, with the conclusion to be released in the fall. Its this edition that I've read.

Le Cri du Peuple takes place in 1871, during the few tumultuous months in which the people of Paris, tired of the social injustices of the day and led by a small group of young anarchists and socialists, managed to seize power and drive the French government into a temporary exile. Using these bloody events a a backdrop, Vautrin adds the mystery surrounding the identity of a young woman whose corpse was found in the river Seine, holding a glass-eye, as well as the story of two men whose pasts are about to catch up with them. One of these men is Tarpagnan, a former officer in the French army, who has switched over to the people's side. Tarpagnan is head-over-heels in love with the beautiful Gabriela Pucci, who is also the unhappy mistress of a local gangster. The other man is the mysterious Horace Grondin, a police-spy, who is obsessed with tracking down Tarpagnan, since he believes that the latter was behind the murder of his beloved step-daughter many years earlier. A crime which Grondin himself was punished for, by being sent to the penal colony of Devil's Island.

Jean Vautrin has written a highly engaging drama, which reminded me in more ways than one of the sort of tales spun by 19th century authors like Hugo and Dickens. Real events, such as the toppling of the statue of Napoleon I and historical figures, like the journalist Jules Vallés, mix and mingle with fictional characters, from all parts of society. Overall, the cast is very good, containing many colorful and memorable characters, with the ruthless and obsessed Grondin being a particular favorite.
There were times when I found the dialogue to be a bit stiff, not sure if that's the fault of the Swedish translation or not. That's a minor nitpick though.

Tardi, of course, is one of the greatest living comic creators and his art here is of the high standard that one has come to expect from him over the years. After finishing the book, I found myself returning to particular panels, so that I could admire them further.

All in all, Le Cri du Peuple is a splendid read and I'm looking forward to get my hands to the conclusion. Hopefully, the second half will be as good as the first.

Comics That Should Be Translated: Il Etait Une Fois en France

Ever since I first discovered him, the Frenchman Fabien Nury has quickly become one of my favorite comic-authors.. Nury's work tend to fall under the "historical fiction"-genre, which as, you may know, is one of my favorite genres. Of all the comics that Nury has written, my personal favorite remains the one which introduced me to his work: Il Etait Une Fois en France (Once Upon A Time in France), drawn by Sylvain Vallée.

Il Etait Une Fois en France is based on the true story of Joseph Joanovici, one of the more obscure, yet fascinating characters of that horrible time in history known as the Second World War. In the comic, we follow Joanovici from the moment he arrives in France as an illiterate, Jewish immigrant, to his rise as one of the nation's wealthiest men and a hero of the resistance, to his eventual downfall.

As one would except from a comic like this, Il Etait Une Fois does not lack in suspense. The reader is treated to some very tense moments of sabotage, double-crossings, scheming and murder, as Joanovici does his best to live and prosper, making himself indispensable to both the Nazi occupation forces and the French resistance, while ultimately being loyal only to himself. However, Il Etait Une Fois en France is first and foremost, a character-study and its creators paint a very compelling portrait of their protagonist. Joanovici is a very ambiguous character, one who's both easy to root for and condemn, at the same time. On one hand, he's an opportunist and war-profiteer, who will betray and/or kill anyone, including his closest comrades, in order to prevent his double-dealings from being revealed. On the other hand, he also finances the resistance and uses his money and influence to save many lives.

Though Joanovici is the star of the comic, he's far from its only memorable character. Fabien and Nury surrounds their anti-hero with a strong supporting cast, consisting of family, friends, convenient allies and enemies. Among the characters that make a particularly strong impression are Lucie, Joseph's highly competent and loyal assistant, who also becomes his mistress, and Lafont, the diabolical head of Paris' gestapo and easily the most despicable character in the comic. Both of these characters, as well as several others, are based on historical figures.

On the visual side of things, Sylvain Vallée's artwork, with its realistic style and muted colors (courtesy of colorist Delf), compliments Nury's story very well. There were times during my read of Il Etait Une Fois en France, when Vallée's artwork made me think of some of my favorite classic movies, which I feel is appropriate.
As of the time of this post, I've yet to read the sixth and final volume in this series. However, even if it should turn out not be up to the same standards as its predecessors, I can say without a doubt that Il Etait Une Fois en France rank among the best comics I've read and one that's more than deserving to be available in English.

