5 out of 5

Gawd.  And Lawdy.  Whatever other exaggerated expressions of awe or impression you can imagine.  I haven’t scoured over the pages of a comic – by choice, by desire to understand and be immersed in the story more – in forever as I did with San Hannibal.  The first couple of issues were good, but had a committed beat detective flow to their narrative that I thought might’ve been indie book bravado (i.e. “I’m not exactly sure what I’m saying so I’ll just say it with attitude”); once I gave myself over to the story – which was easy, considering how well it’s constructed, overall – I realized Schkade was just writing the kind of noir we don’t see / read too often, the kind of crisp monologue Brubaker wants but undercuts by pushing the underbelly aspects of his stories too close to the surface.  Interestingly, San Hannibal deals with just as much darkness as any Criminal (or its ilk) tale, but does so without having to show us all the sex and violence.  Not that I’m against that stuff, by any means, but our P.I. – a Mr. Avery – gets to be all the more badass without really getting too deep into fisticuffs, whilst, at the same time, definitely involved in the madness in a way that sets up some intriguing narrative stakes.

Again, this isn’t to criticize Brubaker (uh, besides my obvious and stated distaste for how Criminal developed, I respect its contribution to the comic landscape), more to highlight how much SH pleasingly diverted my expectations.  And like the layers of its story, it does this in steps, with each twist and turn of its narrative.  Every issue roped me in more, made me more interested to go back and piece together what I’d read, and this suspense lasted up to the very last page – which is a rarity in almost any mystery tale: holding the reader’s attention after the shoes have both dropped.

The second, and indirect, surprise to San Hannibal comes via the art.  Getting into the content itself momentarily, issue one is drawn by JD Faith, whose (modern day) Cameron Stewart-esque figures and dynamic paneling and excellent use of shadows / black space offset the – again, initially assumed – kitschy, quirky choice of doing the book up in one pop color: pink.  When you see Faith isn’t on art duties with the start of issue two, it raises an eyebrow; that our writer has taken over raises it more.  Artist dropped out due to a lack of faith, and now the writer has to make it a passion project; or the latter’s ego forced the former off the book.  These are the thoughts.  Pish posh.  I mean, who knows the reasons, but Schkade’s sub-in is far beyond what I would even call a sub-in.  He is the book.  Credit, of course, to Faith for establishing character and a vibe, but Schkade steps in with a more angular style, perhaps more breathable panels, and just makes the tale his own.  I’d even say his characters are a bit warmer, a bit more human.  And by my holy poo, Jesse Snavlin’s colors – blue pop in issue two – becomes so much more than quirk.  The color swapping (and eventual inclusion of more colors) becomes such an integral part of the book… when the conclusion rolls around, with its brief explosions of cameo colors, it impacts you in exactly the way I hope Schkade and team were hoping.

Snavlin’s letters should also be lauded.  Some of the ‘whispered’ dialogue felt a little ill-represented, but otherwise, the emphasis of and spacing around the words flows across the page, making Schkade’s detective lingo pitter-patter perfectly.

When I started reading this book, I wanted to like it.  Its intentions felt honest, even if I was skeptical of some of its detective-genre indulgences and indie book veneer.  When I finished the book, there was no coercion, and it was beyond like: I loved it.  Every element.  It emerged honesty intact, and as a pristinely polished diamond in the small press roughs.