Lewis Trondheim

Lewis Trondheim makes me feel like the laziest person on the planet, or on any planet: he's been working for 16 or 17 years and made about a billion jillion comics, and they're all good, and he keeps working with more people and trying new things. A.L.I.E.E.E.N. (original title A.L.I.E.E.N.; in French, two E's are as funny as three) is like the result of some unwise bet by the devil: "Sure you're versatile, you can do minimalist wordless slapstick strips, and you can do funny animals for show more grownups, and you can do fantasy parody comics full of sick humor for kids, but I bet you can't do all three at once!" So this is a minimalist wordless slapstick funny animal fantasy grownup comic for kids, and it's like almost nothing else, and it is hilarious and sick, sick, sick, sick.

Allegedly it's a kids' comic from another planet, found discarded on Earth (so some of the pages look artfully weather-beaten), written in an unknown language, about a few dozen different kinds of brightly colored critters having a variety of serious problems. Some of the problems are pretty basic: one character accidentally pokes his eyes out on page two (Wertham was right!); another wants to give people presents, but they're not appreciated; another has to figure out what to do with a pet/friend/colleague who literally can't stop crapping, ever. Others are more complicated: why do cheerful Pokemon-looking people like to club little blue shrimpy people on the head?; why does the mad scientist(?) want to dissect a floating weeping ghost(?) that looks like the creature he just smooshed and fed to his plants(?)?; did the little birdie guy just die, or was that his clone that grew out of a clonifying eel type thing? Since you can't read the words, part of the fun is trying to figure out what the rules are, and in some cases you realize that you really just can't. It doesn't really matter, because the characters are so expressive - it's like Trondheim is playing an instrument whose notes are Happy, Hopeful, Hungry, Perplexed, Greedy, Bored, Scared, etc.

The one thing it kind of resembles is Jim Woodring's great Frank, which has a similar setting (mostly pastoral), things that turn into other things without warning, and no words. But where Frank is more haunting and esoteric - a chronicle of currents inside Woodring's head - A.L.I.E.E.E.N. reads like a plain fun narrative that just happens to include some incomprehensible and/or highly disturbing events. The overall message seems to be: the laws of nature are harsh, and all physical beings commit outrages or endure grossness, and these things are funny. show less

Looks almost like a straightforward story about pirates and slavery, but there's a lot going on here. It's a thoughtful historical drama, a comedy of manners and a political satire, based on ugly events. I would totally recommend it for young adults, but older people will appreciate it on other levels too.

Most of the plots and characters are about escape: the fugitive slaves who just want to live, the naive ornithologist who wants to be a pirate, the pirates who are trying to be respectable show more citizens, the plantation owner's daughter who wants to join the fugitive slaves. And the whole book is an escape - you come into this strange place with more or less the same point of view as the ornithologist, that maybe this would be a good place to have adventures. By the end, it's clear that none of it is likely to work out that way, but it's not cynical; just an exhilarating trip that's also really sad.

It's got a deceptively light tone -- Trondheim's style is made for comedy, and not just because he always draws everyone with animal heads (using an ethnic category system like Maus, but more expressive); his timing, the way he draws action, everything is basically playful. (More than other Trondheim books I've seen, the backgrounds are very lush; the tropical foliage bursts across the panels with a kind of friendly wildness, and he saves most of his solid black inking for the plants, giving them a texture that reminds me a little of Tove Jansson's beautiful Moomin books.) But the writer uses this to sly advantage, because the darkest parts of the story are all about what we only barely see or just hear about -- all the things the cheerful colonialists have managed to ignore. In the most disturbing scene, with almost no movement, an ex-pirate turned rebel slave leader (drawn as a finely dressed, emaciated dog whose face is all bitter lines and shadows) whispers through a jail window to a newly-arrived slave (drawn as a tiny, nearly featureless, child-like puppy), tells him about the awful life that's in store, tells him it's hopeless... then throws him a knife and urges him to do some damage while he can. We see the result later, from a distance, in the corner of a panel, and none of the main characters notice. show less

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Throughout the 12 volumes, Trondheim takes the reader in unexpected directions. You never know when the story will turn, nor where it will turn too. It is a wild ride, yet all feels smooth and logical. This is no mean feat, and there seems to be some similarity to how the character Ralph Azham approaches things, and the way Trondheim plots. I’m not sure how thought out the full story was beforehand, but to me Trondheim seems to improvise his storytelling – and masterfully so – show more just like Azham seems to follow his gut.

And just like it often seems all a joke to Azham, the story is not too serious – even though it deals with serious stuff. Paradoxically, Azham mostly manages to do the ethical thing, without being sanctimonious. Similarly, Trondheim’s story touches upon themes of power and moral calculus, all while avoiding pontificating or ideological smug. Ralph nor Lewis put forward grand theories or ethical arrogance or thou-shalt-pomp, there’s just praxis. When Ralph exclaims “I feel like I don’t control anything” in the final volume, even though he has risen to power, Trondheim shows him to be a version of some textbook postmodern anti-hero – even though Azham feels very much its own thing throughout.

In the final pages the character succumbs to disappointment and cynicism, yet choses to break free nonetheless.

This is high quality writing, playful and thoughtful at the same time.

(...)

Full series review on Weighing A Pig Doesn't Fatten It show less

Lewis Trondheim muss ein Skifahrer sein. Sonst hätte er die Stimmung nicht so genau einfangen können. Und auch der Übersetzer kennt sich aus. Wunderbar.

Das treffendste Detail sind die Tellerlifte, die in Frankreich wahre Eierquetscher sind.