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Reviews
Swamp Thing, Vol. 5: Earth to Earth by Alfredo Alcalá, Alan Moore, Rick Veitch, John Totleben
ekansthepokemon's review against another edition
4.0
I wasn't sure how the series was going to continue from the last story arc, but it found a way to tell even more intriguing stories. I think these ones are the most surreal of the bunch, featuring some dope cameos and interesting twists.
rthesquirrelgirl's review against another edition
adventurous
dark
mysterious
tense
fast-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? A mix
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? No
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.0
yurana's review
challenging
dark
emotional
medium-paced
- Plot- or character-driven? Character
- Strong character development? Yes
- Loveable characters? It's complicated
- Diverse cast of characters? It's complicated
- Flaws of characters a main focus? Yes
4.5
jgkeely's review
4.0
Here Moore laid down a marker in the history of comics, ominous and unlikely as Archduke Ferdinand's tomb. Reading through the new wave of British authors who helped to reconceptialize the genre for us poor Americans, one understands more and more why it had to be this man. There is a flair amongst them all for a certain madness and depth of psychology, but Moore was the only one who didn't think it made him special. Our curiosity is always piqued by the mysterious stranger, and Moore will always be that.
There is a quote of Emerson's which helps elucidate men of mystery: "to be great is to be misunderstood". Most Zeppelin fans don't see the band in terms of their roots in early blues, just as most Tolkien fans (and followers) don't have the education to recognize the Welsh and Norse folktales he was emulating. It seems the kernel of an author's inspiration is often so specific and poorly-understood by their audience that they it becomes an endless and entrancing mystery.
There was an undeniable and immediate difference in the comic authors of the early eighties, but many of them sinned by way of dadaism, indulging difference for its own sake. After recognizing this brazen and laughably naive rebellion, one begins to understand why most of these writers couldn't keep from breaking the fourth wall and injecting themselves into the text; Morrison has never stopped doing it.
The difference between them and Moore was one of reason; and like Milton's Lucifer, their reason was flawed; and like him still: it was pride. As a young and budding author, I saw in Morrison's 'Invisibles' and, to a lesser extent, in Ennis's 'Preacher', what a silly thing it is to believe your own stories.
Gaiman we may reprieve: unlike the others, he has never imagined himself mad. His penchant for myth and psychology stays rather trimly in the realm of the curious academic, though becomes quite laughable when he attempts to portray chaos. Gaiman's is the most predictable chaos you will ever meet this side of a fourteen-year-old girl who likes penguins.
Moore, however, has loomed over us in a state of questionable sanity for his entire career. Bearded, wild-eyed, long-winded, and obsessed with little things we don't even think about, and yet completely generous and unselfish with his pen. There is something we do not trust about the man who avoids the spotlight; who spurns money; who believes in the power of names enough to remove his from this or that film. The man who stands over and over a proven genius and who plods on into stranger and wider territory is almost an unknowable commodity.
That Alan Moore cares about things we cannot see, and cares nothing about that which we expect him to becomes his strength. In his unpredictability, we come to find new and inspiring sides of ourselves, and of comics, and of others.
If Morrison has lived his entire career as the incorrigible teenager of comics, inspiring in his gusto but disappointing in his ego, then Moore has always been the old man of comics, a crafty wizard who knows things we don't want to know, who leads us patiently through our wide-eyed bumbling and self-absorption, past the explosions and gun battles, and into our own back yard to show us something beautiful that was there the whole time.
We'll wonder why he doesn't want our thanks. Or our praise. We'll wonder why he seems tired and haggard. We'll try to catch his red-rimmed eyes, as if he'll betray by some gesture or expression just what it is he gets out of the deal.
As if sudden curiosity makes us worthy to know.
My Suggested Reading In Comics
There is a quote of Emerson's which helps elucidate men of mystery: "to be great is to be misunderstood". Most Zeppelin fans don't see the band in terms of their roots in early blues, just as most Tolkien fans (and followers) don't have the education to recognize the Welsh and Norse folktales he was emulating. It seems the kernel of an author's inspiration is often so specific and poorly-understood by their audience that they it becomes an endless and entrancing mystery.
There was an undeniable and immediate difference in the comic authors of the early eighties, but many of them sinned by way of dadaism, indulging difference for its own sake. After recognizing this brazen and laughably naive rebellion, one begins to understand why most of these writers couldn't keep from breaking the fourth wall and injecting themselves into the text; Morrison has never stopped doing it.
