Admittedly, I picked up Universal Monsters: The Mummy out of obligation.
I’ve reviewed the line’s first three books — Dracula, Creature from the Black Lagoon, and Frankenstein — and found them to be generally satisfying and entertaining. (If not entirely equal in their respective execution and quality.) Rounding out the collection, then, seemed like an obvious choice, and I’d hoped my past reading experiences would prepare me for the book.
And whether my initial entry was flawed or not, I’m glad enough to have given The Mummy a chance to shuffle into my heart.
Perhaps the biggest strength of The Mummy is in the overarching style of artist-writer Faith Erin Hicks. Best known for books like The Nameless City and Hockey Girl Loves Drama Boy, Hicks has a very playful, almost cartoonish style. It’s a sweet and endearing approach that is leagues apart from, say, the profound horror of Michael Walsh’s Frankenstein. But it works really well across the debut — there’s something about that decidedly warm and human approach that just instantly sets our expectations for something wholly new and decidedly refreshing.
Hicks’ depiction of Thebes circa 1912 balances just enough historical grit with Disney-esque wonder to not only feel novel but to be clearly in line with specific goals and themes. (You also have to applaud the assist from colorist Lee Loughridge, who gives Hicks’ work some heft and real layers that connect it to a more “direct” horror tradition.) The Mummy could easily be a creepy mess, but here there’s a kind of charm and liveliness that makes the book interesting as it blends energies and approaches. It feels practically Pixar-esque in its tone and vibes, but in a way that still respects tje core material. None of the other monsters have really been this human before, and it tells you from the get go that The Mummy is really playing around with the character in a way to absolutely reframe our experience and expectations.
Courtesy of Image/Skybound.
And that process is furthered as the story proper unfolds across issue #1. Just as with the other Universal Monsters books, The Mummy isn’t specifically about our undead friend. But that feels even more apparent as the book sets up the story of Helen, the daughter of an Egyptian woman and a British aristocrat/archaeologist. Helen struggles with being of two worlds, and wants only to assimilate with her friends in Thebes as she tackles ideas of home, belonging, and duality in way that wouldn’t be out of place in most YA novels. Only Helen is really fleshed out in this debut, and that fire and passion in seeking out her own place makes her someone you connect with right away. Add in the presence of an ancient “spirit,” and you get the sense that Helen is a well-developed character. She really needs to be if she’s going to stand toe-to-toe with The Mummy.
If anything, it’s Helen’s own lot in life that connects her to the bandaged bad boy — they are both people who straddle two worlds (two cultures for one, and the lands of the dead and living for the other). In that way, it feels like the two are equally matched and ready to tell a solid story. It’s also the first time in this Universal line where the characters have a deeper, more compelling connection. Skybound tried some of it before — Kate Marsden and the Creature, for instance, both contended with their shared feelings of being othered — but The Mummy pulls it off more effectively and seamlessly thus far. There’s heaps of history and context informing their eventual meeting, and that feels exciting.
Courtesy of Image/Skybound.
Now, it did dawn on me across this debut that some of my early joy could easily be ripped apart by The Mummy’s potential downsides. The whole “YA-ification,” for instance, could develop further and it might feel a little lost on some of us for its oversimplification of key emotional themes. I also worry, as I have with most of the other books, about The Mummy getting enough time in the spotlight. In this debut, he’s very much on the periphery (physically but also thematically), and something like Frankenstein managed to bring the creature in and still make this a larger story about feeling disconnected from one’s humanity. And the aforementioned “spirit” may also be a plot point that pulls focus away from what should be about Helen and The Mummy specifically. Unlike the usual uncertainty I experience with other books, this time it all feels a little more concrete.
Because Hicks and company are really shooting for the moon in a big way, and I get the sense that some “traditional” horror fans may reject this decidedly cutesy and approachable story outright. (Especially since the 1932 film is actually really intense and unsettling in some key ways compared to other Universal flicks — thanks Boris Karloff!) The book is really going to have to ride a thin line between honoring the monstrous lineage and telling a story that bypasses a lot of that edge in the name of accessibility and overt emotional drama.
Courtesy of Image/Skybound.
But I feel generally good for The Mummy’s chances coming out of the first issue. Is it what I’d expected? Not at all — it’s the single most accessible story, and that left turn has me feeling as excited as I am outright anxious. Is there room for things to go badly in a real sudden way? Sure, just as much as the first issue is committed, earnest, and creative enough to make something fresh and perhaps “dominate” the Universal line in terms of quality and all-around prowess.
So, whatever brings you in, The Mummy #1 is an unexpectedly solid book that makes this monster feel more lively and interesting than ever before. You’re under no obligation, but give it dang try.
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