Comics That Should Be Translated: Ibicus

Russia, 1917, Simeon Nevzorov was once told by a fortuneteller that during a time of great upheaval, he would be rich. Now, the revolution is here and the czarist regime is about to be swept away forever. Its the moment Simeon's been waiting for! Believing wholeheartedly in the fortuneteller's prophecy, he embarks on a quest for the wealth and power that he believes is his destiny to obtain.

Ibicus is an adaptation of the novel written by Alexei Tolstoy, made by french cartoonist and movie director, Pascal Rabaté. Rabaté bought the book, thinking that it was by Leo. When he discovered his mistake, Rabaté put the book aside, to save it for a time when he was out of things to read. Naturally, such a thing occurred eventually, and soon Rabaté found himself reading the book he had bought by mistake. He ended up liking Ibicus so much, that he decided to adapt into a comic.
Having not read the original novel, Ibicus (in fact, before discovering the comic I had never heard of it, nor of Alexei Tolstoy for that matter), I can not say how faithful the adaptation is to the source-material. On the back of the first volume (which is also where I got the above information from), Rabaté states that its a free adaptation, but that he has tried to respect the spirit of the author. I can say, that it made me curious about checking out the novel, though, if I can manage to get a hold of a copy.

The first thing that strikes a reader upon opening the first volume of Ibicus is Rabaté's artwork.  I must admit that it took me awhile to get used to the style used by Rabaté for this comic, which is strongly influenced by impressionistic painting, but it soon grew on me. Rabaté is especially good at using light and shadow to convey atmosphere and there are certain scenes and panels in Ibicus, that, in my opinion, has a cinematic quality to them. That said, the artwork of Ibicus is definitely an acquired taste, but than again, can't you say that about pretty much everything?

That said, at the end of the day, yours truly is a plot-guy more than an art-guy (even if he obviously appreciates good art, comics is a visual medium, after all). So, what did I think of the story? Well, I doubt that I will surprise many of you, if I revealed that I found the writing of Ibicus to be great. Once again, I can't say how much that is thanks to Tolstoy and how much of it is Rabaté (once I've read the novel, I should write something about it, in order to compare it with the comic). but the plotting and characterization is both of a consistently high quality and succeeds both at the big, suspenseful moments and the quieter, more character-focused scenes.

The best thing about Ibicus though, at least writing-wise, is its central character. Simeon Nevzorov makes for a great protagonist. Like most anti-heroes, his character is stained with flaws, among which we may count greed, opportunism and pretentiousness (he styles himself as count Nevzorov, a title no-one buys; at one point, another character mockingly says "Count? Why not Czar while you're at it?"). In short, he's the type of character that you probably wouldn't want to be around in real life, but who is very interesting to read about.

In the end, regardless whether its faithful to its source-material or not, Ibicus remains a great comic and one that is definitely deserving of getting an English translation.

Comics That Should Be Translated: Murena

Its the year 54 AD. The emperor Claudius rules over the Roman Empire, while planning to have his son, Britannicus, inherit the position when he's gone. However, Claudius' wife, Agrippina has other plans: She would much rather have her own son from a previous marriage, Nero, installed on the throne, so that she can rule the empire through him.
Lucius Murena is a young patrician, whose mother Lollia, secretly happens to be the Emperor's lover. When Agrippina learns of Claudius' and Lollia's relationship, she decided that the latter must be done away with, especially since Claudius is planning to divorce Agrippina and have her and her son sent into exile. Lucius, who is a friend of Nero's, decide to plead with the latter for his mother's life, but will Nero be able to stand up to Agrippina?

The above describes some of the events that occur in the first volume of Murena, a French comic written by Jean Dufaux and drawn by Philippe Delaby. The history of ancient Rome is a topic that has fascinated writers for centuries; from William Shakespeare to Robert Graves and Colleen McCullough and has helped spawn such great works of literature as I, Claudius and The Masters of Rome among others. Murena is just as rich a work as any of the aforementioned master-pieces and is warmly recommended to anyone with an interest in historical fiction.