The difference between them and Moore was one of reason; and like Milton's Lucifer, their reason was flawed; and like him still: it was pride. As a young and budding author, I saw in Morrison's 'Invisibles' and, to a lesser extent, in Ennis's 'Preacher', what a silly thing it is to believe your own stories.
Gaiman we may reprieve: unlike the others, he has never imagined himself mad. His penchant for myth and psychology stays rather trimly in the realm of the curious academic, though becomes quite laughable when he attempts to portray chaos. Gaiman's is the most predictable chaos you will ever meet this side of a fourteen-year-old girl who likes penguins.
Moore, however, has loomed over us in a state of questionable sanity for his entire career. Bearded, wild-eyed, long-winded, and obsessed with little things we don't even think about, and yet completely generous and unselfish with his pen. There is something we do not trust about the man who avoids the spotlight; who spurns money; who believes in the power of names enough to remove his from this or that film. The man who stands over and over a proven genius and who plods on into stranger and wider territory is almost an unknowable commodity.
That Alan Moore cares about things we cannot see, and cares nothing about that which we expect him to becomes his strength. In his unpredictability, we come to find new and inspiring sides of ourselves, and of comics, and of others.
If Morrison has lived his entire career as the incorrigible teenager of comics, inspiring in his gusto but disappointing in his ego, then Moore has always been the old man of comics, a crafty wizard who knows things we don't want to know, who leads us patiently through our wide-eyed bumbling and self-absorption, past the explosions and gun battles, and into our own back yard to show us something beautiful that was there the whole time.
We'll wonder why he doesn't want our thanks. Or our praise. We'll wonder why he seems tired and haggard. We'll try to catch his red-rimmed eyes, as if he'll betray by some gesture or expression just what it is he gets out of the deal.
As if sudden curiosity makes us worthy to know.
My Suggested Reading In Comics
marksutherland's review against another edition
5.0
Moore just gets more poignant as this series continues, finding ways to stretch and explore the limits of his protagonist. I'm now starting to see where some of Dr Manhattan seems to have come from. This really is a fantastic run.
neven's review
4.0
After volume 4's battle between heaven, hell, and nothingness, where can Swamp Thing go? The answer is, of course, within. Earth to Earth sees Swamp Thing maddened enough by a trivial human matter to mimic Woodrue's nature-force anger and throw the full weight of his newfound self-understanding against Gotham City, of all places. The result is quite epic, with a tender, emotional waltz of an ending.
exorcismemily's review
3.0
"I think all of us were a little awed by a love that could stop a city."
I really loved the first half of Alan Moore's Swamp Thing run, but I have not enjoyed the second half as much. I liked seeing Batman in this one, but I thought everything else was just okay.
I love the horror aspects of Swamp Thing, but Book 5 is more focused on grief / romance and hatred in a small town. There are also more sci-fi tones in this book, which I've heard carries on into Book 6. This isn't a bad book, but it felt like a step down from the earlier volumes.
I really loved the first half of Alan Moore's Swamp Thing run, but I have not enjoyed the second half as much. I liked seeing Batman in this one, but I thought everything else was just okay.
I love the horror aspects of Swamp Thing, but Book 5 is more focused on grief / romance and hatred in a small town. There are also more sci-fi tones in this book, which I've heard carries on into Book 6. This isn't a bad book, but it felt like a step down from the earlier volumes.
marksutherland's review against another edition
5.0
Moore just gets more poignant as this series continues, finding ways to stretch and explore the limits of his protagonist. I'm now starting to see where some of Dr Manhattan seems to have come from. This really is a fantastic run.
pranavroh's review
5.0
Alan Moore is obsessed with sex. I expect nothing less from a poly amorous anarchist deeply influenced by mysticism and the occult but at times his obsession tends to overshadow his rather original voice. His run on Swamp Thing is probably the only comic where his sexual fetishes and hippie environmentalism complement each other to produce a stunning work of graphic novel art.
When I reread the phrase above – I cringe. To use terms like “hippie environmentalism” is rather reductive but I am hard pressed to find one more suited to the rather simplistic philosophy portrayed – man and nature are interconnected. This seems like the beginning of a particularly scathing review but it isn’t. Alan Moore’s run on Swamp Thing has its flaws but the combined weight of the work, the heavy prose style and the imaginative approach to panel layout and artwork combine to make this a definitive work of comic book genius.
