Sweet Tooth #24 – Review

By: Jeff Lemire (creator), Jose Villarrubia (colorist)

The Story: Somebody tell me this isn’t death and I’m just trippin’.

The Review: One of the most inadequately written scenes in Flashpoint: The World of Flashpoint #3 involves Traci 13, spear in her gut, internally commenting, “So this is what dying is like.”  The line is effectively sterile, since she never tells us what part of death she’s experiencing.  Not that you can really blame writer Rex Ogle for avoiding the description; as a state of being few of us come back from, death can be rather difficult to write, to say the least.

So rather than talk about it with words, Lemire shows us death through Gus, who in the throes of his draining life journeys through an eerie, very primal landscape, filled with the corpses of his fellow Hybrids.  An animated, skeletal stag serves as a guide, and his few words are thought, not spoken, commanding Gus to see certain things, yet never enlightening him on what he sees.  It all feels like an Aborigine dream vision, in keeping with the title’s naturalistic spiritualism.

A lot of the imagery involves macabre scenes featuring Hybrids in the most wretched, tragic aftermaths of death, perhaps emphasizing the futility of living as one.  The scenes also suggest that Hybrids, despite being the offspring of humans and possessing human features, are still separate from humanity, as Gus sees a hanging grounds filled only with Hybrid remains, swaying from the treetops.  These are clearly visions intended to pain Gus exclusively.

Sweet Tooth #22 – Review

By: Jeff Lemire (creator), Jose Villarrubia (colorist)

The Story: “Shoot first, ask later” seems to be the rule of thumb in this world.

The Review: In my review of Fables #104, I mentioned the difficulties in jumping into the middle any series.  So it was with some trepidation I waded into Sweet Tooth, which hasn’t really been around for that long and yet by most accounts has already taken on a rich life of its own.  A couple people warned me the impact of the story would be lost without some familiarity with the ongoing plot.  And so I expected to read the issue and come out completely puzzled.

It’s rather a waste to have all that concern over nothing, as Lemire makes this issue (as I suspect he makes every issue) quite a cinch to hop in with no prior knowledge whatsoever.  While over on Superboy, I frequently noted the occasional blandness he gives the cast, the characters in his own title pop with vibrant personality: tough cynic Jepperd, strong-willed Lucy, antsy Dr. Singh.  The moment they open their mouths, you get a firm grasp on who these people are.

Nowhere does this come through more clearly than in Lucy and Jepperd’s volatile interactions.  Given how obviously tough each of them is (their fatally accurate marksmanship says as much), their relationship can’t be anything but edgy at the best of times, but it speaks volumes when he ventures, “You can’t really be mad at me?”  For a gruff like Jepperd to be sensitive to Lucy’s feelings shows there’s a heart of gold beneath his rugged and scarred exterior.

Lemire also makes it easy to catch on not only to the overall plot (group on the run searching for sanctuary), but the major conflict at hand as well.  This ragtag bunch has clearly been through some harrowing experiences on their journey, so the idea of finding sanctuary that much sooner no doubt poses serious temptations.

But the timing of it all seems a little too perfect to really trust haven-provider Walter’s motives.  Though he insists to Jepperd and Lucy that the woodland rangers are dangerous, to get the duo to shoot the men from behind seems suspiciously hasty, as does persuading the group to come back to his place for the night before they think of investigating the bodies.  In doing so, they miss a vital clue to their quest, as Lemire explicitly points out in the final panel.

Sweet Tooth #17 – Review

by Jeff Lemire (writer & artist), Jose Villarrubia (colors), and Pat Brosseau (letters)

The Story: As the battle for the militia camp reaches its bloody end, Jepperd learns the truth about his child.

What’s Good: Beneath all the evocative writing, moody visuals, experimental layouts, and grim atmosphere, Sweet Tooth is a damned good story.  It’s issues like this that prove that, showing that Lemire is just as concerned with narrative as he is with creating his world and striking emotional chords.

This is also one of those issues that builds great things for the future.  By the issue’s end, there’s no mistaking the fact that all of our characters are in very different places from where they were at the start of the arc.  Our band finally congeals as a group, and they have a whole new mission on their hands, one that’s very enticing and looks to go back to the “epic journey” trope that Lemire did so well with early on in the series when Gus and Jepperd were questing after the fabled Preserve.  This trek looks to be even more ambitious and I can’t wait to see where this series goes.

Beyond that though, this issue is an electric thrill ride.  The action is amazing, the violence uncompromising, and there are major twists and developments aplenty.  Standing above them all is Jepperd’s discovery of the identity of his child.  There is no way that the child’s identity won’t shock you, as it becomes increasingly clear how subtly Lemire had laid his red herrings.  Of course, the manner in which its all revealed is gut-wrenching in typical Sweet Tooth fashion.  Regardless, it’s an awesome moment for the series, particularly in how it suddenly makes a character so tertiary up to this point so suddenly crucial.

Sweet Tooth #12 – Review

by Jeff Lemire (writer & artist), Jose Villarrubia (colors), and Pat Brosseau (letters)

The Story: Singh recounts the outbreak of the plague while Gus finds glimmers of humanity in the camp.

What’s Good: This is one of the issues that shows not only Lemire’s creativity, but his bravery in his willingness to experiment with the storytelling and format of Sweet Tooth.  The result is a nice little break between story arcs that’s a solid outing in and of itself.

