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A review by midgardener
Alberto Breccia's Dracula by Alberto Breccia
5.0
I picked this up on a whim while checking in materials at my library of employment. Judging by the cover, I thought it would likely be too grotesque for me, too absurdist, but couldn't resist a new-to-me graphic take on Dracula himself.
Needless to say, I was floored.
The art is grotesque; perfectly so. The characters who silently, chaotically fill these pages are absurd, and that is absolutely as it should be. Dracula himself serves as a conduit for the rest of the world, from the raucous clubs, to the poorest streets of the poorest slums, to the bars where great authors drink, to his own deliciously Gothic house, and Breccia depicts it all in burning, oozing colors and shapes that grab your eyes and refuse to relinquish their grip. The miniature stories he weaves are by turns ironic, tragic, and simply silly. Of course, a reader familiar with modern Argentinian history may find a terrible, tragic wealth of national suffering into these pages; but there's also no harm in enjoying the hilarity of Dracula becoming drunk off of a drunkard's blood.
On an entirely different note, I got big shades of Tomie dePaola from Breccia's art. The coloring, the lines, the faces all reminded me of "Strega Nona" on the other side of Hell. It's a shame that these tales were so limited in number, for I'd read books upon books of Dracula's ill-fated exploits and Braccia's tooth-sharp commentary on the world and its histories. As it is, I'll have to settle for reading and re-reading this sole compilation, and treasuring it in all its gory rarity.
Needless to say, I was floored.
The art is grotesque; perfectly so. The characters who silently, chaotically fill these pages are absurd, and that is absolutely as it should be. Dracula himself serves as a conduit for the rest of the world, from the raucous clubs, to the poorest streets of the poorest slums, to the bars where great authors drink, to his own deliciously Gothic house, and Breccia depicts it all in burning, oozing colors and shapes that grab your eyes and refuse to relinquish their grip. The miniature stories he weaves are by turns ironic, tragic, and simply silly. Of course, a reader familiar with modern Argentinian history may find a terrible, tragic wealth of national suffering into these pages; but there's also no harm in enjoying the hilarity of Dracula becoming drunk off of a drunkard's blood.
On an entirely different note, I got big shades of Tomie dePaola from Breccia's art. The coloring, the lines, the faces all reminded me of "Strega Nona" on the other side of Hell. It's a shame that these tales were so limited in number, for I'd read books upon books of Dracula's ill-fated exploits and Braccia's tooth-sharp commentary on the world and its histories. As it is, I'll have to settle for reading and re-reading this sole compilation, and treasuring it in all its gory rarity.