Some background. Swamp Thing was created by Len Wein and Bernie Wrightson as a staple for the horror line in DC comics. Plant biologist Alec Holland is exposed to a plant growth serum when an explosion rips his lab apart. His burning body falls into the swamp only to be reanimated as a grotesque creature made entirely of plants – The Swamp Thing.
swampthing001016
When Moore took over scripting duties for Swamp Thing, he was far removed from his eventual success – a little known writer working on British underground comic books. Watchmen was a few years in the future yet and the Vertigo line of mature comics under DC wasn’t even on the horizon. As a regular writer on Swamp Thing Moore ignored the draconian Comics Code, writing a mature and thought-provoking comic that brought several buried American skeletons to light (in the American Gothic story line) and proved that comic books, through their use of striking visual metaphor, could have an impact on the intellectual movements of the day. Along with his then editor Karen Berger he also laid the seeds for a massive trans Atlantic collaboration between British scriptwriters and American artists which produced some of the gems of the Vertigo line – Transmetropolitan, The Sandman and The Invisibles.
Moore decided to shake the status quo. The Swamp Thing was redefined – not as a human with the body of a plant but a plant that had, under the influence of a violent death and some pseudoscience, acquired a human conscience. The Swamp Thing wasn’t Alec Holland – it was a plant that thought of itself as Alec Holland. From this revelatory moment we are introduced to a deep and convoluted mythology that spans the entire run – the concept of the Green, plant elementals and the interconnectedness of plant life over the world.
A particularly telling sequence occurs towards the end of one of the earlier arcs in the run when The Swamp Thing and his human paramour – Abigail consummate their relationship. A dense prose poem about love is complemented by vivid images you could only imagine if you were on acid. The union between Abby and the Swamp Thing occurs not on a physical plane but on a more emotional/ spiritual one. It is, I believe, blatantly meant to indicate the interconnectedness of man and nature. A lack of the necessary anatomy on the Walking Vegetable is circumvented by Abby eating a tuber which grows naturally on his body – catapulting her consciousness into an awareness of all plant life. You can’t get more explicit in your message than that – I assume Moore might have also helped inject a healthy life into the Magic Mushroom market.
If this was all that Moore touched upon in his run, despite the excellent artwork (about which, more in a minute) the comic might have bombed. Moore exercises a wonderful degree of restraint (one missing from even his greatest work – the Watchmen and almost completely absent from The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) and constantly shifts gears. He lets the environmentalist preaching germinate in your mind a while as he pens a rather brilliant arc in “American Gothic” – a cross-country journey for The Swamp Thing which raised a different moral question in every issue. One issue focused almost entirely on gun control and the massacre of the American Indians while another placed a heavy feminist spotlight on the taboo associated with the menstrual cycle. Even the more obscure and horror oriented story about the water vampires has a lot to say about the concept of survival of the fittest and the search for a homeland. Almost every issue addressed ought to resonate with the world of today – we seem to be grappling with the shadows our forefathers have cast in front of themselves.
83e76140c7fa443d1e-0
American Gothic was also the official debut of John Constantine – Vertigo’s famous occultist and longest running comic book line (Hellblazer). Constantine looks different in his initial appearance – a peaked and aging Sting facsimile – but as the series progresses his natural look grows rather organically to the one we are familiar with today. The cigarette and trench-coat are there – as is the trademark cynicism and the rather fatalistic approach to saving the world.
The arc culminates in a massive battle between the forces of “good” and “evil”. However, being an Alan Moore book, things aren’t that simple – he questions the very nature of good and evil and refrains from embracing absolutes. Good and Evil go hand in hand – this revelation building rather organically from the individual stories in the American Gothic story line. The Swamp Thing expresses his belief that there are no extremes of good or evil – there is only nature and its unending cycle of life and death. Good and Evil are definitions which depend entirely on your point of view. As if to underscore this, the book ends in a symbolic handshake between Good and Evil, Black and White a rather ridiculous notion which gains a depth and gravity in the hands of the illustrators.
