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ekansthepokemon's review against another edition
3.0
This series gets weirder and weirder, and by this point, it feels like it's losing steam. Moore finishes his tenure strong, but it just doesn't have the same drive I felt that the earlier issues had.
librarimans's review against another edition
5.0
And thus concludes Alan Moore's brilliant run--a couple of neat Swamp Thing in SPAAAAAAAACE stories, keeping up on Abby, and then the eventual reunion and putting all the toys back in the toy box. The whole run was fantastic and I can't recommend it enough
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
jgkeely's review against another edition
5.0
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
4.0
A satisfying end to this epic and not before the shine wore off altogether. This volume contains some of the most difficult and abstract parts of the series, both in text and art, and one horror so grand it is completely inhumane. It certainly feels like they have scratched at the limits of what could be done with the character, then returned to its familiar core. Glad I read this series, and once again disappointed that the promising tv adaptation was scrapped before it's time.
exorcismemily's review against another edition
2.0
"I am...the Swamp Thing."
Unfortunately, this was my least favorite of this Swamp Thing run. It felt very nonsensical, and I wasn't really interested in anything that was happening. This series started out so well, and then I didn't enjoy the second half as much.
Unfortunately, this was my least favorite of this Swamp Thing run. It felt very nonsensical, and I wasn't really interested in anything that was happening. This series started out so well, and then I didn't enjoy the second half as much.
marksutherland's review against another edition
4.0
A satisfying end to this epic and not before the shine wore off altogether. This volume contains some of the most difficult and abstract parts of the series, both in text and art, and one horror so grand it is completely inhumane. It certainly feels like they have scratched at the limits of what could be done with the character, then returned to its familiar core. Glad I read this series, and once again disappointed that the promising tv adaptation was scrapped before it's time.