When discussing the eerie,
enigmatic, and creepy work of master cartoonist Charles Burns, the obvious
comparison is to the cinema of David Lynch.
In fact, if you Google the names of the two creators together, you'll get
nearly ten thousand shared hits. And
it's true that both artists employ transgressive characters and events, odd
juxtapositions, surreal segues, meticulous contemporary naturalism, arcane
symbolisms, dream logic, and primal tropes of violence and sex. But in Burns's newest, X'ed
Out—which is the first 56-page
installment in a longer tale of indeterminate length—I found myself thinking of
earlier models for the type of story Burns seems bent on telling. Namely, two great fantasists at either end of
the Victorian period: George MacDonald
and David Lindsay.
MacDonald, best recalled
today for his YA fantasy At the Back of the North Wind, wrote several odd books for adults that juggled
Jungian and Campbellian motifs long before either scholar codified them. In Phantastes, a young man coming into his inheritance finds himself
conversing with a tiny woman who emerges from his dead father's secret
cabinet. In Lilith, the protagonist follows a strange intruder into
uncharted realms of his own home. As for
Lindsay, his A Voyage to Arcturus,
admired by Harold Bloom among others, is simply the essential template for
cosmic odysseys among the strange.
Burns follows the
MacDonald-Lindsay vector in X'ed Out, while also shattering the linearity of time that these
two pre-quantum predecessors obeyed. The
book opens with a Tintin-esque sleeper awoken by the appearance of his dead cat
in his bedroom. He follows the animal
through a crack in the wall and emerges in another world where lizard-men
dominate humans in a shambolic post-Armageddon landscape. But his tale is intercut with the narrative
of a young man named Doug, whose forays into the historically recognizable
avant-punk scene of a few decades past are dogged by danger and erotic
thrills.
Burns cleverly employs two
distinct drawing styles for each thread, much in the manner of Dan Clowes in his
recent Wilson. Both the outré cartoony style and the more
realistic style have their distinct charms, and play nicely off each other. We sense that the "super-deformed"
protagonist in the alien world is a version of Doug. But the connection between them remains
enticingly undefined. As to which
timeline, if any, has primacy, the text sayeth not. All this mystery is part of the allure of the
tale, which all readers comfortable with uncertainty and multivalency will revel
in. Burns's sly use of recurring motifs
that span both universes—rivers, cracks in walls, fetuses, pets, and so
forth—allow the reader to assemble some tentative clues to the relationship
between the worlds of Doug and his doppelganger. Additionally, Burns employs classic page
layouts and innovative "camera angles" to great effect.
Burns's concerns and imagery
also recall the work of two of his contemporaries: Jim Woodring and Kaz. He doesn't feature the religious mysticism of
Woodring or the absurdist irreverency of Kaz, but he plainly travels in realms
adjacent to Woodring's Frank-iverse and Kaz's
Underworld.
While this book successfully
and laudably launches a major new masterpiece from Burns, I do have a concern
about the format. While it's nice to see
a creator of Burns's stature getting the hardcover treatment, the $19.95 book is
essentially the equivalent of two $3.99 "floppy" comics. Also, the longer timescales of book
production seem less favorable for continued reader satisfaction with a serial
story than the old monthly or bimonthly schedule of floppies. But these quibbles aside, we are privileged
indeed to re-enter the broken precincts of Burns's deliciously nightmarish
subconscious.
--PAUL DI FILIPPO

Paul Di Filippo's column The Speculator
appears monthly in the Barnes & Noble Review. He is the
author of several acclaimed novels and story collections, including
Fractal Paisleys, Little Doors, Neutrino Drag, and Fuzzy Dice.
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