The artwork in Swamp Thing goes a long way towards cementing Moore’s vision. This is eighties artwork – faces lack proportion, there are blurred, hatchy lines and the colours, while rather good, lack the high-definition and shading contemporary comic book lovers are used to. However, the artwork is excellent in several ways – the women are rather proportionate – no massive bustlines and impossible waistlines in sight, the background is exotic and beautiful, changing significantly depending on where The Swamp Thing travels and The Swamp Thing himself is rather gorgeous – a lovecraftian amalgamation of plant and human with flowers and roots and shoots combining to form a rather striking human latticework. Rick Veitch, John Totleben, Alfredo Alcala and Tatjana Wood are the real heroes of this series – they bring Moore’s vision to life.
ab91995077953b17bf-0
There is a significant amount of thought put into the panel arrangement itself. Panels spill into one another, a riff on the overwhelming plant consciousness at the heart of the book. There are moments where time itself seems to flow differently within the pages – drops of blood, shimmering orbs of light track their way across pages punctuating the panels all around them. Complemented with the dense, wordy prose that Moore writes, there is a sense of overwhelming intellectual fatigue in the production of the book. It takes a while to appreciate all the details.
At the end of the American Gothic storyline, Moore shifts gears once more – exploring a rather personal story of love and loss. Abby is arrested and spirited away to Gotham and The Swamp Thing unleashes the forces of nature on the Caped Crusader’s city. The issue – “The Garden of Earthly Delights” melds imagery from Hieronymus Bosch’s most famous work with plant matter intertwining through the industrial facade of Gotham. True to his anarchist leanings, Moore seems to revel in the back to basics tale – people seem to regress to a primitive oneness with nature. Often this oneness is demonstrated with public displays of a sexual nature. Moore comes close to caricaturing his own obsession with sex – but the storyline is so engaging I was willing to forgive him.
34
This story-line seems a rather straightforward representation of the Nature Vs Man Dynamic. This is a discussion which comes up each time we hear of a natural disaster somewhere in the world. Nature is taking its revenge, it will not stay still – all the prophecies of doom attributed to its awakening. The Swamp Thing levels Gotham as a purely selfish act – an attempt to reunite with his lover – despite everything it is, at the very foundation a purely human act. An irresponsible use of power. And this costs him. Moore manages to turn even the concept of the wrath of nature on its head.
The final arc is a trek through the farthest reaches of space in an attempt to get back to earth. The Swamp Thing is relentlessly abused in this arc – he almost goes mad in his quest to create a world for himself on a blue planet, he prevents famine on the planet Rann and has a run in with Darkseid, providing him with an important variable in the anti life equation. As is usual with Moore, there is a sense of resolution, a sense of lessons learned in the journey – which ends the entire run. I am not going to elaborate more on the individual storylines – read them yourself – but the transition from earthbound horror to science fiction is almost seamless and quite charming to read.
scan0031-0The series ends on a philosophical note. Moore addresses questions which he deals with in greater depth in the Watchmen. Seeds for that comic (on which he was working simultaneously ) seem to sprout in the final pages of Swamp Thing. What is the role of a being of immense power in today’s world? Should The Swamp Thing by virtue of its very existence cure mankind’s problems – famine and deforestation? What is its responsibility towards the human race? Take an active role in solving their problems or stand and watch quietly by the sidelines? Even asking this question indicates a great depth of engagement between Moore the creator and the content of his craft – and a lot of foresight on his part.
Is there a lot I am leaving out? Yes. I have said almost nothing about the excellent Nukeface Papers storyline or about the relationship between Abby and Matt Cable. I have had to reduce my critique of Moore’s rather unabashedly and admirably feminist views to keep this article manageable and I haven’t had time to analyse “Loving the Alien” or the grotesque issue in which Swamp Thing lands on a planet inhabited by sentient plant life in greater depth. It feels like I have done Abby very little justice – as one of the strongest female characters written for comics in a long long while she deserves more analysis – but the aim of this article is to ignite interest in a series that too few read or try to understand.
The Saga of the Swamp thing is a perfect introduction to Alan Moore’s wider work. It has the basic elements of a plot and a wonderful ending while traversing social, emotional and political terrain. Each issue and arc builds on all that has come before, there isn’t any stasis in relationships and the plot moves along like a while oiled machine. All this perfection complemented by striking artwork compensates for the rather clichéd philosophy at the heart of the series – elevating a concept that comes across as dry and overdone on print into a baroque trek through the darkest heart of America.
Five Stars on Five.
