Igort

The second volume of Igort's Baobab builds beautifully on the first installment, and focuses entirely on the Villaroa siblings of South America, with no mention of the Japanese boy Hiroshi who appeared in the first volume. The origins of Celestino's calling as a graphic artist are explored, along with his sister's mounting illness. Compared to the first volume, there is more emphasis on plot and character this time around, but the visual magic of Igort's intriguing universe is not at all show more diminished - after two volumes, Baobab remains a stunning series. show less

Adding the the string of depressing and demoralizing books I've been reading, let's read one about Soviet Ukraine and the murder of Anna Politkovskaya / The Second Chechen War. Because why be happy when you can read about how horrible humanity can be to each other?

In one sense, the stories are light. Most are people telling about their lives, without poetics, without justifications. This is how it was. This is the, to modify Kundera, the incredible lightness of being. But this is also where show more the weightiness comes in, from what it was/is. There was no need to put the weight of writing into the narrative, because the weight is the reality. The reader isn't meant to be emotionally-exploited into caring, because trying to add that on top of the weight of what happened/is happening would drag us all down. The stories are stark enough as it is, difficult enough to chew through without an addition of faux-literary pretension and posturing. They float like a helium balloon. They drag you down like a concrete block.

But then there are gaps, or misprints, or entire sections seemingly misplaced. Ukraine in the first half, pages cut off mid-sentence. Then later, in the 2000s, in Chechnya, Ukrainian sections reappear. A misprint? A throw-back? Proof that Russia as a concept has often been a fascist one, with concept-mother-Russia first, the humans in the edges of her empire second? Or just questions? Questions questions questions. How can we be so cruel? How can we be so empty?

Add more and the book sinks under the weight of all the wrongs it wants to document. But as it is, it's transience can feel like an insult. Can you fix this? Can anyone? How do you write about the worst of humanity without sickening us to the point of not wanting to read?

So what to do? More questions. All I have is questions. I can play as Stalin in Civ IV, the man who starved my distant relatives in the Holodomor, which the first half of this book talks about (and which, contrary to the blurbs, I did know about beforehand since I am Canadian, of part Ukrainian descent, and it's a teeny-tiny deal here). But to play as Stalin, how is that appropriate? How is any of this fair? I feel sick with not knowing the way out of this maze.

The front says like Joe Sacco. I scoffed. Then I read it. It is like Joe Sacco though. I shouldn't have scoffed. Read at your own risk.

The Ukrainian and Russian Notebooks by Igort went on sale March 15, 2016.

I received a copy free from Netgalley in exchange for an honest review. show less

A comic-book equivalent of a roman/film noir, up to a point,, and an atmospheric one of some power. All the characters are embroiled with Neapolitan crime gangs and the main one, a quasi-retired murdere, is repugnant.

The art is distinctive and it's because of it the story is so darkly atmospheric. The stark flatness, the various perspecitves on a scene, the panels singling out elements irrelevant to the story but important in building the mood are reminiscent of shots in those films noirs show more showing like this headlights shining on wet streets, a column of smoke, warehouses glimpsed at night from a car window. Having said that, the artwork doesn't altogether appeal to me for some reason--too considered, perhaps?--but nonetheless it's effective.

As for the story, it's standard noir, although some works in the genre evoke or at least allow for a shred or two of sympathy with a characters whereas this doesn't. Standard, again, up to a point: The climax and, even more, the denouement are ridiculously out of keeping with the tone, the characters, the storyline. There's no internal reason for this and there's no external one either, at least no credible one. I'm not nitpicking here: The turn of events is on the order of 'Nymph, in thy orisons be all my sins remembbered. Hey guys, let's party!'.

For all that this to me was a book worth reading and probably worth keeping to oossibly read again one day hoping iit might seem better this time. show less

Japanese Notebooks is a graphic memoir by Igort, an Italian comics creator, who has traveled to Japan twenty times, lived there for a time and worked in its manga industry for ten years. It's a testament to his life long love affair with Japan. Igort shows how he learned to live and work in Japan, found inspiration from the cultural activities that he participated in, as well as how the comics industry operates there.

This is a beautifully illustrated book. Most of the drawings have been done show more in color and show the author immersing himself in Japanese culture and life. When he arrives in Tokyo he must adjust to living in the tiny 150 square foot apartment that he was given to live in. He then has a three and a half hour job interview. Later he realizes that in Japan the interviewee should be the first person to stand up, signaling the end of the interview. In the west, its the opposite. The Japanese person interviewing him thought that he was trying to negotiate a larger salary by not ending the interview. In his free time Igort visited Buddhist temples, tea shops, gardens, a sumo wrestling training place and book stores. He discussed with this Japanese co-workers the samurai code, films, literature and manga, all subjects that he illustrates in the book.

The author writes so lovingly about Japan that it makes the reader want to jump on a plane and visit the country too. If that is not possible, there is this armchair traveler book called Japanese Notebooks. show less