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Kirk Bage (1775 KP) rated The Umbrella Academy in TV
Sep 19, 2020 (Updated Jan 22, 2021)
I came to this gloriously colourful, energetic and super smart comic book adaptation in August (when Netflix advertised season 2), at a time of lockdown where I really needed something cheerful and fun to keep me going. It worked so well I watched both full seasons twice over, back to back, and key episodes 3 times! A rare thing indeed for me and a TV show.
Since then the rigours of isolation have set me back with a really long backlog for The Wasteland – currently I have a list of over 40 cultural artifacts I want to talk about and share with you- but, I am very glad to be talking about this one today, as even though it wasn’t that long ago, it evokes such fond happy memories of becoming just a little bit obsessed by something. A phenomenon that only seems to happen when you go into something with low to medium expectations and come out feeling like you have found a diamond in the rough.
The concept of 7 children with mysterious powers being adopted and raised by a shady and strict, umbrella wielding, father has been around a few years in the form of several graphic novels, penned by My Chemical Romance frontman Gerard Way. You can feel the vibe of something slightly emo and arty coming through – just cool enough but also self conscious; melancholy and dark in places but also lots of sardonic fun. But, unlike the books, which often look stark and minimal, the world created by show runner and director Steve Blackman is vivid and full to the brim with things to overwhelm the senses.
For the last few years, and especially of late, the Superhero genre has been so oversaturated that it is almost impossible to come up with anything original, but The Umbrella Academy together with Amazon’s The Boys, definitely manage to do that. It has enough mystique to be intriguingly confusing for the first few episodes, as we piece together the Hargreaves’ past that has led to the current situation, and discover the dynamic tension that exists between the adopted siblings. Oh, and there is a talking chimpanzee butler / guardian called Pogo, that feels like CGI gimmickery for a while, before growing into something truly wonderful.
The first thing you notice about this set of misfits, as they reassemble for their father’s funeral after years of bitterness and estrangement, is that they are all a little bit broken and uncomfortable in their own skins – their powers as individuals are all a bit, well frankly underwhelming, and their personalities are not exactly attractive in every case. Season one is all about re-establishing connections and working through identity crises. In many ways it is a coming of age story, as circumstances lead to them needing to grow up fast and join together to achieve true power. It works both on the surface and as a deeper allegory.
As each main character is introduced you inevitably get drawn into ranking them from most to least favourite, and the trick of it is how much those feelings shift as the story progresses. Everyone loves Klaus, the twitchy junkie who can see dead people, his completely non heroic yet hilariously stoned outlook gives him many of the best lines and most fun scenes. I changed allegiance several times with the others, but Klaus, played by the charismatic Irish actor Robert Sheehan, always remained my favourite, because of his hippie rockstar vibe. Although it’s hard not to have a soft spot for Number 5, the time travelling schoolboy that has been missing for years and re-emerges as a middle aged man still trapped in the boys’ body. Aiden Gillen is superb in conveying that he is older whilst always looking like a teenager, and in many ways he is the true pivot and anchor of the story.
I suppose before the show aired it was Ellen Page that was the “star” draw amongst the young and mostly unknown cast of “heroes”. As Vanya, the only Hargreaves child never to demonstrate a power, and held aside by their controlling father, she is the outsider and most insecure of the bunch. You sense her storyline is going to be crucial to the whole shebang, and so it turns out, but her fame as an actress of note never overshadows the show as a whole – it feels instantly like a group effort, and in that sense a true family, the deeper you get into it.
I could go on explaining each character and the details of the intricate plot forever, but I would never do it justice. The only way to see what the fuss is about is to watch it. Anything else would just sound like mad confusion to the uninitiated. All I can say is that it does an incredible job of unfolding its charms and secrets piece by piece. So much so that by the climax of season two I am still not entirely sure we have all the information necessary to know what is going on in a complete sense; there are several questions and mysteries still to be unearthed, and I like that very much.
