5 out of 5

I would call this a mini-epic, but that’s just short-sighted: at ten issues, Westward matches page count with other comic tomes we’d consider epics, so why shy away from the term?  I’ve certainly rarely been as riveted from start to finish as I was with the book, and – I’m admittedly thinking of Watchmen, here, sort of the go-to ‘epic’ for comic comparison – I didn’t have to question (during, say, long text pieces) whether I was just reading something due to its classic status or because I was actually interested.  There can be no question of that with Westward, obviously, since it’s new.  But more directly, any thoughts of whether or not I should continue reading never occurred.  I said I was riveted and that term is no lie.

I’d given Westward a big ol’ stinky PASS when I picked it up – interested by the cover design – noted the Steampunk elements (including an ad on inside back cover of every issue for some Steampunk gear) and wrinkled my nose as every hipster must do, relegating the book to, y’know, Steampunk, which I’m capitalizing for whatever reason.  Some time later, Action Lab put out a title called Dryspell by Ken Krekeler (actually a re-release, I’d find out), and I was amazed at how well written and designed the title was, when its overall ethic (scratchy typeface narration, loosely scattered about some pages) suggested a creator going for a “hardcore” approach.  This method is actually also employed in Westward (and in a grand Steve Gerber tradition at some points, with huge passages of story told via text blobs), but then – as within Dryspell – as with the Steampunk concept – it turns out that Ken is that rare writer who’s actually using these things because they serve the story.  Sure, he draw gears good, but the genre allows for the cybernetics / cyborg / whatever plot pieces in the tale to be accepted without having to waste time on justifying it, and as the theme is absolutely (to me, anyway) not a rehash of the robots vs. humans / what is the soul, etc. concept, it’s nice to not have our attentions diverted as such.  Similarly, the lettering / text pieces – actually some of my favorite parts – and again, going back to how Gerber used them – give us a unique insight into how the minds of our leads work.  It’s hard to pinpoint exactly how this differs from first person narration boxes, except that it breaks from the generic structure of a comic – breaks free of the panels – and thus can flow with the story in compelling ways.

Anyhow, in case you haven’t figured out the conclusion to the story I’d started above, sometime after wrinkling my noise and picking up Dryspell, I looked up this Ken Krekeler fella and picked up the then-current issue of Westward (#7, I think), and after a few pages released a resound ‘fuuuuuck’ because I was instantly interested in the story and realized I wanted the other issues, which a quick online back-issue search of regular sources suggested would be hard to track down.  They WERE hard to track down, told via boring details I won’t relate here, but it was absolutely, absolutely worth it.

Westward: Victor West is rich and stupid.  His father, owner of Westward industries, is an inventor genius, running several different corporations and forerunner of technologies that fuel the day.  His daughter, Annabelle, is equally mentally endowed, and her daughter, Penelope, though still in school, is well on her way.  But Victor refuses to pick up the torch, instead gracing magazine covers and news controversies and opening night clubs and always using the word ‘baby’ in his sentences.  So, at last, Dad accepts that Victor will always be Victor, and thus proposes a way that he can help the company by using his own particular talents.  The way that plays out is explained along the way.  We pick things about a decade later, when Victor – now a manifold, a machine blended with the mental patterns and looks of Victor – wakes up in a lab.  But there’s been a change.  He still uses the term ‘baby,’ he still can’t quite grasp the manual he’s given that explains the manifold’s many abilities, but the years of expectations placed upon him (by his father, by himself) are essentially wiped clean.  He approaches his family anew, and tries to sink back into his life.

But again, this is not a story about the soul of a robot.  It is, perhaps, a superhero origin story.  Or, picking up the Watchmen note, as that (and many Moore stories) are thought experiments brought to a logical conclusion – while also acting as a kick in the teeth to some societal standards – Westward is a contemplation on, in general, growth.  On the emptiness of it, perhaps; on the greyness of what achievements actually amount to.  (The website for the book is http://www.achieveordie.com…)  There is a bad guy (as there was in Watchmen), and he has a crazy plan, and we get a lovely build-up to it, saving issue 9 for pages of a crazy man’s prattling.  The “villain explains his plot” moment is a cliché, but Krekeler earns it perfectly through pacing and mood in the previous 8 issues that it feels like a properly chosen climax, with an expansive tenth issue the final battle – release, and denouncement, and satisfying epilogue.  It’s an epic.  Every step is assured, and every character arc feels effectively weighted.  It functions just fine as an action adventure, or as a mystery.  Or there are things to think about if you prefer.  This is ideal entertainment: I’m happy with it at face value, and I’m happy re-digging into the pages and discovering ways in which the themes are strengthened.

And of course, this wouldn’t be nearly as effective if not for Ken’s art.  The look of this book seems impossible to pull off in black and white, but Krekeler seems to know exactly when / how often to stat in images for effect; when to use digital backgrounds without it subverting the overall look of things; and most importantly with B&W – when to detail and when to go for simple outlines or shadows.  A flip through the book will suggest a detailed style to the eye, but if you slow down on any given page, you’ll notice (or not notice, which is ideal, I suppose), that things never look crowded.  Part of this is framing, for sure, but I was fascinated studying panels or pages and seeing how naturally Ken seemed to balance any given scene via all aspects.

So there’s nothing mini-epic about it, and I think – as long as you’re cool with books breaking free of panel / caption structure – that you can sense it from any issue.  There’s something going on in Westward; at the very least, a creator who is in full control of what he’s delivering.  I deem it a modern epic, then roll my eyes and wrinkle my nose at that, because even that’s a stupid qualifier.  It’s just an excellent read, and it makes me want to read it again.