4 out of 5

I missed out on the Titan reprint of earlier Samurai titles, which presumably give us some preface for lead Takeo and his hunt for his brother, Akio, but ‘Isle With No Name’ has quickly set me on a path to correct that oversight.  And if you’re considering checking out these individual issues instead of plunking down $30 for the preceding HC book and are now eyeing that ‘preface’ comment with a sigh, know that this series – essentially volume 5 – can absolutely be entered into cold.  It’s written with the kind of slick serializing that allows for both new and old readers, with character development happening in between series and the title itself focusing on one core plot; you get the satisfaction of fully understanding Takeo’s travels if you’ve read what comes before, but the few sentences dedicated to “I’ve come to this island to find Akio” certainly suffice for the rest of us, and Di Giorgio’s / artist Frédéric Genêt’s characterization of their lead is pitch-perfect in accessibility.

That summary is also pretty good for describing what happens…  A samurai comes to an island on a search for his family member, and gets inadvertently wrapped up in local politics via a duel with the honorable Shobei.  Yes, you’ve seen this plot in countless noirs – I’m here for one thing and stumble into another – but Samurai has a marvelously flowing structure; there is choice involved here, not just circumstance, which gives the proceedings weight.  We do have a usual supporting cast of clearly evil and good characters, namely the yakuza heavy paying for Shobei’s services (evil) and the people of the island (good), suffering under mob persecution, but our focus is primarily on Takeo and Shobei, both of whom have an appreciably stoic camaraderie and display shades of gray in their personalities.  The story unwraps in a typically European fashion in that it doesn’t necessarily have a clean beginning, middle and end, but the book is overall so skillfully written that the slight letdown of not having a true climax (or one that lasts beyond a page) is easily forgiven.

Genêt’s loose but detailed linework is wonderfully fluid.  A lot of period books cause my eyes to glaze over, but the layouts and pacing of the series are very cinematic, and Genêt has a great sense of where to set his camera to keep us invested, as well as when to pull back for larger vistas to balance the tone.  Some emotional subtleties are muted by the sketchiness of his line, but understood from the story’s context, and I didn’t quite get that the Island was “impoverished;” it seems to have a lot of flourishing flora, which is normally visual shorthand for “this place is beautiful.”  Either way, Delphine Rieu’s colors are very organic, and make the book feel like of breath of fresh air on every page, all of the billowy clouds backing up our leads in the foreground.  I also dug Cat Connery’s ragged lettering style.  There were some interesting choices of moving the bubbles way far away from the speaking character to spare the art, but it worked: you always got who was speaking from the positioning or context.

Simply another well chosen re-presentation from Titan, and I’m floored that they’re following it up with even more from the same series.