I have recommended this show to anyone I know who enjoys something entertaining that has substance yet doesn’t take itself too seriously – so that is everyone then! I think it’s allure is that very thing: it manages to hit a zeitgeist of perfect balance between a smart script and plotline with many cliffhangers, and enough disposable moments of fun, to be exactly what the modern Netflix viewer is looking for. Super easy to watch with one eye or with both, depending on what mood you are in.
There is also the style of the thing – a veritable candy box of colours and neat visual tricks, mixed in with some of the best musical montage sequences I have ever seen. I understand from several interviews that Steve Blackman specifically wrote certain scenes around the feel of a piece of music he wanted to include. That is a clever way of building a cult following: find songs that both tell a story and appeal to the cool kids, then use them as mini music video segments that punctuate the heavier elements of storytelling. It’s not a new trick, but the song choices here are so good that it has rarely been done this well before.
It all works especially well as we move into season two and an historical context that brings up a lot of pertinent issues for some of the siblings regarding race, sexuality and other freedoms of identity that can be taken for granted in the modern era. I don’t want to spoil too much of that here, but suffice to say as a hook to pin the themes on it is a genius touch that makes season two a huge leap forward on something that was already pretty decent in season one. All the characters become more rounded and relatable, even the so called bad guys – an increasingly eccentric bunch of creations that leave you in no doubt this is a comic book world not to be confused with reality.
At time of writing, a third season has still not being given the greenlight. Considering the massive cliffhanger we are left with at the end of season two, and how big the cult following seems to be by now, it would be an absolute crime not to allow it to continue. The only reason I can see it wouldn’t is that the stories of the source material are now exhausted, and anywhere they go from here will need to be truly original. However, there is so much scope to do almost anything from here that I don’t see it as any kind of issue.
If you haven’t seen it, I urge you whole-heartedly to give it a go. There really is something in there to please everyone, except perhaps the most serious minded of realists. Even then, they’d be hard pressed not to raise a smile or tap a toe at some of the best musical moments of emo hero mayhem.
Since then the rigours of isolation have set me back with a really long backlog for The Wasteland – currently I have a list of over 40 cultural artifacts I want to talk about and share with you- but, I am very glad to be talking about this one today, as even though it wasn’t that long ago, it evokes such fond happy memories of becoming just a little bit obsessed by something. A phenomenon that only seems to happen when you go into something with low to medium expectations and come out feeling like you have found a diamond in the rough.
The concept of 7 children with mysterious powers being adopted and raised by a shady and strict, umbrella wielding, father has been around a few years in the form of several graphic novels, penned by My Chemical Romance frontman Gerard Way. You can feel the vibe of something slightly emo and arty coming through – just cool enough but also self conscious; melancholy and dark in places but also lots of sardonic fun. But, unlike the books, which often look stark and minimal, the world created by show runner and director Steve Blackman is vivid and full to the brim with things to overwhelm the senses.
For the last few years, and especially of late, the Superhero genre has been so oversaturated that it is almost impossible to come up with anything original, but The Umbrella Academy together with Amazon’s The Boys, definitely manage to do that. It has enough mystique to be intriguingly confusing for the first few episodes, as we piece together the Hargreaves’ past that has led to the current situation, and discover the dynamic tension that exists between the adopted siblings. Oh, and there is a talking chimpanzee butler / guardian called Pogo, that feels like CGI gimmickery for a while, before growing into something truly wonderful.
The first thing you notice about this set of misfits, as they reassemble for their father’s funeral after years of bitterness and estrangement, is that they are all a little bit broken and uncomfortable in their own skins – their powers as individuals are all a bit, well frankly underwhelming, and their personalities are not exactly attractive in every case. Season one is all about re-establishing connections and working through identity crises. In many ways it is a coming of age story, as circumstances lead to them needing to grow up fast and join together to achieve true power. It works both on the surface and as a deeper allegory.
