5 out of 5

It’s been a while since I’ve reach ‘Preacher,’ so it’s probably not as solid as I recall it being.  However, I have read it several times over, with years of important comic learnin’ in-between, so I’d hope if there were any grand flaws in its design I would’ve had my suspicions by now.  But, surprise: a review titled ‘Manifest Destiny’ is not actually a review of Preacher.  I bring up Ennis’ series as, yet again, a prime example of a positive trait: a hook book that’s not all about getting you hooked on the hook.  Preacher roped me in – and so I’m supposed other readers – based on the strength of its character, and its environment.  Issue one didn’t land me on a dumb cliffhanger that required me to buy the next book just to see someone wheedle out of some obvious narrative bluff or to clarify something wacky that probably could’ve been spoken to within the issue.  That’s a hook-book trick.  Now as Preach went along, yes, you absolutely wanted to know more about the hook – and it’s a killer summary for the title to get people interested, no doubt – but the desire to know more would’ve have been as strong had Garth not built our investment in Jesse and gang or dressed up his world (with Steve Dillon’s help) to get us fully immersed whilst reading.

Manifest Destiny has that same possibility.  …And yet, it may even be able to go one step further, as its hook – Lewis and Clark hunting monsters – doesn’t have to be limited by a start and finish.  By rooting his story with some history (we’re vaguely following L&C’s trail-blazing across the West), Dingess has a handy time period framing for his characters’ travels that naturally lends itself to keeping things believable (via some appropriate suspension of disbelief, of course): our first stop is La Charette, a small outpost where we hook up with Sacajawea.  Though this initial arc involves zombie plants and ‘buffalotaurs,’ instead of feeling like a free-wheelin’ monsterfest, the group’s limited locomotion and weaponry amp up the isolation element that’s missing from most modern monster stories.  And the narrative build to our first reveal (which is not the conclusion of issue #1, but a climactic scene) works so well because of how Dingess dribbles in a sense of discovery, notes of death and violence to help set the tone, and some all-important mounting creepiness.  Not to mention that we somehow get a handful of incredibly strongly established characters from the get-go.  This is why you can put a Buffalotaur on the cover of the first book and still have it be surprising when it appears between the covers: it’s not about the hook, it’s the story; it’s the whole package.

…The whole package… which happens to be amazing.  Matthew Roberts’ art is just stunning.  From the gorgeous landscape splash pages (such as the one that opens the book) to the more static scenes of exploration or conversation, to the absurd action when it gets ramped up (giant plant monsters, buffalotaur assaults), nothing on the page feels manipulative.  We get some amazing scenes that make you pause on the page (I wanted to send a particular whipping scene to every person on the planet to drool over), but, again, it’s all part of the story.  And as someone mentions in one their letters, it’s impressive how instantly and immediately we can recognize these characters.  Roberts gives us just enough details to give us recognizable character archetypes, then lets the writing fill the rest of the picture.  But more importantly, for a period piece without people in spandex, sometimes character confusion can happen.  But not here.

And Owen Gieni’s colors.  There’s simply not enough praise.  The whole odd color juxtaposition thing should be played out by now, but it never steps working under Owen’s hand.  Reds and whites, blues and orange… and yet, even amongst pages of earthly greens and browns, it makes sense.  It’s used sparingly and appropriately to highlight important moments; elsewhere Gieni gets richness out of each page by giving us depth in the greenery; gorgeous skies and foliage.  And then the zombie plant blood!  Awesome.

Lastly (always, sorry letterers) but not at all leastly: Pat Brosseau’s letters.  I’ve come to find (and have remarked) that the sign of a good letterer is when you never notice the words.  Manifest Destiny is a dialogue / narration heavy book, and yet, the narration boxes and word bubbles just seem to lock seamlessly into the page.  Dingess also jumps around between voiceovers – a journal, different characters talking – and I somehow never had problems matching up who was saying what, thanks to slight style and color changes.

Could it all fall apart next arc?  Sure.  But regardless, producing something that actually makes me excited to read the next issue is a rarity nowadays, not to mention making it such that I really have no idea where things are going, but I’m just enjoying the ride…  So we’ll see where it goes, but we’ll always have issues #1 through 6 to dream about, baby.