The strongpoint of the issue, and really its structural foundation, is how it essentially tells two stories simultaneously, one purely through images and the other mostly through narration (with sparser images along the bottom of the page).  Putting the two stories together like this makes them into brilliant parallels, foils really, for one another.  Singh depressingly recounts the barbarism and destruction of the plague’s outbreak and the early days, while Gus suffers upon his arrival at the camp, but manages to find little bits of hope, fellowship, and humanity as well.   Despite this inherent juxtaposition, both stories also feature both their very different characters attempting to find light and goodness in a pitch dark situation.

This paralleling also makes Lemire’s differing delivery of these two stories appropriate, as it again highlights Lemire’s intention of balancing innocence with experience, in this case the child Gus and the adult Singh.  Not only does the subject matter of their stories bounce off of one another in this light, but it seems right that Gus, the child, would have his story relayed solely through pictures while the world-weary adult, Singh, would use mostly words.  There’s a kind of purity in having a story told solely through artwork, while there’s a greater feel of artifice (appropriate for the adult scientist) to narration, particularly when that narration is a transcription of Singh’s own diary recordings.

Sweet Tooth #10 – Review

by Jeff Lemire (writer & artist), Jose Villarrubia (colors), and Pat Brosseau (letters)

The Story: Singh uses hypnosis to lead Gus through his past on a search for answers.

What’s Good: After falling just the tiniest bit short of his usual gold standard last month, Lemire kicks us in the teeth with one of his best issues of Sweet Tooth yet.

Lemire removes Jepperd this month, allowing for a more focused issue that develops the relationship between Singh and Gus.  What makes this so superb, and so intriguing, is that Lemire returns to the juxtaposition between science and the humanities.  In my usage of the word “humanities,” I mean that which escapes the dull rationalism of scientific figures:  religion, emotion, and childhood innocence in the case of Sweet Tooth.

The conflict between these two sides becomes a major, yet subtle, theme as Singh struggles to probe through Gus’ memories.  He repeatedly, almost desperately, asks Gus whether there are any scientific instruments, numbers, or notations in the cabin of his youth, and each time he is befuddled when told that this is not the case.  The cabin is a science-free zone dominated by bizarre mix of zealous religion and childhood experience and, as such, both Gus and his father reject science as the evil justifications and misguided machinations of sinful men.  The result is a sense of Singh’s inability to understand Gus’ world.  There must be a scientific explanation for Gus’ existence, but there is simply no evidence to support this no matter how much Singh desires it.  Eventually, Singh even falls to cynicism; for lack of empirical evidence, he believes Gus’ mother to have never existed.  Of course, at issue’s end, he is proven dead wrong.

Sweet Tooth #8 – Review

by Jeff Lemire (writer & artist), Jose Villarrubia (colors), and Pat Brosseau (letters)

The Story: Gus meets Dr. Singh and has a shocking revelation.  Meanwhile, Jepperd simply tries to forget.

What’s Good: Despite being in a post-apocalyptic future full of horrid people, and despite starring a boy that’s half deer, like most of the past issues of Lemire’s series, this month’s issue of Sweet Tooth feels distinctly human on many levels.  There are so many genuine, strong emotions called forth, here.  All of it feels honest, almost in a “slice of life” kind of way.  None of these emotions carry even the slightest  hint of artifice or construction, despite this being a written text.  For instance, Jepperd’s camp side conversation with Louise is a genuinely funny moment, a brief glimmer of light in a world that is pitch black.  The fact that you’re sure to laugh at Jepperd’s joke only pulls you closer to these two characters, as you too find yourself amused and comforted by Jepperd’s jest despite the unrelenting brutality and nastiness of Sweet Tooth’s world in general.

Or there’s Jepperd’s trauma and the kind of self-flagellation he undergoes.  Lemire’s narration here is brutally simple, enhancing his character’s dire state.  As the character tries to forget, attempting to render himself unconscious in painful fashion, we come into contact with that dark hole that always lurks beneath Lemire’s book, threatening to suck everything down.  More importantly, due to Lemire’s minimalist narration, we truly understand Jepperd and feel his pain.

Meanwhile, Gus’ portion of the issue is no less engaging, as Lemire introduces us to Dr. Singh.  All told, it’s a fantastic juxtaposition between a scientist at the extremes of an adult “ends justify the means” doctrine, and Gus’ Christianity-tinged innocence and “black and white” sense of right and wrong.  The back and forth the two have is intriguing, if only because Gus seems unable to accept, or fully comprehend, Singh’s stance, while Singh can only look at Gus’ ideas as a kind of naive idealism he wishes he could still inhabit.

Of course, a lot of this isn’t laid out in words.  Much of it comes solely from Lemire’s illustrations which, as always, are in perfect sync with his script.  Dr. Singh in particular is fantastically drawn.  Regardless of what the doctor says, his constantly world-weary expression and tired, glassy eyes evidence a man who’s exhausted, someone who’s seen far more horrors than any man should.  Compared to the always wild-eyed Gus, the difference is stark.  Lemire also has some good fun with layouts this month, using creative paneling to mirror the fade in and out of consciousness.

Oh, and did I mention there’s a huge slam-bang revelation at the end of the book?  It’s sure to raise a few eyebrows.