When I reread the phrase above – I cringe. To use terms like “hippie environmentalism” is rather reductive but I am hard pressed to find one more suited to the rather simplistic philosophy portrayed – man and nature are interconnected. This seems like the beginning of a particularly scathing review but it isn’t. Alan Moore’s run on Swamp Thing has its flaws but the combined weight of the work, the heavy prose style and the imaginative approach to panel layout and artwork combine to make this a definitive work of comic book genius.
Some background. Swamp Thing was created by Len Wein and Bernie Wrightson as a staple for the horror line in DC comics. Plant biologist Alec Holland is exposed to a plant growth serum when an explosion rips his lab apart. His burning body falls into the swamp only to be reanimated as a grotesque creature made entirely of plants – The Swamp Thing.
swampthing001016
When Moore took over scripting duties for Swamp Thing, he was far removed from his eventual success – a little known writer working on British underground comic books. Watchmen was a few years in the future yet and the Vertigo line of mature comics under DC wasn’t even on the horizon. As a regular writer on Swamp Thing Moore ignored the draconian Comics Code, writing a mature and thought-provoking comic that brought several buried American skeletons to light (in the American Gothic story line) and proved that comic books, through their use of striking visual metaphor, could have an impact on the intellectual movements of the day. Along with his then editor Karen Berger he also laid the seeds for a massive trans Atlantic collaboration between British scriptwriters and American artists which produced some of the gems of the Vertigo line – Transmetropolitan, The Sandman and The Invisibles.
Moore decided to shake the status quo. The Swamp Thing was redefined – not as a human with the body of a plant but a plant that had, under the influence of a violent death and some pseudoscience, acquired a human conscience. The Swamp Thing wasn’t Alec Holland – it was a plant that thought of itself as Alec Holland. From this revelatory moment we are introduced to a deep and convoluted mythology that spans the entire run – the concept of the Green, plant elementals and the interconnectedness of plant life over the world.
A particularly telling sequence occurs towards the end of one of the earlier arcs in the run when The Swamp Thing and his human paramour – Abigail consummate their relationship. A dense prose poem about love is complemented by vivid images you could only imagine if you were on acid. The union between Abby and the Swamp Thing occurs not on a physical plane but on a more emotional/ spiritual one. It is, I believe, blatantly meant to indicate the interconnectedness of man and nature. A lack of the necessary anatomy on the Walking Vegetable is circumvented by Abby eating a tuber which grows naturally on his body – catapulting her consciousness into an awareness of all plant life. You can’t get more explicit in your message than that – I assume Moore might have also helped inject a healthy life into the Magic Mushroom market.
If this was all that Moore touched upon in his run, despite the excellent artwork (about which, more in a minute) the comic might have bombed. Moore exercises a wonderful degree of restraint (one missing from even his greatest work – the Watchmen and almost completely absent from The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen) and constantly shifts gears. He lets the environmentalist preaching germinate in your mind a while as he pens a rather brilliant arc in “American Gothic” – a cross-country journey for The Swamp Thing which raised a different moral question in every issue. One issue focused almost entirely on gun control and the massacre of the American Indians while another placed a heavy feminist spotlight on the taboo associated with the menstrual cycle. Even the more obscure and horror oriented story about the water vampires has a lot to say about the concept of survival of the fittest and the search for a homeland. Almost every issue addressed ought to resonate with the world of today – we seem to be grappling with the shadows our forefathers have cast in front of themselves.
83e76140c7fa443d1e-0
American Gothic was also the official debut of John Constantine – Vertigo’s famous occultist and longest running comic book line (Hellblazer). Constantine looks different in his initial appearance – a peaked and aging Sting facsimile – but as the series progresses his natural look grows rather organically to the one we are familiar with today. The cigarette and trench-coat are there – as is the trademark cynicism and the rather fatalistic approach to saving the world.
The arc culminates in a massive battle between the forces of “good” and “evil”. However, being an Alan Moore book, things aren’t that simple – he questions the very nature of good and evil and refrains from embracing absolutes. Good and Evil go hand in hand – this revelation building rather organically from the individual stories in the American Gothic story line. The Swamp Thing expresses his belief that there are no extremes of good or evil – there is only nature and its unending cycle of life and death. Good and Evil are definitions which depend entirely on your point of view. As if to underscore this, the book ends in a symbolic handshake between Good and Evil, Black and White a rather ridiculous notion which gains a depth and gravity in the hands of the illustrators.
