You can almost guarantee that someone or other will complain about one juxtaposition of elements or other.  That the perfectly lovely children’s-book bits and the cherished violent bits should not be seen in the same place as baby-feeding and robot fucking.  Or that the robot fucking is excellent and the character writing just gets in the way.  Or that the whole thing is too slow and “decompressed,” or that the swearing distracts from the magical bits, or, I don’t know, babies disturb their wanking or something.  Either people will recognise this as the opening notes of a rich and extended piece that contains much, as a novel should, or they are going to find a panoply of bad reasons to complain about it.

None of which feels right to talk about, in a way.  I’ve talked about all these poisonous suppositions I have, instead of focussing on the work itself, which is bad form.  But I want to be true to the feeling I had on closing the issue, which was, simply: god, what if the commercial comics market in 2012 might not support a novelistic longform serial written by Brian fucking Vaughan?  As with much to do with comics lately, I would like to be wrong.  Because I would like to read a lot more of SAGA.

It’s a terrific book, and another sign of the new resurgence at Image Comics.  It is a wonderful thing to welcome Brian back to the medium, and a wonderful thing to discover the art of Fiona Staples.

Warren Ellis butta lì il domandone mentre recensisce Saga.