The Counterforce No. 45
Bitter Root, Fast Times In Comic Book Editing, The Invisibles, Phil's Siren Song
When two weeks ago I saw David F. Walker post on IG that Bitter Root is returning in 2025, I got very psyched indeed. One of my favourite comics series, I decided I would read it again and got straight on that, enjoying it every bit as much as before. Possibly more, even. I was hooked right from page 1 of the trade, which is the cover of issue #1
Blink (left) looking freaking awesome there. It’s funny, it was only this time through that I clocked this could be considered horror, and that was from catching the word in a review. I’m not a horror guy at all, but Bitter Root kept me enthralled with so much else, I hardly noticed how apt that genre would be, what with demons on almost every page (see cover above). The story takes place in Harlem 1924 and centers around the Sangerye family, led by the diminutive though mighty Ma Etta who knows the power of roots and herbs, instructing the female line of the family in this tradition, while the male descendants are out there physically fighting the evil. Of course, we very quickly see Blink as the best warrior of them all, turning that on its head. The family are fighting what they call the Jinoo, souls infected by hate and fear. They’re busy enough with that too and then the Inzondos come along, not to mention when a portal to another world opens. And like with all families, the Sangeryes can’t seem to agree on much and so the different fighters and scholars have internal conflicts to face as well.
The story shifts down South and flashes back to the Tulsa massacre of 1919 as it excellently shows racism to be a disease that must be combatted. And also pays tribute to a culture much older than our country. In that way it reminds me of Ishmael Reed’s Mumbo Jumbo, in time and place too. I discovered that book of course through Pynchon coming right out and addressing the reader in Gravity’s Rainbow with “Well, and keep in mind where those Masonic Mysteries came from in the first place. (Check out Ishmael Reed. He knows more about it than you’ll ever find here.)” But back to Bitter Root. In the back of the trades there are plenty of articles by black scholars precisely on all these issues and aspects of culture.
Sanford Greene’s artwork is just so freaking awesome too. Dazzling. Every page you find much to pour over, and the colouring is magnificent. And I love Chris Visions’ cover homage to Purple Rain
There’s fan art and plenty of variant covers too. I love this painting of Ma Etta by John Jennings. It’s got a serious 70s Miles albums vibe
And who should be the editor on Volumes 2 & 3 of the series? Well only Shelly Bond. Who as well as having edited tons of other great comics, very kindly sent me her Fast Times In Comic Book Editing a few months ago, and I finally had a chance to sit down with it. Loved it.
That title certainly suits, for boy does this move at pace. From page one too, showing her trying to make her way from the copy room down the hall to an office, flipping and running and ducking for cover whilst being hassled on all sides and at every turn. The book is Bond’s autobiography, from her childhood in Philly to working at college radio in Ithaca, to getting into the comics game, to then really getting into the comics game by working at Vertigo in their heyday of the 90s. I was drawn to so much of this, not only because of the great comics she was involved in (hopefully I’ll have room in this piece to tell a story about The Invisibles), but also she and I are both Anglophiles, sharing the same love of so much great music and thinking London is the greatest city on Earth. There is a lot of love for Suede throughout, including the story of how she was hipped to them by Grant Morrison, Steve Yeowell, and Jill Thompson (so cool!!) And it was awesome to see Select magazine get a mention. I read that religiously. I loved the little details like this, also the fact that her first cd was Diamond Dogs, which cost $28! There are mix tapes named “Lord Shaper will have to take a Number” and “Mad Love Maniacal Mix”, which make me want to hear them. And plenty of affection for shops and stops in Philly, New York, and London. Though ultimately the book is about the enormous amount of work it was to keep such a great enterprise going, and the immense talents she knew and sometimes struggled with along the way.
In the ‘Dénoument’ section towards the end, Bond lays out a few editing tips, the first of which is “Avoid a sagging midpoint/middle. Do something unexpected to shake or wake the reader.” Something she herself does in the text, by switching to straight up prose. It totally makes sense, given Bond’s life’s work, that a memoir of hers would be in the form of a comic, but I did find myself thinking quite a few times during the text that I would totally read this if it was a standard prose autobio. So many events and ideas that would be cool to hear more details about. After giving a small glimpse of their working relationship earlier, Bond switches to prose to talk about her romantic relationship with editor Lou Stathis. A lovely story, though ultimately tragic, where one can feel the grief on the page. You really get a sense of what a force Stathis was. On the back cover, Bond writes “I hope to hell I did him justice.” Well, Shelly, you totally did.
Also on the back cover, Bond mentions “comix, the ultimate art form” and this is something I’ve long believed. There is a strong argument to be made for film, what with it containing sound, but why I believe comics trumps celluloid is because you have text, and you can have those words play and work with or against the image to create something very wonderful. You don’t get the visualness of the puns in film, so for me comics wins.