The artwork in Swamp Thing goes a long way towards cementing Moore’s vision. This is eighties artwork – faces lack proportion, there are blurred, hatchy lines and the colours, while rather good, lack the high-definition and shading contemporary comic book lovers are used to. However, the artwork is excellent in several ways – the women are rather proportionate – no massive bustlines and impossible waistlines in sight, the background is exotic and beautiful, changing significantly depending on where The Swamp Thing travels and The Swamp Thing himself is rather gorgeous – a lovecraftian amalgamation of plant and human with flowers and roots and shoots combining to form a rather striking human latticework. Rick Veitch, John Totleben, Alfredo Alcala and Tatjana Wood are the real heroes of this series – they bring Moore’s vision to life.
ab91995077953b17bf-0
There is a significant amount of thought put into the panel arrangement itself. Panels spill into one another, a riff on the overwhelming plant consciousness at the heart of the book. There are moments where time itself seems to flow differently within the pages – drops of blood, shimmering orbs of light track their way across pages punctuating the panels all around them. Complemented with the dense, wordy prose that Moore writes, there is a sense of overwhelming intellectual fatigue in the production of the book. It takes a while to appreciate all the details.
At the end of the American Gothic storyline, Moore shifts gears once more – exploring a rather personal story of love and loss. Abby is arrested and spirited away to Gotham and The Swamp Thing unleashes the forces of nature on the Caped Crusader’s city. The issue – “The Garden of Earthly Delights” melds imagery from Hieronymus Bosch’s most famous work with plant matter intertwining through the industrial facade of Gotham. True to his anarchist leanings, Moore seems to revel in the back to basics tale – people seem to regress to a primitive oneness with nature. Often this oneness is demonstrated with public displays of a sexual nature. Moore comes close to caricaturing his own obsession with sex – but the storyline is so engaging I was willing to forgive him.
34
This story-line seems a rather straightforward representation of the Nature Vs Man Dynamic. This is a discussion which comes up each time we hear of a natural disaster somewhere in the world. Nature is taking its revenge, it will not stay still – all the prophecies of doom attributed to its awakening. The Swamp Thing levels Gotham as a purely selfish act – an attempt to reunite with his lover – despite everything it is, at the very foundation a purely human act. An irresponsible use of power. And this costs him. Moore manages to turn even the concept of the wrath of nature on its head.
The final arc is a trek through the farthest reaches of space in an attempt to get back to earth. The Swamp Thing is relentlessly abused in this arc – he almost goes mad in his quest to create a world for himself on a blue planet, he prevents famine on the planet Rann and has a run in with Darkseid, providing him with an important variable in the anti life equation. As is usual with Moore, there is a sense of resolution, a sense of lessons learned in the journey – which ends the entire run. I am not going to elaborate more on the individual storylines – read them yourself – but the transition from earthbound horror to science fiction is almost seamless and quite charming to read.
scan0031-0The series ends on a philosophical note. Moore addresses questions which he deals with in greater depth in the Watchmen. Seeds for that comic (on which he was working simultaneously ) seem to sprout in the final pages of Swamp Thing. What is the role of a being of immense power in today’s world? Should The Swamp Thing by virtue of its very existence cure mankind’s problems – famine and deforestation? What is its responsibility towards the human race? Take an active role in solving their problems or stand and watch quietly by the sidelines? Even asking this question indicates a great depth of engagement between Moore the creator and the content of his craft – and a lot of foresight on his part.
Is there a lot I am leaving out? Yes. I have said almost nothing about the excellent Nukeface Papers storyline or about the relationship between Abby and Matt Cable. I have had to reduce my critique of Moore’s rather unabashedly and admirably feminist views to keep this article manageable and I haven’t had time to analyse “Loving the Alien” or the grotesque issue in which Swamp Thing lands on a planet inhabited by sentient plant life in greater depth. It feels like I have done Abby very little justice – as one of the strongest female characters written for comics in a long long while she deserves more analysis – but the aim of this article is to ignite interest in a series that too few read or try to understand.
The Saga of the Swamp thing is a perfect introduction to Alan Moore’s wider work. It has the basic elements of a plot and a wonderful ending while traversing social, emotional and political terrain. Each issue and arc builds on all that has come before, there isn’t any stasis in relationships and the plot moves along like a while oiled machine. All this perfection complemented by striking artwork compensates for the rather clichéd philosophy at the heart of the series – elevating a concept that comes across as dry and overdone on print into a baroque trek through the darkest heart of America.
Five Stars on Five.