Jean Dufaux is one of the most prolific writers of European comics today, his work can be a bit hit-or-miss (he wrote the Blake & Mortimer comic The Septimus Wave, which I consider to be the absolute nadir of that classic series). With Murena, however, Dufaux has definitely struck lightning. The comic especially shines when it comes to its cast of characters, each one interesting in their own way. As is perhaps expected, the characters who can be described as good are outnumbered by the bad ones. There is no shortage of villains in this comic, from schemers like Agrippina and Poppaea to brutes like the bloodthirsty gladiator, Massam. In contrast to these evil-doers, stands characters like the Nubian gladiator Balba, who becomes a loyal servant of Britannicus after the latter pleaded for his life.

As for Lucius Murena, the comic may carry his name, but as the story progresses it becomes more and more evident that he's not its main character. No, that honor goes to none other than Nero, who is also the comic's most interesting haracter. When he's first introduced to the reader, Nero comes across as a pretty sympathetic figure; a teenager who wants to make a name for himself as a poet and who doesn't seem to have any real desire to rule. Of course, we all know that this won't last. It doesn't take long for Agrippina to find a way to make her son into her (albeit, reluctant at first) accomplice, what the empress doesn't count on is that Nero is not going to be quite the subservient puppet she intended him to be.

This post have focused quite a bit on Dufaux' story, but one can't talk about Murena without mentioning Philippe Delaby's artwork, which is nothing short of superb. Sadly, Delaby passed away in 2014. He did manage to finish the ninth volume in the series, though Murena has been stuck in limbo since. Perhaps its for the best, any artist who seek to take up Delaby's pen is sure to have their work cut out for them.

Comics That Should Be Translated: Rebecca

Recently, I decided to re-read an old comic which had been gathering dust on my bookshelf ever since I last read it, many years ago. Upon reading it, I was struck almost from the page what a great read it was and so, I decided to make it the subject for the second post in my Comics That Should Be Translated series. The comic in question is Rebecca (but of course, you already knew that, having read the title of the post) by Anna Brandoli (art) and Renato Queirolo (script).

Rebecca takes place in Italy at the end of the 15th Century,  the story begins with the street-singer Mercutio fleeing through the snow, he's being pursued by two city-guards who took offence to one of his songs. Mercutio soon happens upon a cave, where he meets the comic's eponymous character; the gypsy-woman Rebecca. After she has helped Mercutio to get rid of the guards (I won't tell you how), Rebecca enlists the singer as her partner-in-crime (so to speak): She has found a hidden stash of weapons which she aims to sell in the city of Como. Once there, the duo soon finds themselves involved in a conspiracy cooked up by the local inquisitor to have a Jewish moneylender accused of witchcraft so that the church can confiscate his fortune.

One of Rebecca's chief strength is the very believable portrayal of Italy during the Renaissance.  Brandoli and Queirolo does not shy away from showing the injustices of the time, from the corruption to the religious oppression. The protagonists are hardly perfect, but they do come of as saints (or almost) when compared to the villains. Another thing the comic has going for it is it's cast of memorable characters. Aside from our two leads, Rebecca and Mercutio, this also includes (among others) the orally-gifted and intellectual miller Mennochio, who becomes one of the duo's allies as well as Filippo da Cesena; a leper who roams the countryside telling the tale of the crimes he committed when he was in the service of a generous but naive nobleman.

Incidentally, Filippo's story is perhaps my favorite segment of the comic. Covering only ten pages, it paints a fascinating portrait of a man who doesn't shrink from the blackest deeds in order to fulfill his thirst for wealth and power.

The comic is helped immensely by Anna Brandoli's artwork, which really sets the mood. Brandoli is another artist who has clearly mastered the use of black-and-white, much like her fellow countryman and colleague, the great Hugo Pratt.

There is a sequel to Rebecca called I Testamenti di Sant' Ambrogio (The Testament of St. Ambrogio), in color. I've read the first part of it in French and enjoyed it well-enough. However, the original Rebecca still stands out as one of the finest examples of its genre and a comic that definitely deserves to be translated.

