Few enjoyable consumer items require only four ingredients. Two, homemade flour tortillas and a good graphic novel, come to mind. In each case, however, the slightest imbalance between the components leads to disastrous results.
Take my first batch of tortillas. I added too much water for the flour to absorb and it wasn’t hot enough to melt the lard. I also forgot the salt. When I finally corrected the flour, water, lard thing proportions, I ended up with a bland mass of dough. I had forgotten the salt again. Obviously, this was the work of the same Mainer who thought sopaipillas were supposed to taste like deep fried crackers (a story for another time).
In a graphic novel, the letterer acts like salt. His or her work enhances the reader’s experience without adding his or her own flavor. It’s a thankless job. There’s no cover credit. Computers are taking over the field. And convention nerds keep asking if they ever wanted to be a real artists. When done right casual readers don’t notice the effort, When done poorly, however, the responsible schmuck finds him or herself publicly harangued.
Uninspired lettering can be as bad as poor lettering. In the latter, fans can argue the letterer took a chance. It didn’t work, but at least a risk was made. With the former, the entire story comes out as bland as my tortillas. Clem Robins, who has lettered everything from Gold Key and DC Comics to a few Marvel Star Wars issues, chose a poor font for Vertigo Crime’s A Sickness in the Family. The dialogue letters were so flat as to make the actual dialogue sound flat.
I wouldn’t have noticed the effect lettering can have on a graphic novel, if Robins hadn’t highlighted the unidimensional feel of Denise Mina’s characters. With the right lettering acting to enhance her characters’ flavor, the story could have read like a dark comedy, Lovecraftian horror, or a Goosebumps for teenagers. Instead, each character spoke in the same voice, emphasis added by less than subtle hyphenated word breaks, boldface lettering, and underlining.
If Robins is the salt and Mina the flour, that leaves two more ingredients. Artist Antonio Fuso brings in the lard -– the true flavor of a tortilla, the same way the art defines the graphic novel.
Fuso, an Italian artist known for his work on G.I. Joe: Cobra and Marvel Noir’s Punisher, brings a fascinating high-contrast style to A Sickness in the Family. He fills his streets, ceilings, and windows with black pools. The effect creates a world riddled with anxiety with even well-lighted areas exuding danger.
Finally, Karen Berger is the boiling water that binds these ingredients together. As the executive editor of DC’s Vertigo Crimes imprint, she is a force in the comic book world. In the 1990s, she won three Eisner awards for best editor and the Comic Buyer’s Guide Award for favorite editor nine years in a row (1997 through 2005 according to Wikipedia).
Although she’s forgotten the salt with this story, Berger’s work for Vertigo Crime provides a window into DC’s skill bank. She knows her audience, how to match her writers and artists, and is overseeing a fascinating venture.
Despite the mixed reaction to A Sickness in the Family, I look forward to reviewing the next title edited by Berger. as much as I’m looking forward to my next batch of tortillas. Vertigo Crime’s The Rat Catcher is on top of my pile and I’ll be making tortillas tonight.
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