As each main character is introduced you inevitably get drawn into ranking them from most to least favourite, and the trick of it is how much those feelings shift as the story progresses. Everyone loves Klaus, the twitchy junkie who can see dead people, his completely non heroic yet hilariously stoned outlook gives him many of the best lines and most fun scenes. I changed allegiance several times with the others, but Klaus, played by the charismatic Irish actor Robert Sheehan, always remained my favourite, because of his hippie rockstar vibe. Although it’s hard not to have a soft spot for Number 5, the time travelling schoolboy that has been missing for years and re-emerges as a middle aged man still trapped in the boys’ body. Aiden Gillen is superb in conveying that he is older whilst always looking like a teenager, and in many ways he is the true pivot and anchor of the story.
I suppose before the show aired it was Ellen Page that was the “star” draw amongst the young and mostly unknown cast of “heroes”. As Vanya, the only Hargreaves child never to demonstrate a power, and held aside by their controlling father, she is the outsider and most insecure of the bunch. You sense her storyline is going to be crucial to the whole shebang, and so it turns out, but her fame as an actress of note never overshadows the show as a whole – it feels instantly like a group effort, and in that sense a true family, the deeper you get into it.
I could go on explaining each character and the details of the intricate plot forever, but I would never do it justice. The only way to see what the fuss is about is to watch it. Anything else would just sound like mad confusion to the uninitiated. All I can say is that it does an incredible job of unfolding its charms and secrets piece by piece. So much so that by the climax of season two I am still not entirely sure we have all the information necessary to know what is going on in a complete sense; there are several questions and mysteries still to be unearthed, and I like that very much.
I have recommended this show to anyone I know who enjoys something entertaining that has substance yet doesn’t take itself too seriously – so that is everyone then! I think it’s allure is that very thing: it manages to hit a zeitgeist of perfect balance between a smart script and plotline with many cliffhangers, and enough disposable moments of fun, to be exactly what the modern Netflix viewer is looking for. Super easy to watch with one eye or with both, depending on what mood you are in.
There is also the style of the thing – a veritable candy box of colours and neat visual tricks, mixed in with some of the best musical montage sequences I have ever seen. I understand from several interviews that Steve Blackman specifically wrote certain scenes around the feel of a piece of music he wanted to include. That is a clever way of building a cult following: find songs that both tell a story and appeal to the cool kids, then use them as mini music video segments that punctuate the heavier elements of storytelling. It’s not a new trick, but the song choices here are so good that it has rarely been done this well before.
It all works especially well as we move into season two and an historical context that brings up a lot of pertinent issues for some of the siblings regarding race, sexuality and other freedoms of identity that can be taken for granted in the modern era. I don’t want to spoil too much of that here, but suffice to say as a hook to pin the themes on it is a genius touch that makes season two a huge leap forward on something that was already pretty decent in season one. All the characters become more rounded and relatable, even the so called bad guys – an increasingly eccentric bunch of creations that leave you in no doubt this is a comic book world not to be confused with reality.
At time of writing, a third season has still not being given the greenlight. Considering the massive cliffhanger we are left with at the end of season two, and how big the cult following seems to be by now, it would be an absolute crime not to allow it to continue. The only reason I can see it wouldn’t is that the stories of the source material are now exhausted, and anywhere they go from here will need to be truly original. However, there is so much scope to do almost anything from here that I don’t see it as any kind of issue.
If you haven’t seen it, I urge you whole-heartedly to give it a go. There really is something in there to please everyone, except perhaps the most serious minded of realists. Even then, they’d be hard pressed not to raise a smile or tap a toe at some of the best musical moments of emo hero mayhem.
KalJ95 (25 KP) rated The Last of Us Part II in Video Games
Jun 23, 2020
You Won't Find A Better Game In Terms Of Presentation. (4 more)
Level Design Is Astounding.
Like The First Game, This Will Create A Conversation For Years To Come
Sound Design Is Incredible.
Takes Risks, And Some Do Pay Off.
A Flawed Sequel. (4 more)
Awful Pacing.
Structure Of Narrative Is Bad.
Some Terrible Dialogue.
Shoehorned Agenda.
The last of The Last of Us.
