In the world of The Seasons Have Teeth, there is a wholly different sort of ecological crisis than the one we currently face, and it isn’t one that can easily be denied. For reasons as of yet unclear, the titular seasons are brazen metaphors for out-of-control destructive force: they are giant monsters.
“Kaiju climate change” may be unsubtle in concept, but the book isn’t exactly reveling in all that; our first issue focuses more intimately on photojournalist Andrew, a retirement-age widower with nothing to lose. Amid the pre-spring gray, Andrew contemplates the spring of his own life, dreaming of his wife in youth.
It’s a personal story nestled into a fantastic one, mixing a sorrow of age with the wonder of youth. The more Andrew recalls his life, the greener the world grows around him. That there is a danger in that green – gnarled, thorny growths overtaking the city and demolishing landmarks – doesn’t stop Andrew from either his reverie or his ballsy refusal to flee. Neither does it stop the local teens, young enough to believe in their own immortality, from loitering in the pathway of destruction.
Spring itself, an Inhumanoids-like creature of tendrils and bone, presents itself less as a destructive force as a migratory creature. There is no malice in the changing of the season, as there is no malice in the rising temperatures of our own world. It is simply nature running its course.
The design of the book, under artist Sebastian Cabrol, is expressive and dynamic; periods of present and flashback made separate by a youthful smoothness of line and shadowed crispness of now. The creature, more colorful than the world around it, is striking, exciting to see.
There is an air of intrigue, a mystery of the hows and whys to drive the reader into the next issue, but this first chapter stands as strongly as a sort of portrait of Andrew as of monstrosity. His story is as emotionally compelling as the genre backdrop. This marks writer Dan Matters skill with human drama, a talent for balancing novelty with gravity.
The truth, however, is that the two threads of the book — monsters and man — wouldn’t quite be strong enough to stand on their own; reading a serious drama about Andrew would be a bit flat, and experiencing a seasonal monster might not excite. It’s only together that this first issue of The Seasons Have Teeth announces an impressive and intriguing new world. Balancing two uneven parts, it leaves the reader eager to connect with its protagonist and understand its premise.
You must be logged in to post a comment Login