Graphic Novel Review - Mass Effect: Redemption, by Mac Walters and Omar Francia

First and foremost, for those who feel like making a glib remark about Mass Effect 3: I haven’t reached the end yet, and have no intention of joining your gibbering horde of self-involved diaper babies should I end up being disappointed with it. So, shut up.

Okay. Now, I’m a big fan of Bioware’s games, but after being thoroughly underwhelmed by David Gaider’s debut novelization of the Dragon Age universe, I’ve largely gone back to my tried and true philosophy of avoiding game tie-ins. I’ve heard good things about the Mass Effect novels, though. Though skittish about trying this stuff again, I figured that this graphic novel would be a safe bet. I liked it for what it was (a brief aside for existing fans of the games), but I’m hard pressed to find anything else about it to compliment.

The story follows Dr. Liara T’Soni in the aftermath of the Normandy SR2’s destruction at the hands of the Collectors. Desperate to find what has become of Commander Shepard, she journeys to the outpost of Omega and falls in with a shady Drell named Feron, whose allegiance seem to shift on the hour. Caught in the middle of a standoff between the elusive Shadow Broker, the human-supremacist organization Cerberus, and the sinister Collectors, Liara struggles to save Shepard’s body from the murky schemes that have risen up around it.

This series of comics promises to tell the story hinted at by Liara in Mass Effect 2, and, well, it does that. That, and not much else. Liara meets Feron, throws around a lot of biotic bodyslams, and plucks Shepard from the clutches of the Collectors. To wit, she did everything she said she did in the few lines of dialogue on the subject from the game. I mean, that’s not really a bad thing; I wanted that story, and I got it. I was just hoping there was a little bit more to it than that.

There is definitely some extra material in the suddenly sexed-up rendition of Liara, however. I feel like I shouldn’t complain, since Liara has been my Shepard’s nerdy blue girlfriend since the first game. However, Francia's art contorts Liara into a centerfold pose at every... literally, every... opportunity. Apparently, arching your back, thrusting your chest out, tilting your hips backward, spreading your legs, and looking over one shoulder is the natural and comfortable position one would take when recovering from a fall. Or being held by the arm. Or sitting in a chair. Or watching your ship being blown up. Or, you know, whenever. I understand that female characters being drawn for the male gaze is a pervasive issue in comics, and I realize that these panels aren’t any more gratuitous than, say, the cornucopia of Miranda ass close-ups in the games. But Liara isn’t really supposed to be a sexpot, at least in my interpretation of her character. Combined with the erratic behavior that I guess is meant to indicate her transition to the more streetwise Liara of the second game, this version of the character just didn’t feel true.

If you take this one at face value, though, you’ll enjoy it. It’s not a shining example of the artform, and it’s not going to have much appeal for those who aren’t already fans. But it’s a quick and diverting read, and a nice collectible for those who love the series.

Verdict: 3 / 5

Book Review - Erebos, by Ursula Poznanski

Erebos is an entry in the “takes place in an online game” genre, which has been around for a while but is seeing a recent resurgence. It’s apparently getting enough hype from its original German publication to justify an English translation. I did a lot of vacillating while reading this; I came close to hating it in the beginning, got hooked somewhere in the middle, and finished it feeling content but vaguely dissatisfied. It does a lot of things very well, but could probably do some other things better.

The story revolves around Nick Dunsmore, a student in a London school. Nick notices that his friends and acquaintances are beginning to act strangely and are increasingly missing from class, and eventually discovers that a secretive package is making the rounds among them. When Nick is finally inducted into this mysterious club, he finds that the package contains a burned CD of an online multiplayer game called Erebos. It is like no other game that Nick has ever played before; it comes with very strict rules about secrecy, and seems almost able to read his mind. Furthermore, the game begins to assign him incomprehensible tasks in the real word in order for his character to climb the ranks. It soon becomes clear that Erebos may be part of a grander, more sinister design. By the time Nick realizes this, it may be too late to save his fellow addicted gamers.

The first half of the book covers Nick’s introduction to the game and his increasing infatuation with it, and thus takes place mostly in-game. At first, the transitions between Nick going about his daily business and his character Sarius exploring the game world are a little jarring, as there is very little in the way of segueing between the two. The descriptions of Sarius’s adventures are initially a little overblown; it’s hard to imagine anyone but a gamer being interested in stamina meters, world exploration, and hotkeys. Eventually, though, I found myself as hooked on Erebos as Nick was. The progression operates as seamlessly as playing an actual game. Once I was accustomed to the lore and rules, I slipped easily into the game world and eagerly followed each encounter. This, along with the escalating grimness of the game’s hold and demands on its players, makes for a exciting and suspenseful read.

Once I made it through the climax to the end, though, a couple of problems came back to the surface to haunt me (minor spoilers ahead). Even with all of the work that Poznanski puts in to explain how sophisticated the Erebos A.I. is, it still strains the limits of credulity. There are simply too many plot holes in the way of explaining how the game could maintain such a level of surveillance on its players, or how it was so difficult to see through its supposed omniscience as a player spent more time with it. The plot resolves itself admirably well, but ends a little too neatly. I was particularly bothered by the lack of consequences, especially considering that Nick is sort of a hard character to like in the first place. He uses the game to ruin the relationship of the girl he likes, and in the end… he gets to date her. The old boyfriend seems no worse for wear, despite enduring a false rape accusation by another girl. Meanwhile, the girl who actually levied the accusation on the game’s behalf is all smiles and “man, that was intense, huh, LOL” at the end. Not only is this unrealistic, but it actually imparts an unhealthy and even dangerous message, in my opinion. Even the fates of the villains at the end are left ambiguous, in favor of a satisfying but irrelevant explanation of which person was behind which username in the game (including the antagonist, repulsive nerds that apparently just wanted to be Nick's friend the whole time, or something).