OK, now my Invisibles story. It was sometime in 2011 when my friend Alex Sarll wrote to me ‘if you love Gravity’s Rainbow and Robert Anton Wilson, I think you’d like the other big conspiracy book, Grant Morrison’s The Invisibles.’ So I went out and bought the first trade, Say You Want A Revolution, and sure enough, I did love it. This panel in particular has always stayed with me:
I then fondly remember going to my friend Johnny’s flat for him to loan me the rest of the six volumes. He handed them to me with a plain white badge and said ‘We’ll make a magician of you yet’. And I must say this would set the course for a lot of my life, for the next few years especially. Good, we have time for my story. Taken from my journal of July 21, 2011:
"...it's kindness and just ordinary goodness that stands out in the end." - Edith Manning, The Invisible Kingdom, p. 160
Towards the end of the highly stressful week last, I decided I needed to get out of London for a bit. Hay-On-Wye, first told and appealing to me in 2005, and its many bookshops seemed just the place. Though such has been my mental state and reading material as of late, I wasn't quite sure if I wasn’t heading towards my own "Encounter With The Holy Guardian Angel" (not really believing in this, and definitely not wanting it to happen, I knew it wouldn't, but nonetheless coincidences keep abounding). I also thought it would be a nice way to finish The Invisibles. This village on the Welsh border, that took 4 hours by train and then another further hour on the bus to get to. Though only 5 buses a day run from Hereford to Hay and since my train was late, I just missed one. Opting to take the bus to Peterchurch, where I had been warned there was "only a pub", and find another route in. A cab, but without it I would've missed the bookshops entirely that day. Arriving and checking into The Seven Stars, needing a rest, I sat on the bed for a few minutes, and was quite FREAKED OUT to open The Invisibles where I had left off and immediately read dialogue from a turbaned man whose entire face was always obscured by cloth that went "zvzvzvzvzmiles our contact is becoming incoherentzzvvvsevenzzzzssstarszzzz". (bold mine).
Strolling to an amazing bookshop and there finding the copy of Finnegans Wake I'd been looking for since 2005 as well. The one with the caricature of Joyce by César Abin as the cover. I saw it once at the Camden Lock Black Gull Books for £7 and thought that was a bit too much, but a week later I decided I needed it, went back and of course it was gone. I knew then that when I found it again IN A BOOKSHOP that it would be time to read it.
The countryside air was wonderful and I am hoping to head out of the city as much as I possibly can from now on. I took a long stroll after dinner, just looking at the fields and breathing deeply, reminded of my very young youth spent at my grandparents' farm, where my biggest worry was if I'd be able to secure a lemon-lime soda as all my cousins' hands were grabbing for them. And I thought to myself "You've done far more than you'd ever dreamed of back then and are so much farther than you ever thought you'd go." And that felt nice. The next day I bought a nice copy of Beckett's Worstward Ho for only £1.50. "Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."
That Seven Stars thing still freaks me out. And it wasn’t until three years ago when I got poison ivy for the first time that I actually read some of that Joyce book. It was so bad they had to put me on steroids to stop the itching and, totally wired, one night at 2 a.m. I thought it was the perfect time to finally read Finnegans Wake. I got about 100 pages in. One day…
A book I did finish though was Tim Lane’s Phil’s Siren Song. I had mentioned his very enjoyable Your Silent Face a few newsletters ago. Phil’s Siren Song is as much about the title character as it is about Stuart Page, continuing the story begun in YSF. In fact, it’s very much a companion piece. And we see things quite differently when not through Stuart’s eyes. Whereas the former book was fuelled by Stuart’s manic energy, Phil’s is much more stoic, as Phil sells ‘candy’ at nightclubs, halfheartedly attends college classes (or not), fancies Stuart’s friend Karen, and plots his escape from Flint, MI. All while managing Stuart’s band, recruiting two stylish scenesters to sing back-up for them, and doing his damnedest to get them on a bill at the local punk rock hall. Working with the band is not easy as we see how Stuart’s drunken and/or egotistical antics affect the others. Stuart is still attempting to come to grips with the departure of his friend Nigel. Nigel is very much the beating heart of both books, as everyone seems very taken with this chess-playing, good-music-listening poet and his move to DC has left a very real poetic hole in all their lives. Stuart is also often seen trying to understand his Ojibwe heritage and what that means now that his grandfather is dead and he himself is stuck in Flint, where that culture seems to have no place.
What I really enjoyed about the book, and looked forward to every time I picked it up, was that, although it definitely reads like a book, it felt very much like calling up a friend and having them fill you in on what they’ve been up to. And then, completely unexpectedly, in the final 50 pages, the text shifts into high gear and gets real intriguing. I won’t ruin any of that for you but I did particularly like the line “We are, if nothing else, a generation of shruggers.” on p. 179. Lane then goes on to play with this idea for the rest of the book.
If you’re in Los Angeles this weekend, please come out to one of the readings. I gotta say, the lack of response to Sporting Moustaches has been soul-crushing. I believe I made something really good - very funny & well-written - and the handful of people who have told me they’ve read it confirm this. But, as with all my work, despite great efforts to get it noticed, it’s ignored. I was really hoping for more with this one. 30 years of this really wears on you. But if you’re in LA, I promise you’ll laugh if you come out
And also on David Rocklin’s Roar Shack show Sunday August 18th at Time Travel Mart in Echo Park, 4 PM