The video game industry doesn't get enough credit as a source of entertainment, in my humble opinion. Time and time again, the industry has proven that it can produce something magical, memorable, mesmerising to play, and even more so, something engaging to watch as someone not even holding the controller. Naughty Dog’s 2013 masterpiece, The Last of Us, became an overnight classic game because it was cinematic in presentation, and a rollercoaster of emotions in narrative. I sat and played the remastered version on my PlayStation 4 in 2017, and fell in love with the chemistry, love and heartbreak Joel and Ellie took with them, as they crossed a post-apocalyptic America. I was satisfied with the conclusion, and felt the story of these two characters was finished. I didn't need, or ever want a sequel. Then a few months pass, The Last of Us Part II is announced. Obviously, I was ecstatic, but also concerned. Trailers came and went, delays happened over and over, and leaks began to drip onto the internet. I was even more concerned with the leaks, and how this game was taking shape, but I remained open minded, and began playing the game.
The Last of Us Part II is a strange beast. An ambitious, exquisite experience, mired by multiple flaws in structure, pacing and plot holes. I simultaneously adored and loathed the twenty five hour experience, and I’m ready to do it all again. Ellie’s thirst for revenge deals with many issues of morality and hate, and the consequences of ones actions. To coin a phrase, “violence begets violence”, and this is very violent. A flawed piece of art, that often shoehorns a political tick list so it can cater to a certain demographic of sexuality and gender. Whatever you think about Part II, it will create a conversation for years to come, for better or worse.
Narrative:
Ellie and Joel are settled in Jackson, Wyoming, living a relatively normal existence. Ellie is nineteen, and has a job, like the rest of the fighters in Jackson, by going out into the world on routes to clear out the wondering infected. When Ellie witnesses a violent event, she takes it into her own hands to take bloody revenge on the people responsible.
A big risk was taken by Naughty Dog to decide what they did for the first two hours, even the VP of the company, Neil Druckmann, said himself the game will be “divisive”, and that is probably an understatement judging by the fan backlash. I feel it worked to support the other twenty three hours, and shows the blurry line of being good and bad in this world.
Unfortunately, the narrative slogs through awful structuring and some dreadful, downright cringe-worthy dialogue. The structure goes back and forth from the present day, to months, and sometimes years previous, and this is all to cement the events that keep the narrative flowing. The flashbacks featuring Joel and Ellie give you brief moments of happiness, followed by devastating revelations. They are the best moments of the game, you can feel the warmth the characters have for each other, and the heartbreaking actions they take. It made me wonder why they simply didn't just create a game with these ideas in mind. Other flashbacks create more problems than they solve, particularly in the latter half of the game. The first half, for all its faults, really treats you to a vicious and bloodthirsty ride through Seattle, and you completely feel the motivation and drive Ellie has to complete the mission she's set out to do. Seattle is huge, and the perfect backdrop for this game.
Sadly, the second half of the game is an absolute mess. The whole experience becomes nothing more than “go to this location, collect something, go back” over and over again. Its a lazy trope that causes so much fatigue in terms of pacing, slowing down any momentum gained by the first half. The second half serves the most important purpose too, and while I did grow to understand the intention it was presenting me, I couldn't help but feel frequently bored of doing fetch quests. To remain as spoiler free as possible, the game is split into two perspectives of Ellie, and an entirely new character. Naughty Dog wants you to understand the perspectives of both sides, but the history thats been created with the original game, you cant help but sympathise with Ellie more. The fact that its half the game away from the main protagonist, and starts you fresh with a new character, with new skill sets and weapons, really feels out of place. This could of worked much better as an episodic entry, rather than just two stories, one after the other. I can understand people who love this way of storytelling, but for me it slows the pacing down.
Gameplay:
Part II is the most beautiful game I’ve ever played. Naughty Dog continue to set the bar extremely high in terms of surroundings and facial animations, and the seamless transitions from cutscene to gameplay made my jaw drop. Each facial movement shows the hurt, the honesty, the devastation the characters carry with them. It almost feels more like a film or tv series than a video game, featuring an excellent performance from Troy Baker, and a career defining show from Ashley Johnson. Unfortunately, some of the new cast members don't have enough time on screen to give a full understanding of their personality or perspective. Some are likeable, relatable even, but some are just annoying, saying some of the strangest, out of place dialogue.
