It’s disheartening to look outside and see Idiocracy manifested across America’s nooks and crannies.
But if there’s anything that, um, heartens me, it’s comic books. More specifically, during a handful of recent interviews with writers, each of them discussed just how much we can trust the average readers’ media literacy. And despite solid evidence to the contrary, enough creators believe in audiences to fully tackle these big, hefty narratives that demand that most robust engagement.
But maybe ee zann and Godfarr have trusted audiences just a smidgen two much.
The comics rookies have swung for the proverbial fences with the brand-new I, Tyrant. What’s it about? Oh god, I don’t know if I could meaningfully tell you. For a book described as the clash between 300 and Birdman, the only thing we know for sure is that Iranian playwright Hafez (who also faces deportation) has been seized/corralled by the Arab serpent-king Zahnak. For what end? Why to rewrite his 7th century catastrophic ending and give the regal snake-lord the ending he truly deserves. Toss in references to Jack Kirby and a “Miller reboot,” and my brain is basically one of those Minnesota salads.
And so it’s clear: I don’t mind being woefully outclassed by a story. Heck, I wished it happened more often. Because after a lifetime of sucking down comics like so much candy, your average series/miniseries telegraphs ideas and overplays certain tropes to the extent I can map it all out in my sleep. Still, that’s not necessarily a bad thing: Stories need not always be intellectually challenging, just relatable and resonant. The issue, then, is that it feels like I, Tyrant is a little stuck somehow.
Courtesy of Image Comics.
Its two creators haven’t the comics language or familiarity just yet to craft a story that feels like it can escape its place in amber. So what we get, then, are the thinnest signposts sticking out of the mud. Like, the innately meta context of the Hafez-Zahnak story, and the loop of creator-creation that’s already run itself into wondrous, maddening circles. Or, the immigration angle, and how that relevant, utterly compelling aspect speaks to some shared narrative thread about destiny and owning your own story. Even the relationship Hafez has with his “pro bono therapist,” and the ability for that dynamic to help us track the many happenings across I, Tyrant.
They’re super interesting aspects of a story that’s more layered than a 100-foot trifle, but they’re also not enough by now to lend any extended shape/form. They’re certainly enough to feel like the start of a properly thrilling roadmap, but even then we have zero idea regarding the proper shape of this journey to come beyond some tenuous grasp.
And, sure, that’s some people’s dreams storytelling expense (and if it is, drink it all in), but if my over-consumption of comics has taught me one thing, it’s that comics is meant to be a storytelling mechanism that fosters understanding. That given the way time, sound, and movement exist (or not?) in this medium, stories can open themselves up to varied reading by an equally diverse readership. I, Tyrant just doesn’t have that — there’s not enough space or obvious editorial presence to truly guide us as we need thus far and in a way that respects this truly novel story and its thematic gold.
Courtesy of Image Comics.
Instead, we’re left to cling to the aforementioned signposts as we make our way into the desert of this extra complicated story. And cling though I may to the parts that seem to feel textured and exciting and brimming with hope, eventually you too will become lost in the wilderness.
Once again, if that is entirely your bag, you’re going to really enjoy the circular momentum and narrative loops that already comprise I, Tyrant. But for my money, I needed more robust structure early on. Part of trusting your readers isn’t just to assume they’re smart enough to keep up. It’s that you give them just enough to make their own rollerblades to travel onward, and here it feels like the creators were less interested in our engagement and more interested in overpowering our senses with their sheer story prowess. That in the aim to never once coddle us, they didn’t really bother to even shove us in the right direction, or at least do more to make us scramble more efficiently through the madness of it all.
Those signposts I’ve mentioned, then, are yummy appetizers we’re only allowed to only half-finish, or maybe a great choice of wallpaper in H.H. Holmes’ murder mansion. There’s absolutely a real depth and power here, and I don’t mind letting everyone know I wish we had more of an human feel to maximize those upsides instead of the mostly charming act of pushing readers into fray half-mad and drunk.
Courtesy of Image Comics.
It’s an experience made all the more complicated with Godfarr’s art. It’ll be the thing that’s going to generate the most attention from this book, and that dirty but deeply human style is the exact counter for a narrative that’s very much obsessed with its own intellect. The only problem, then, is that not even the art can really help contextualize and augment your immersion, and what we get is time and/or space hops that blend far too readily, an inability to perceive the fictional from the real (or even to get us consider that as either an option or even just some red herring), and carnage and chaos folding in itself.
But where the narrative often makes our “stumbles” a touch too painful and cumbersome, the art is so demanding and all-consuming that you trudge on utterly cake in that layer of blood and dirt. Whether it’s the monstrous design of Zahnak that exudes Conan-levels of barbaric bad guys, the emotionality of Hafez that’s seared onto our brains with every pained face and bodily contortion, and/or just the sheer aesthetic (I swear, it feels like Midsommar meets Interview with the Vampire), I, Tyrant is a visual demon that possesses even the heartiest of souls.
The art expertly manages to extend our uncertainty and unknowing with filthy blood and endless violence, and that doesn’t just elevate it but instill a dynamic into us that we are being brutalized in a way that we couldn’t escape even if we actually wanted to try. But you don’t want to leave, and so you wander through the story holding your entrails, looking for a rest area or information booth.
Courtesy of Image Comics.
Because if you take absolutely nothing else away from this review, I, Tyrant must be experienced first-hand. It’s not easy in any regard, but that challenge will hopefully make you a smarter or more savvy reader. (Or, it’ll remove enough blood to make you incapable of realizing otherwise.) I’d say it rewards an earnest dissection of its rather complicated, hard-to-manage narrative, but it may just be bashing us about the face and neck for its own twisted entertainment. (Either way, it feels like a hellacious prize.)
And those core signposts are genuinely important — a whole lot of I, Tyrant may be intellectual posing and/or an overly involved literary experiment, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a resonant story for the here and now. (An era that’s also quite meta in and of itself and also doubly interested in the seemingly recuperative power of social narratives.)
Just be prepared to not know much — or, at the very least, to instead work extra hard to really connect with the story in a more complete sense. Either way, you won’t know until you truly give of yourself to I, Tyrant, and we can all, regardless of our understanding, share of this story and its bold ideas, deeply effective approach, and slow-churning mysteries.
If this is just the start of this story, then I readily give myself to this book — pummel me more with great unknowing and let me yield to the magic of stories that consume with lethal intent and effectiveness.
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