| The
Life Eaters
Mythology
and comics go together like Ben & Jerry. It can be argued
that mythological characters were the first “superheroes”
in the sense that they were stories of men and women who
were somehow above humanity, somehow special in their abilities
to fly or hurl lightning bolts or wrestle dragons and giant
wolves to the ground.
Indeed,
comics are no strangers to the idea of anthropomorphic deities
walking the pages of their stories. Thor made his debut
at Marvel Comics way back in Journey Into Mystery,
which later became The Mighty Thor, turning the
character into one of Marvel’s most beloved
demi-gods/superhero. Hercules and Gilgamesh were also characters
for Marvel, and DC has mined the entire Roman and Greek
pantheons for stories concerning characters like Wonder
Woman and Captain Marvel. Superheroes are our generation’s
myths.
But
the gods of comics are rarely truly god-like. In the myths
of the Norse and Germanic tribes, Thor was a hard bitten
warrior god who loved battle above all, and was more powerful
than any army before him. For the purposes of story and
drama, the role of “god” in comics has been
watered down: the Thor of the Avengers can just as easily
be beaten by some random villain of the week as hamstringed
by political red tape. He is not, in essence a “god”
anymore, simply a superheroic representation of one, despite
his many mythological connections within the text. It seems
to have become the formula of comics to make gods more human,
and less all-powerful.
Which
perhaps makes The Life Eaters, adapted by renowned
science fiction writer David Brin (The Postman, Earth)
from his own short story, all the more surprising. I say
this because Brin brings with him a different kind of story
involving gods, which is more about humanity and its strength
than power of deific proportions.
During
the twilight of World War II, just when it seems that the
Nazi menace would finally be put down, the gods of Norse
legend begin appearing on the battlefield, on the side flying
the swastika. The tide of the war quickly changes and the
world grows darker as Nazi troops led by the likes of Thor
and Odin begin taking control of the world. These gods are
strong, powerful, and able to kill thousands with the throw
of a hammer.
A generation
has passed since the Aesir returned; the few people that
remain free and able to act try again and again to find
a way of killing gods, hoping to rid the world of its new
caretakers, and stop the mass human sacrifice these gods
demand. Two men will find a way to turn the tide back in
favor of humanity. Chris Turing will show humanity the way
to spit defiantly in the face of a god, while a young boy
named Lars will usher humanity back into a human age.
Brin’s
take on godhood is refreshing, and his reason for the appearance
of the Aesir makes a fair amount of sense when the Nazi
obsession with mystical artifacts and its association with
the Thule society are taken into account. Brin even points
this out in his afterword to the story. Another refreshing
bit is the way the gods are used as antagonists in every
respect. These “gods” are not human and Brin
never tries to characterize them as such. Instead, he focuses
on the human characters, namely Chris and Lars.
The
story unfolds generationally, told in the past tense by
Lars at some points, and it covers a span of years from
the 1940s to the 1970s, including major conflicts like WWII
as well as Viet Nam. I was surprised at the depth Brin was
able to reach in the much shorter form of comic books, not
only in his interesting take on the alternate history his
characters create, but with the main theme of the piece:
the power of humanity.
To explain
fully would be to give away too many plot points, but Brin
makes a fine case for showing the human spirit as an indelible
force in The Life Eaters. Both Chris and Lars,
acting as our narrators, slowly come to realizations about
the nature of the gods that appear in our world, as well
as what actually powers and creates them. All of that leads
to a great and rather uplifting conclusion about what humankind
is capable of, while still grounding the reader in the harsher
realities of Brin’s world. It’s as much a story
as it is a morality play about the abuses and rejection
of power, and it makes for fine reading.
The
artwork is, for lack of a less cheesy term, “godly.”
The last comic I read that included Scott Hampton’s
lushly detailed water colors, was Lucifer, and
I have sorely missed the man. He employs much more color
and shadow effects in this work than his short Lucifer
stint, making some scenes hum with muted energy and others
take on noirish feel (one scene of Chris Turing in a submarine,
with everything lit and shadowed in black and red, comes
to mind). His character design is good and sometimes simplified:
both Chris and Lars bear striking Teutonic resemblances
to each other, but this seems a specific choice to link
the characters through story and art. The deity designs
are appropriately sparse, marking the few Norse we see as
all similar looking (big damn Vikings with big damn weapons),
possessed of beards and scowls, with only a few details
to set them apart, which makes quasi-historical sense considering
variation in fashion is hard to pull off when your options
are chain mail and fur. Hampton’s panels all flow
well, and he sets up some very good visuals: everything
from splash pages of massive battles, to two page spreads
of deities facing off, to pull back perspective shots, Hampton
knows his art and makes it good.
Wildstorm/DC
are offering this original graphic novel for $19.95, which
is a little pricey, but it is a high-end graphic story,
not to mention it’s knocked down from the original
hardcover’s price. Plus, the small afterword by Brin
is interesting, as well is the artwork demonstration Hampton
chucked in the back of the book, so dropping $20 on this
comic is well worth the loss of Andrew Jackson’s face.
The
Life Eaters
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