In terms of its gameplay, Part II hasn't really changed anything from its predecessor. It feels the same, whether you enjoyed it first time round or not. I personally am in the middle ground, it works for what it is. The Last of Us has always been a game about surviving by any means necessary. Part II feels like multiple ideas all in one, all conflicting themselves. Let me explain:
The game actively tries to twist the act of killing people to make you seem like its an awful thing to do. This is an interesting idea that has been done many times before in games, but it works in the oddest of ways here. I have completed the game twice now, and found it almost impossible to not kill anyone, yet cutscenes display remorse within the characters after they’ve murdered someone. This conflicts the idea of the whole game, where one moment I'm slicing a persons throat with a knife, the next I do the exact same, but this time I regret that decision. Again, its adding less weight to the story, and actively contradicting everything that happens.
Extra Notes:
The environments of Part II are some of the best in a video game. A sandbox of lush greenery and worn down buildings follows the same formula that Naughty Dog designed in Uncharted: The Lost Legacy, where you can explore a massive space to do what you find the objectives, but also see the sights and collect items. The level design of the entire game is absolutely masterful, but this level astounded me graphically and structurally.
By this point, it probably feels like I utterly hated Part II. I did, and didn’t, and thats the line I'm sticking on. The Last of Us always presented a commentary as to the nature of relationships, love, life and death. At the core was Ellie and Joel, two wayward strangers forced together on a journey across America. Everyone has a reason to love that game, for me its their chemistry and progression. Joel was hardened, standoffish, only to warm to Ellie, and love her by the end. Ellie, the immune girl who's humorous, optimistic and full of life, who ultimately becomes cold, quiet and sceptical of Joel.
Part II presents a different commentary, one of revenge and hate. I firmly believe Part II is weak in most areas, a downgrade in fact compared to its counterpart, but its so beautiful and bleak, with so many incapsulated moments of joy, heartbreak, love, shock. Its uncompromising, relentless and essential for anyone with a PS4. This will be a game I will constantly change my opinion on the more I think about it. As I said at the beginning, I never felt a sequel was necessary, and I firmly believe the story must end here.
(P.S. I must mention that Naughty Dog and Sony have only themselves to blame when it comes to the reception Part II has received during its release and promotional material. Early reviewers were told that they could only go into detail about the first ten or so hours, not mentioning the other fifteen. The other fifteen hours are incredibly important to mention, and they either make or break this game, so not letting reviewers do their job feels disingenuous, and from my point of view shows that they had no faith in their product to be criticised. The promotional material is also hugely misleading. The trailers show a completely different game, and characters are swapped for others in key scenes. That is wrong, and once again, shows your audience you had zero faith in your product based on the actual plot of your game.)
The Last of Us Part II is a strange beast. An ambitious, exquisite experience, mired by multiple flaws in structure, pacing and plot holes. I simultaneously adored and loathed the twenty five hour experience, and I’m ready to do it all again. Ellie’s thirst for revenge deals with many issues of morality and hate, and the consequences of ones actions. To coin a phrase, “violence begets violence”, and this is very violent. A flawed piece of art, that often shoehorns a political tick list so it can cater to a certain demographic of sexuality and gender. Whatever you think about Part II, it will create a conversation for years to come, for better or worse.
Narrative:
Ellie and Joel are settled in Jackson, Wyoming, living a relatively normal existence. Ellie is nineteen, and has a job, like the rest of the fighters in Jackson, by going out into the world on routes to clear out the wondering infected. When Ellie witnesses a violent event, she takes it into her own hands to take bloody revenge on the people responsible.
A big risk was taken by Naughty Dog to decide what they did for the first two hours, even the VP of the company, Neil Druckmann, said himself the game will be “divisive”, and that is probably an understatement judging by the fan backlash. I feel it worked to support the other twenty three hours, and shows the blurry line of being good and bad in this world.
