A God Somewhere

by John Arcudi (story), Peter Snejbjerg (art), Bjarne Hansen (colors), and Wes Abbott (letters), 196 pages

Brothers Eric and Hugh, Hugh's wife Alma, and Eric's best friend Sam are just busy living, hanging out together, making plans, and going about their business when an explosion in Eric's apartment building changes their lives, and the world, forever.  What at first seems a miracle suddenly devolves into a nightmare as bonds are tested and broken, morality questioned, and the concept of "god" revisited.

This is not a comic book for the squeamish (which you'd figure out pretty quickly from the first blood-soaked page).  I don't know that I want to read it again, but it did make me think about that whole "with great power comes great responsibility" creed and how it really just comes down to the mental state and perspective of the one with the power.  Unless it lands in the hands of a humble, compassionate saint who never loses touch with his or her humanity, things can get very dicey very quickly.  All the little fault lines that are normal and manageable in human relationships get blown out of all proportion and expand into uncross-able chasms when power gets thrown into the mix.  Egos inflate, insecurities deepen, trust evaporates, and isolation and detachment grow.  How do you judge someone in that situation?  Can you condemn the actions but still love the one committing them?  This dark, violent, thought-provoking story poses such questions, shows how a few choose to answer them, and leaves the reader to contemplate the no-win possibilities for herself.

Watchmen

by Alan Moore (story), Dave Gibbons (art), and John Higgins (color), 407 pages

Costumed adventurers (except those working for the feds) have been outlawed since the Keene Act in 1977.  But Rorschach never came in from the cold.  And now that a middle-aged sellout, one of his former colleagues--never exactly a friend, the Comedian, though they may have seen the world similarly--has been murdered, Rorschach takes it upon himself to investigate, suspecting a mask-killing conspiracy is at work.  But the more this lost soul digs, the bigger and more unbelievable the truth is revealed to be.

How to sum up this classic graphic tale?  It's dark (really dark), twisted, clever, violent, thought-provoking, and a turning-point in comics history.  Moore, Gibbons, and Higgins create an alternate history in which masked vigilantes were for a time a part of everyday life in America.  They also pull back the curtain and show the reader how sadly mundane and dysfunctional that nostalgically idealized era was and how those behind the masks have variously dealt with the changes in their circumstances over the years.  Not exactly "heroes," most of them.  Sunshine and bunnies this is not, though there are a few surprisingly good zingers.  The reader is challenged to feel for these imperfect people and to consider the weight of their responsibilities and the consequences of their decisions.  Do you agree with their choices?  Can you blame them for making them?  While I was getting ready for my book discussion on this title, I realized just how dense and complex a story it really is.  The artwork is riddled with motifs and symbolism.  The meticulously plotted story falls into place through multiple storylines and timeframes, flashbacks and meta-fiction, snippets of files and articles and tell-all autobiographies.  It's a bit insane, really.  And I think it's rather brilliant.

Shipwrecks

by Akira Yoshimura, 180 pages

Nine-year-old Isaku's isolated coastal village has for generations relied on the bounty and mercy of the sea. Faced with the perpetual threat of starvation, each villager contributes to the community's continued survival through fervent prayers and backbreaking labor. Some, like Isaku's father, sell themselves into years-long indentured servitude miles away, while those at home closely follow the seasons, harvesting seaweed, shellfish, squid, octopus, saury, and salt. As the weather turns cold and the sea treacherous, the villagers turn their hungry eyes to the churning waters just beyond their rock-strewn bay, bending all their prayers and efforts toward landing the greatest, most elusive catch of all.

Shipwrecks is a profoundly disturbing little novel. It shows, without making overt moral judgments, the effects of sustained privation and isolation on a population, illustrating how a society under pressure can convince itself that the ends justify even the most contemptible of means. Isaku works hard, loves his family, respects his elders--and accepts his people's traditions without question. It is with both pity and horror that the reader regards these otherwise decent human beings. But who and how is she to judge?

A tragedy not only in its conclusion but at its very core, Shipwrecks proves frighteningly relevant far beyond its story's borders of time and place.