from: http://www.undressmerobot.com
Jamie Tanner’s The Aviary, released by AdHouse Books this June, is a cyclone of surrealism and effortless elegance. The clean black and white look of the book doesn’t betray its thorny forays into dream worlds, repression, and lots of dismemberment, but it does complement those subjects. The mental landscape of this collection of 14 stories is staggering at first: I suggest that you don’t attempt to read it all in one sitting, because you’ll end up missing something. It’s like a meal with many courses which requires breaks for digestion.
The Quiet Bird-man, the premier product of the Casualty J. Organ Company, is our guide through Tanner’s fastidiously cultivated realm. Dressed to the nines, the Bird-man does not talk, but blinks with supreme authority. Although he’s marketed as a toy to amuse children, it’s apparent that he has unsettling human qualities. From the outset, part of his charm is his unfaltering poise and nebulous blinks, which can usually mean whatever the reader interprets. They sometimes seem benevolent, sometimes sadistic. He is a staple throughout the stories, as is his boss Mr. Organ, who seems to own everything in the unnamed town.
In the first story, we promptly see that, although there is much adventure, no one will classify this as a lighthearted romp. Tanner introduces a lonely old codger seemingly imprisoned in his isolation, telling the Bird-man of his obsession with mermaids. He admires them because they are free of licentious activity by sheer virtue of their physical makeup; something he wishes was his own destiny. This unwitting gentleman is only the opening victim of Organ’s behind-the-scene manipulations.
Miss Diamond, Organ’s assistant, first spews the fresh and delightful curses that pepper these pages. The use of blue language in a unique way befits the verboseness of the whole book; it’s strangely lyrical, academic, and crass at the same time. A talking dog (who is also a professor) apologizes, “I must say, it is merely my lack of thumbs that makes me brusque,” pages away from a robot making pronouncements such as “HOLY PILE OF FUCK.” Often, a single repeated sentence gives you the significance of a particular episode.
From the beginning, Tanner’s cinematic eye is apparent—the panels almost look like storyboards. Opting out of anything flashy (including color), the book stands on its sheer eccentricity and characters. Frequently, you’re only seeing one person/thing in a panel, which does more to highlight the individuals. There’s a lot of use of negative space and the composition of the frames never lags or bores. The weighty examination of love and death comprised in this book is illuminated with shockingly adorable characters. The Bird-man himself, Walt the young penguin, and Buttons the robot are just some examples. The innovation of The Aviary has to do with tiny novelties, such as when Tanner plays with time structure using placards labeled “Later,” “Eventually,” “Previously,” “See ‘Eventually’ as depicted earlier,” etc.
A revolving door of characters continues to intertwine and build through the stories, interacting or reacting to each other. It’s not unusual to meet pornographers with monkey heads or robot-headed boxers here and no one ever mentions this as being out of the ordinary. A man with the head of a cat walks around in his “un-death,” falling in love and falling apart physically, piece by piece. (Granted, this is a less than subtle metaphor, but one that most people can relate to.) Much that happens in this strange world is dealt with in a totally blasé manner, but it’s up to you to decide if the characters are horribly detached or simply desensitized to the bizarre and grotesque.
“Diamonds” neatly ties together the loose ends of the stories that precede it and gives the readers a better understanding of what exactly is going on. At this point, you really need it, and I know I was starting to doubt that explanation would be forthcoming, as is the case with some avant-garde and many independent comics. The last story, “Mine,” exposes even more, though in an agreeably vague way. “Diamonds” contains a glut of the recurring images: most importantly birds, water, and amputation. The title refers to the previously mentioned Miss Diamond and her sister, who is in a loveless marriage with a limbless comedian.
“Mine” is the final story and I won’t ruin that ambiguous gem, but my favorite of all the vignettes is the one right before, titled “Outside the Aviary.” I personally think it’s a better culmination of the journey than “Mine” but it may just be the style that I favor. It would have made a lovely ending in itself: the “patron of the pornographic arts,” Heinrich Bruno, presents his final exhibit. Dubbed A Series of Escapes, it presents photographic/art renderings of the major events in the book. The characters have just barely escaped incarceration, matrimony, and the boundaries of the body, as the advertisements for Bruno’s show boast. Their escapes don’t exactly place them in better positions than their imprisonments had. It’s a montage in panel form and a clever pay-off for the careful reader.
All in all, I thoroughly enjoyed The Aviary, partly due to my obsession with language and the general textbook tone of the book. The language, charming and somewhat anachronistic, definitely gives it a distinctive feel. The same goes for the art, which is the perfect counterpoint, working with the writing instead of trying to overpower it. Jamie Tanner achieves something innovative in this AdHouse release and hopefully we can expect more in the future.
hate your friends #6
In Case of Rapture, Break Glass
Posted in The Beak/Commentary on 30 May 2007 by Kristin Rossfrom: http://www.thebeak.org
(The Beak is a commentary site for much commentary. Spend some time there.)
In Case of Rapture, Break Glass
Rapture Ready offers a handy little memorandum to print out and post on your refrigerator should the promised time come and you find yourself about to be yanked out of reality along with the rest of the righteous. As the Beak has always had an interest in public service, we offer our version of the Memo to use at will, should you find yourself stuck on Earth during the Rapture. This note can be thrown into the sky, in case of Rapture, and will surely be caught by someone ascending. Perhaps one of the chosen will actually give it to God, and maybe he’ll have mercy on the heathens, because at least we’re funny. It’s worth a shot.
Memorandum Date: (Unknown)To: Those about to vanish/those who have already vanished
From: Those languishing on Earth
Re: Re: The truth about what happened
Well, color us embarrassed! Despite all of our studies to the contrary, you crazy motherfuckers were right! I guess we’re pretty screwed. The note you left on the ‘fridge tells us: “We who belong to Christ were called into the air above the planet in the rapture,” and we’re a little confused, despite the explanations that follow. I think it’s the Tim LaHaye mention right at the beginning that threw us. You may not realize, but he’s not much esteemed in the academic and rational world. Either way, we’re still here, and from what you’ve told us…we have some preparations ahead. The Bible references are pretty handy, but since the Antichrist had us turn them all in, we can’t actually read what they say. So, yeah. It seems things are going to get rough. We who remain can’t even update our MySpaces anymore. Apparently, the people who run NetFlix have ascended, because we’re not receiving our movies, either. Some of us have even had to leave the house to retrieve our licentious entertainment. It’s pure terror.
Really, your note was very thoughtful, especially the breakdown of the next seven years. I’m sure you know that we’re not much for planning that far ahead, usually. In fact, we were napping when the Rapture occurred. Trying to suss it out has been exhausting, so we’ll lie down again after penning our missive. Perhaps you’d consider this slothful, but you have to admit that if you were in our position, you’d be fairly tired as well.
We have formed a Coalition of the Sheepish to try to combat the forces of evil that we denied. Mostly we meet every morning in shacks to eat doughnuts. Some of us cry; some of us watch America’s Next Top Whore of Babylon. Those of us with presence of mind have opened the backs of our necks to tear out the RFID chips that were inserted while we snoozed. At first, I thought my neck had been altered so that I could enter the Matrix and I was like, SWEEET! But, alas, the serial number was 666.
Honestly, we’re pretty terrified. We just wanted to let you know that you’re perfectly justified in saying, “I told you so.” We’re going back to sleep now, as that’s the only plan that the CoS could approve by committee. We’re hoping that we can just doze for seven years. We know you wish us luck.
Sincerely,
The Heathens
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