Unfortunately, the narrative slogs through awful structuring and some dreadful, downright cringe-worthy dialogue. The structure goes back and forth from the present day, to months, and sometimes years previous, and this is all to cement the events that keep the narrative flowing. The flashbacks featuring Joel and Ellie give you brief moments of happiness, followed by devastating revelations. They are the best moments of the game, you can feel the warmth the characters have for each other, and the heartbreaking actions they take. It made me wonder why they simply didn't just create a game with these ideas in mind. Other flashbacks create more problems than they solve, particularly in the latter half of the game. The first half, for all its faults, really treats you to a vicious and bloodthirsty ride through Seattle, and you completely feel the motivation and drive Ellie has to complete the mission she's set out to do. Seattle is huge, and the perfect backdrop for this game.
Sadly, the second half of the game is an absolute mess. The whole experience becomes nothing more than “go to this location, collect something, go back” over and over again. Its a lazy trope that causes so much fatigue in terms of pacing, slowing down any momentum gained by the first half. The second half serves the most important purpose too, and while I did grow to understand the intention it was presenting me, I couldn't help but feel frequently bored of doing fetch quests. To remain as spoiler free as possible, the game is split into two perspectives of Ellie, and an entirely new character. Naughty Dog wants you to understand the perspectives of both sides, but the history thats been created with the original game, you cant help but sympathise with Ellie more. The fact that its half the game away from the main protagonist, and starts you fresh with a new character, with new skill sets and weapons, really feels out of place. This could of worked much better as an episodic entry, rather than just two stories, one after the other. I can understand people who love this way of storytelling, but for me it slows the pacing down.
Gameplay:
Part II is the most beautiful game I’ve ever played. Naughty Dog continue to set the bar extremely high in terms of surroundings and facial animations, and the seamless transitions from cutscene to gameplay made my jaw drop. Each facial movement shows the hurt, the honesty, the devastation the characters carry with them. It almost feels more like a film or tv series than a video game, featuring an excellent performance from Troy Baker, and a career defining show from Ashley Johnson. Unfortunately, some of the new cast members don't have enough time on screen to give a full understanding of their personality or perspective. Some are likeable, relatable even, but some are just annoying, saying some of the strangest, out of place dialogue.
In terms of its gameplay, Part II hasn't really changed anything from its predecessor. It feels the same, whether you enjoyed it first time round or not. I personally am in the middle ground, it works for what it is. The Last of Us has always been a game about surviving by any means necessary. Part II feels like multiple ideas all in one, all conflicting themselves. Let me explain:
The game actively tries to twist the act of killing people to make you seem like its an awful thing to do. This is an interesting idea that has been done many times before in games, but it works in the oddest of ways here. I have completed the game twice now, and found it almost impossible to not kill anyone, yet cutscenes display remorse within the characters after they’ve murdered someone. This conflicts the idea of the whole game, where one moment I'm slicing a persons throat with a knife, the next I do the exact same, but this time I regret that decision. Again, its adding less weight to the story, and actively contradicting everything that happens.
Extra Notes:
The environments of Part II are some of the best in a video game. A sandbox of lush greenery and worn down buildings follows the same formula that Naughty Dog designed in Uncharted: The Lost Legacy, where you can explore a massive space to do what you find the objectives, but also see the sights and collect items. The level design of the entire game is absolutely masterful, but this level astounded me graphically and structurally.
By this point, it probably feels like I utterly hated Part II. I did, and didn’t, and thats the line I'm sticking on. The Last of Us always presented a commentary as to the nature of relationships, love, life and death. At the core was Ellie and Joel, two wayward strangers forced together on a journey across America. Everyone has a reason to love that game, for me its their chemistry and progression. Joel was hardened, standoffish, only to warm to Ellie, and love her by the end. Ellie, the immune girl who's humorous, optimistic and full of life, who ultimately becomes cold, quiet and sceptical of Joel.
Part II presents a different commentary, one of revenge and hate. I firmly believe Part II is weak in most areas, a downgrade in fact compared to its counterpart, but its so beautiful and bleak, with so many incapsulated moments of joy, heartbreak, love, shock. Its uncompromising, relentless and essential for anyone with a PS4. This will be a game I will constantly change my opinion on the more I think about it. As I said at the beginning, I never felt a sequel was necessary, and I firmly believe the story must end here.