Comics That Should be Translated: Les Sept Vies de l'Epervier

I'm an avid reader of comics, no matter what format or genre (though obviously there are some genres I favor over others) and it just so happens that several of the comics I read happen to be in French and haven't been translated into English. As such, this will be a recurring series of post in which I will write about some of these comics that I feel deserve to be translated into English. The first such comic I've chosen to write about is Patrick Cothias' and André Juillard's masterpiece Les Sept Vies de l'Epervier.

In order to talk about this comic, we first need to talk about another one; Masquerouge (Redmask, yes it's supposed to be written as one word), which was a comic created by the team Cothias-Juillard for the children's magazine PIF Gadget back in the early 80's. Masquerouge took place in France during the reign of Louis XIII and starred a masked avenger clad in a red mask, who fought against corruption and injustice, as masked avengers tend to do. Somewhat unusual for the time was the fact that the person under the red mask was a woman, the young baroness Ariane de Troïl. Now, I haven't actually read Masquerouge so I can't vouch for it's quality, but everything I've read about it make it seem like a competently made, but fairly standard adventure-comic.

Anyway, in 1982, Cothias got the idea of making a prequel to Masquerouge, focusing on the origin of his heroine. Unlike it's mother-series, said prequel was meant to be for an older audience, with greater depth to the characters and everything that entails. This comic, which would soon come to completely eclipse Masquerouge in terms of recognition, was given the title Les Sept Vies de l'Epervier (or The Seven Lives of the Sparrowhawk).

The story begins with the birth of the future king Louis XIII. Meanwhile, a pregnant woman is running through the woods, she's being tracked down by her husband, Baron Yvon de Troïl and her husband's brother, Gabriel, with whom she's been having an affair. She tries to cross a frozen lake, but the ice is to thin and she breaks through. The woman manages to get to dry land and mere moments later gives birth. She wraps the newborn baby in her clothes to protect it from the cold and is found later by Yvon and Gabriel, frozen to death.

Furious, Yvon blames his brother for the death of his wife and banishes him from his sight. While riding through the woods, Gabriel encounters a strange blind woman who presents him with two birds; an owl and a sparrowhawk. She tells him that his destiny will be linked to one of the two birds and urges him to choose: The philosophical owl or the bold sparrowhawk..

Meanwhile, Yvon decides to raise the infant as his own and eight years later, the child has grown up into a strong-willed young woman named Ariane. One day, a mysterious man wearing a red mask appears in the church and challenges Yvon's closest neighbor; the despicable Count Thibaud de Bruantfou to a duel. Naturally, Ariane becomes fascinated with the masked-man's heroism and strong sense of justice and decides to seek him out, much to the concern of her supposed father and brother, Guillemot.

From what at first seem to be a rather simple tale, Cothias crafts a complex, elaborate plot which spans over several years and involves a multitude of characters, some of them fictional and others taken from the pages of history. Characterization is really the strongest point of this saga, with each character from Ariane and her family, to the french king Henry IV and the mysterious Léonard Langue-Agile (basically, quick-tongued or sharp-tongued) emerging as some of the most memorable and well-crafted characters I've encountered in comics.

I should warn any potential reader that Les Sept Vies de l'Epervier is not for the squeamish. Cothias doesn't shy away in the slightest in showing the cruelties and injustices of the age, an age where the strong ruled over the weak and local provincial lords could pretty much as they pleased. Not that all members of the aristocracy are presented as bad, both Yvon and king Henry himself are both depicted as flawed, but sympathetic characters. On the flip-side however, we have the scheming Concino Concini and the Count de Bruantfou, the latter which seem to embody the worst cruelties and excesses of the ruling class. In short, this is not a comic in which the majority of the cast, whether good or evil, gets away unscathed (or even alive).

I've talked a lot about the story, what about the art? After all, the ninth art-form is a visual medium and while I can forgive a comic whose artwork is less than stellar if the story is good enough, the ideal is of course to have both a great story and great artwork. Thankfully, Les Sept Vies de l'Epervier does not disappoint in that regard. André Juillard is one of the finest artist working in comics and he does an excellent job portraying the characters and the period they live in. Of course a picture is worth more than a thousand words and so, at the end of this post, I've included some samples of Juillard's work so that the reader can see what I mean.

To sum it up, Les Sept Vies de l'Epervier is undoubtedly a masterpiece, one of the finest works produced in the medium in my opinion and a comic that's well deserving of being translated.

Artwork: