The Long Haul

The Long Haul, by Antony Johnston (script) and Eduardo Barreto (art),
brings together the caper story with the western in a nice addition to
the small world of western comics. I say small world, because once
upon a time — I’m thinking the 1940s and ‘50s here — there were probably
as many different western comic book titles as there were superhero,
adventure, and other genre titles published by a variety of companies,
all vying for space on the newsstands. Nowadays, only two continuing
western title comes to mind — DC Comics’ Jonah Hex and Dynamite’s Lone
Ranger — although there may be a handful of others that may be currently
appearing of which I’m unaware, because I rarely venture into comic
shops these days.

The Long Haul is a one-shot graphic novel published by independent Oni
Press in 2005. Its 174 pages are smaller in format than the typical
comic book, but it looks like it was created specifically for the
graphic novel format instead of being compiled from a series of issues
published separately, as most graphic novels from DC and Marvel are
typically collections, not novels.

The Long Haul is set in 1871. It tells us about the efforts of bank
robber and roguish ladies man Cody Plummer to recruit a gang to rob a
train carrying $1.9 million in government bonds from Chicago to San
Francisco. Plummer also is hounded by a Pinkerton agent, Bob Harding,
who is sure the robber is up to no good.

Antony Johnston is a British writer of comic books, novels, video
games, and more for a variety of publishers, and he handles what is
traditionally considered a U.S. genre very convincingly. (The Brits
have given the world lots of renown western work, including the Edge
and Steele series among other Piccadilly Cowboy series; and Hale
Publishing continues its Black Horse Western imprint with six or more
novels released each month.)

Artist Eduardo Barreto hails from Uraguay, but his work has appeared
for many years in a variety of DC Comics. He seems to have adapted his
style a bit for this black-and-white presentation by employing solid
blacks and dropping outlines for dramatic effects in ways that remind
me of how Alex Toth — a master of the black-and-white narrative
arts — would employ black shadows in a composition. He also uses
judicious placement of cross-hatching for a scrumbling effect or to
suggest textures, which recalls some of John Severin’s stylistic
touches in his western- and war-comics work.

The story has a nice flow and pacing, and the script and artwork
complement each other nicely. Thumbs up to both men for this diverting
story.

Rancho Diablo: Hangrope Law

James Reasoner has a new western novel, Hangrope Law, now available as an original e-book for the Kindle. You can learn more about it at James' blog, Rough Edges. James' novels are always entertaining, and I'd like to see this new series he's kicked off for the eBook market with Mel Odom and Bill Crider sell well.

Pulp Western Covers by Walter Haskell Hinton

Today's Inspiration, an excellent blog on illustration by LEIF PENG, recently published a series of posts focusing on the advertising art of Walter Haskell Hinton. Leif also gave a day's entry over to Hinton's very nice pulp western magazine cover paintings, such as for Street & Smith Western Story Magazine. Leif also provides a number of scanned samples. Mosey over and take a look.

Far Bright Star by Robert Olmstead

Far Bright Star, by Robert Olmstead (Chapel Hill, North Carolina: Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2007).

In writing there is talent, which can seem like some magical thing, and there is skill, which is honed, and there is a point at which all that becomes power. Olmstead's writing in Far Bright Star shows power. The language is a beautiful, brutal poetry that is hard in its beauty. It is what Hemingway wanted and might have had if he had not let his ego and celebrity boss around his talent and skill.

Far Bright Star caught my eye because I saw a tiny horse and rider on its cover, the two figures nearly lost in a wide, dark landscape dwarfed by a broad field of sky and stars, the whole serving as a backdrop for the typography proclaiming the title and author's name. Honestly, I don't think I'd heard of Olmstead before picking up this book, but now I'm looking for more by him.

The tale takes place in the late West -- during the United States' war against Pancho Villa. This period intrigues me, thanks in part to the Fargo series by John Benteen. Napoleon Childs and his brother, Xenophon, are in charge of a band of US Cavalry located below the border, searching for Villa. Napoleon is aged (think of Sam Elliott's character, Sgt. Major Basil Plumley, in Were Were Soldiers) compared to his band of young soldiers, who have enlisted to go south for adventure. He has been honed by terrible, bone cracking experiences, and his flintiness is all that may save the cocky, proud young fools under his command.

During a patrol in the heat, white light, and sand, the band is surrounded by what Napoleon thinks is a stray gang of Villistas. Napoleon's world has made him wily, stoic, and both determined and pessimistic. His dry, business-like manner in dealing with their enemies marks him as heroic in Olmstead's narrative, no matter that he is probably someone who no one would want to have join him for a friendly drink or conversation.

"You are not being shot at personally," he told the man. He could not remember when he stopped hating those who were trying to kill him. After all, he was trying to kill them too. He'd abandoned hatred somewhere on the plains of Montana or the jungles of the Philippines. He wasn't sure, but no matter, it wasn't good to hate. It always seemed to get in the way of doing the job, always seemed to take more than it ever gave back, always seemed to get the hater killed sooner than he otherwise might have been killed.

The prose is poetically masculine and stark and vigorous in a way that recalls Anglo-Saxon heroic poetry and Icelandic sagas. There are scenes here of battle and torture and as horrific as anything in Tom Eidson's The Last Ride (whose title was changed to The Missing after the release of the film by that name, based on Eidson's novel).

Olmstead's novel ultimately is about war, that it is always present, and the men who participate -- what makes some of them warriors and others not -- and what war does to them. It's not a novel for everyone, but it will resound strongly for those who read it.