(P.S. I must mention that Naughty Dog and Sony have only themselves to blame when it comes to the reception Part II has received during its release and promotional material. Early reviewers were told that they could only go into detail about the first ten or so hours, not mentioning the other fifteen. The other fifteen hours are incredibly important to mention, and they either make or break this game, so not letting reviewers do their job feels disingenuous, and from my point of view shows that they had no faith in their product to be criticised. The promotional material is also hugely misleading. The trailers show a completely different game, and characters are swapped for others in key scenes. That is wrong, and once again, shows your audience you had zero faith in your product based on the actual plot of your game.)
Mandy and G.D. Burkhead (26 KP) rated The Grey Bastards in Books
May 20, 2018
Shelf Life – The Grey Bastards Exemplifies Grimdark Fantasy at Its Damn Finest
Contains spoilers, click to show
The Grey Bastards is a fun, foul-mouthed read. If you’re turned off by bad language, steamy sex, or a good plot with plenty of action and twists, then this book isn’t for you. The Grey Bastards falls into the fantasy sub-genre known as grimdark. Where high fantasy has your Tolkien beautiful and noble elves, dwarves, humans, and wizards with epic battles between good and evil, grimdark takes all of that and covers it in shit, pus, and blood. Notice how in high fantasy nobody ever takes a piss or fucks? In grimdark, everyone does.
But don’t be fooled into thinking this book will be any less intelligent, epic, or heartfelt for it. The Grey Bastards is all of that and more. The novel follows Jackal, a half-breed orc living in the Lot Lands, the barren desert wasteland of Hispartha. He is a Grey Bastard, one of many half-orc hoofs, each protecting its own small town in the Lots. Members of a hoof are elite warriors that ride out on their Barbarians—giant warthogs—and slaughter invading bands of orcs.
Hispartha is a vibrant world, with a mix of fantastical species (orcs, half-orcs, elves, humans, halflings, and centaurs) with unique cultures and religions. Hispartha itself takes influences from Reconquista Spain, which is especially noticeable in the nomenclature, geography, and architecture.
The primarily atheistic half-orcs recently won their freedom from slavery at the hands of humans. Humans treat the half-orcs like second-class citizens, but tolerate them because of their strength, using them as a shield from the orcs. The elves are beautiful, reclusive, and probably the most cliché; there is one important elf character, but for the most part, we don’t get a good look into their culture in the first book. The centaurs worship Romanesque deities and go on crazed, Bacchanalian killing sprees during the blood moon.
Besides the half-orcs, the halflings are perhaps the most interesting. I still have a hard time visualizing them, trying to figure out if they are thin, pixie-like creatures or more stocky like dwarves. Their small stature and black skin makes me think of pygmies. They worship a god they expect will reincarnate someday, (view spoiler)
One thing that has always annoyed me about fantasy is that many authors feel that the characters of their world, being pre-industrial and thus “medieval,” must all be white, straight, Christian (or proto-Christian), cisgender males. If a woman appears at all is to act as the damsel, prize, or, if she’s lucky, a mystical enchantress to guide the heroes or provide a maguffin. It has come to the point in which this has become a tired and accepted baseline for fantasy. I don’t necessarily think that these fantasy authors are intentionally trying to be uninclusive, so much as they just seem to forget that other groups of people can exist in fantasy thanks to its fathers, Tolkien and Lewis.
But enough with my rant, the purpose of which is to highlight why I am often drawn to grimdark fantasy: at the very least I know that women, people of color, lgbt people, and other religions will be present, even if they are often victimized. This is because grimdark fantasy honestly depicts the horrors of rape, war, murder, slavery, and racism (or rather, speciesism in most cases) and has heroes and villains that are morally grey.
However, many authors describe these atrocities and then leave it at that, assuming that simply depicting them is enough to make a book mature and meaningful. They often fail to make any sort of statement on evil, and thus can seem to be, at best, blindly accepting it and, at worst, glorifying it (this often happens in the cases of magnificent bastard characters, who are absolute monsters but are so charming you almost respect or like them).