I think I was bothered by all of this because I sense a missed opportunity. There could have been a much deeper exploration of what obsession can do to impressionable people, I think. As a result, the mass downplaying of consequences was disappointing. Even so, the book is adept in pulling a reader in, just as the titular game apparently is. It is nicely paced, and the central mystery is compelling. I wasn’t totally blown away, as there are better books about massively multiplayer online games out there. But this one gets a solid recommendation for gamers, fantasy fans, and readers who like action-heavy mysteries.

Verdict: 3 /5

Graphic Novel Review - Level Up, by Gene Luen Yang and Thien Pham

This trim little graphic novel has been picking up some buzz, much like everything else that Gene Luen Yang does. Plus, the cover looks like a classic Game Boy. Win. Seriously, though, I was pleasantly surprised by this graphic novel. What looked like and began as a familiar story about a disillusioned young person finding solace in video games turned into a quirky, profound morality play about coming to terms with your family and creating your own destiny.

Dennis Ouyang is on the verge of being kicked out of college. Pushed to succeed since he was a small child, Dennis has instead devoted himself to the video games he was entranced by as a child, and found solace in after the early death of his father. However, his lack of motivation and direction attract the attention of four cute, domineering cherubs, who insist they have arrived to help Dennis achieve his destiny. Dennis goes from slacker and college dropout to medical school student, back on the path to achieving the goals his father had set for him. But is that path really the right one for Dennis? Whose well-being are the angels really looking after?

I don’t want to give too much of the story away, but Yang works with a very familiar theme and still manages to produce an original, heartwarming tale. Despite the cover design, video games are only an ingredient, adding spice to a savory mix of dry humor, magical realism, and introspection. Video games are a consistent theme, though, and effectively shape both the format of the book and the plot itself. Most impressively, though, Yang writes deftly about growing up as an Asian-American teen, something he has done quite well before, and yet does so with a universal approach that makes the issue understandable and sympathetic to just about anyone, regardless of ethnicity.

Pham’s art is rough and cutesy, but honestly, it’s perfect. The panels are always drawn and laid out in exactly the right way to convey the humor or sadness in that particular part of story. The caricatures are simple enough to forgive any inconsistency, but vibrant enough to carry a genuine emotional impact. It took me a few pages to get on board with the art style, but I loved it once I did.

I can’t really think of anything bad to say about this book, other than that it’s short and the story resolves itself fairly quickly. It’s a good read for graphic novel enthusiasts and reluctant readers who are inclined towards video games, but honestly, it’s a good read for just about anyone.

Verdict: 4 / 5

Graphic Novel Review: Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness, by Bryan Lee O'Malley

The halfway point of the Scott Pilgrim series is where things start to get a little more complex. We’re still firmly on the “beat the evil exes to date Ramona” boss-battle rails, but in Scott Pilgrim and the Infinite Sadness, an evil ex of Scott’s shows up, as well. Despite the story getting a little deeper, I had a little more trouble getting into this one than I did the previous books.

At the end of the last volume, Ramona reveals that her next evil ex is Todd Ingram, who just happens to be the bass player for the art-rock band The Clash at Demonhead. Incidentally, that band’s frontwoman is Envy Adams, the femme fatale who broke Scott’s heart by cheating on him with Todd, sending him into the pathetic spiral of insecurity and self-pity that he’s currently trying to fight his way out of. Got all that? As it turns out, Envy’s callous toying with Scott in the previous book has a purpose. She knows all about Scott’s quest, including some mysterious information about who Ramona really is. Further, she’s determined to see that Scott fail once and for all, at the hands of her current true love.

Getting into Scott’s backstory a little more is nice. The one consistent problem I’ve had with the books so far is Scott being somewhat of an unsympathetic jackass, and so a little exploration of the relationship with Envy and what went wrong alleviated that a little. In fact, it was done in a fairly brilliant way, paralleling the “main quest.” The cool art, hilarious sarcasm, and trademark video-game chic are all still in effect, as well, making for a read that’s at least as fun as the first two.

I kind of felt that O’Malley wanted to balance the more complicated plotline with an extra helping of jaded cleverness, though, and it got on my nerves a little. The story of Scott and Envy is told in choppy flashbacks that are interspersed with the main story, and the vignettes occur literally without warning upon the turn of a page. In fact, other than some slightly different hairstyles on the characters, a page turn is the only clue that the story has shifted to a flashback, every single time. It’s disorienting the first few times it happens, and annoying every time after. I could have lived with the haughtiness of it all, but it happens just a few times too often. Too many flashbacks, too little attention to the main narrative. I also thought that the forays outside the fourth wall were a little ham-handed this time around, compared to the previous books. Tablature play-alongs and impromptu cooking shows were quirky and clever; references to “the book” and character acknowledgments of a deus ex machina are trite by comparison.

All of which is not to say I didn’t like this one. I just liked it a little less than the first two. One positive note is the strong feeling that the story is going to shift a bit, now that we’re past the midpoint. The hints about Ramona’s past are much more pointed in this volume; the next three will hopefully change things up from the current formula. Even with the little problems I had, I got the definite feeling that the overarching story is really crystallizing by this point. Best of all, it does so without losing any of the charm, humor, or ridiculous over-the-top theatrics that I liked in the first two so much.

Verdict: 4 / 5