alexsarll: (crest)
Granted, the last few times we were in the Noble we moaned, only partly in jest, that there were people drinking there, sitting in our seats, and generally lowering the tone. But if nothing else, shouldn't they have secured its future, meant it wouldn't have to be up for sale again, leave it in a position where one person's illness doesn't force us to resort to a nearby 'pub' no longer even fit to be named in this journal lest by doing so I pollute the servers and screens?
That's the thing about dark times - they're dark on every level. You can do your best to ignore the geopolitics, and heavens know it's tempting, but then you find your local's deserted you, your supermarket's discontinued your favourites, your shoelaces just won't stay tied. Once the entropy takes hold, it's as above, so below.
And then, of course, there's a reversal of fortunes in the war in heaven. And suddenly you see a pug acting the fool and a terrier with the yawns, and the moon's impossibly big and watching over Stoke Newington, and the setting sun lights the clouds behind the Gothic revival water tower like Camelot never fell.

I've finally finished a manga! Libraries have a nasty habit of getting enough volumes to hook me, and then never buying the rest - or in the case of Koike & Kojima books going one worse and, as sadistic as the stories, getting in the first couple - and then a random smattering of later volumes, just to tempt me. But well done Westminster, for completing their Death Note collection, even getting in the fairly superfluous companion and offcuts collection How to Read. Even leaving that aside, I can't deny there's some fat could be trimmed from the 12 volumes of the story proper, and that it never entirely gets to grip with the questions its central premise raises (vigilante killings of criminals by means of a magic notebook - I'm in favour, myself, but there's an emotional weight to the question which never quite makes the page). It does, however, manage some real moments of shock as it twists and turns, and one of those curious little tropes I always love is the ridiculously convoluted fight scene between incredibly smart antagonists, each of them revealing that they've anticipated the other's anticipation of their anticipation of...and so on. Consider the Seventh Doctor at his most Machiavellian, or Vandal Savage versus Resurrection Man in DC One Million, or Iron Man versus Black Panther in Enemy of the State II. Consider even, as comic incarnation of the type, the time-travelling fight scene in Bill & Ted's Bogus Journey - Death Note is fit to stand among them.

Meanwhile in Western comics vigilante news, Garth Ennis' epic Punisher run has concluded. Now there's a comic prepared to address its moral issues, albeit one which never collapses into the pathetic hand-wringing which has often haunted the series when other writers were doing it wrong. The problem was that the Punisher - who is sensible, and shoots criminals in the head - was co-existing with allegedly more admirable heroes who beat criminals up, and then leave them alive to escape from gaol and kill again once another writer wants to use the same villain. By shifting him ever so slightly out of that context, Ennis could cut loose - without going too far the other way and turning it into a puerile celebration of violence for violence's sake. There's a very good scene in Warren Ellis' new issue of Astonishing X-Men in which Cyclops takes a similar clear-sighted line on how, in the superhero's line of work, sometimes killing is the only sensible thing to do. Contrast this with this week's editions of Secret Invasion and Captain Britain - they're both good comics, but in both heroes who normally make a big deal of the Heroic Code and how they Never Kill show no compunction whatsoever about killing invading Skrulls. So implicitly, even the life of an intractably evil human is sacrosanct, but those green alien mofos? Waste 'em. Leaves a nasty taste in the mouth, doesn't it?
Startlingly, DC also managed to put out a good comic this week - Grant Morrison's latest Batman RIP reassures me that, the evidence of Final Crisis aside, he hasn't been totally subsumed by Levitzseid's Anti-Fun Equation just yet.
alexsarll: (pangolin)
[livejournal.com profile] p_dan_tic's birthday Kaput gets extra points for the skeleton DJ, but I'd have approved anyway. I don't recall any songs I actively dislike, and while there was lots I didn't know, what I did included 'Short Skirt Long Jacket', Associates, Johnny Boy, Big Black, Magazine and Pulp's 'Party Hard'. More Of This Sort Of Thing (Outside Caledonia), basically.
The next day, I was a little disappointed that the British Bonving Championship was called off on account of the cold - there were even some snow spectators by the pitch, and the pastime was invented in Scandinavia! But on balance, the world would be a better place if more sports were liable to the governing body sacking off the national championships and going down the pub instead. The pub, though...[livejournal.com profile] amuchmoreexotic had it about right when he classed Highgate's Woodman as "a remedial pub. If you pull a really bad pint, they send you here". Then on to Pennfest for an increasingly assured Brontosaurus Chorus and the sharp-suited, Kinks-y (but not Britpoppy), suave sound of Friends Of The Bride. But not, alas, [livejournal.com profile] myfirstkitchen's own set, because the second room was too well-hidden. Which was unfortunate, because otherwise Leonard's was so nearly a very good venue to bear in mind for future events. Ditto Saturday's London Stone, really - there was one bad feature, one (admittedly well-decorated) pillar blocking the dancefloor off too much, or I'd tell everyone to start putting stuff on there immediately.

Among the various unseemly details grudgingly revealed about MPs' expenses, the one which interests me most is that "Gordon Brown seems to have charged for a Sky sports subscription". Not so much because it means Gordon's been giving public money to Rupert Murdoch - we all knew Brown was his prag. But because it illustrates once again his fascination with sport which, lest we forget, is what left him half-blind and wonky of face. I usually admire bloody-mindedness, but there are limits.
(I have a lot of respect for Heather Brooke's determined campaign to get the expense information in the public eye. But am I the only one to also find her kinda hot?)

A letter in the current edition of The Bookseller:
"Regarding Kate Mosse's rejoinder to critics of the Orange Prize, here's a story I was told by the wife of a man who used to work for Orange. Apparently it used to provide staff interested in running reading groups with a room, coffee and biscuits, etc. One day the mail employee suggested that he'd like to organise a science fiction reading group. He was told this wouldn't be possible as "only men read SF", and that to start a reading group focused on the genre would be sexist."

I was unimpressed with Matt Fraction's much-praised Casanova; loved the art, sure, but find the artist better employed on Gerard Way's Umbrella Academy where the script isn't so try-hard. But I decided to give him another chance, and read Punisher War Journal. Which was better, but still not great; he was still being a bit too self-consciously cool, and that resulted in narration that was too much Matt Fraction and not enough Frank Castle. And this time he didn't even have an artist who could save him; Ariel Olivetti looks like a poor man's John Bolton*. Not dire, but just sort of...there. So, final chance: the first collection of The Immortal Iron Fist.
Wow.
Obviously, it helps that it's a co-write, but then Brubaker's not a writer I love either - it's just that they work perfectly together. Brubaker's grit and noir smarts tones down Fraction's hip excesses; Fraction makes Brubaker more fun. The result is a time-spanning pulp romp, sort of Doc Savage crossed with a Bruce Lee film if Bruce Lee films were anywhere near as good as their cultural cachet suggests, plus dragons. I definitely want to read more than this, and it makes me hope I'm wrong about Iron Fist being a Skrull, because this is one story where I can't see how that angle would do anything but undermine it.

*If you only read one comic this year about bored British teenagers discovering Faerie, read Suburban Glamour. But if you want a second, Carey & Bolton's God Save The Queen is very pretty.

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