Jonathan French, however, does not fall short of the mark as many authors do, and for two main reasons: humor and humanity.
Let’s start with the humor. This book is hilarious. I mean in the I literally laughed out loud while reading it way. Sure, the jokes are often crass, but I have a dirty mind, so inappropriate humor is my favorite kind. The dialogue is especially top-notch, and the interactions between Jackal and his friends Fetching and Oats feel genuine, full of in-jokes, insults, and sexually-charged humor, all of which are exactly how I interact with my own close friends. And every major character in this book is so damn witty that I’m honestly jealous of them. If I could be quick enough to make even one of their zingers at the right time in a conversation, I would feel proud of myself for the rest of the day.
Humor is necessary to prevent any grimdark fantasy from becoming too over-the-top or depressing. And honestly, humor is needed most when the world is a dark and frightening place. But too much humor could accidentally downplay the point of grimdark: the brutally honest depiction of the atrocities that people are capable of.
And this is where it is important to have an element of humanity. By this I mean that the “good guys” must make some action or statement on those atrocities. Too often I read or watch hardened badass characters with no emotion who can watch a person get tortured and killed without flinching (maybe even do it themselves) and who never stop to question the nature of their society (even as part of their character growth), and I have difficulty finding them at all relatable or even the least bit interesting.
Now, often for this type of character, he or she is dead inside as a coping mechanism and part of their character arc is learning to allow themselves to feel their repressed emotions: heartbreak, anger, fear, etc. This can be done very well (see The Hunger Games for a great example—dystopian scifi and grimdark fantasy have very similar undertones). But most times it just ends up falling flat.
But Jackal already starts out with more personality than most grimdark protagonists. He is a humorous and light-hearted person. Sure, he lives in a desert wasteland, his race is entirely created by rape, he’s treated as a second-class citizen, and his life and the lives of those around him are in constant danger of rape and/or murder by invading orcs or blood-crazed centaurs. But despite all of that, he still has a sense of humor, people he loves, a community, ambitions, moral code, and all of the other things that these protagonists are often lacking.
Don’t get me wrong, he can be an asshole, and he’s often acts rashly before he thinks. But the scene that really stuck with me the most was [when Jackal and the wizard Crafty come across an unconscious elf sex-slave. I was expecting him to say something along the lines of “There’s nothing we can do for her, we have to save ourselves” or “This isn’t any of our business” or “It would be best to just put her out of her mercy.” These are the typical lines that a grimdark protagonist might utter while their companion—accused of being a bleeding heart—frees the slave. But this was not the case. Jackal and Crafty both immediately set out to free the girl and steal her away from her owner, despite the danger to themselves. And when he comes across an entire castle-full of these women, Jackal again sets about freeing them without a moment’s hesitation. (hide spoiler)]
And it’s no surprise that Jackal has a serious problem with rape. As I’ve mentioned before, half-orcs are entirely the product of roving bands of orcs raping human, elven, or even half-orc women. [When Jackal learns that Starling, the elf slave he rescued, is pregnant with a half-orc baby, he is not only furious with the orcs that gang-raped her, but also disturbed by the fact that elven society shuns any of their women who have been raped, and that these victims often end up taking their own lives rather than give birth to an impure half-elf. (hide spoiler)]
Furthermore, Jackal, unlike many people in Hispartha, does not buy into misogyny or sexism. His best friend Fetching is the first female half-orc to have joined a group of riders. Not only does Jackal respect Fetching, he understands the emotional turmoil that she is dealing with being the first female rider and how she overcompensates as a result to earn the respect of the other men.
While there is quite a bit of speciesism (pretty much none of the species get along with one another), the inhabitants of Hispartha come in every skin color and nobody gives a damn. Furthermore, sexuality is primarily treated as each person’s individual preference and nobody else’s business. While characters may make jokes about acting “backy” (gay), these are made in good humor between friends, and nobody gets particularly offended by them. Fetching is herself openly bisexual (though she seems to suppress her heterosexual desires more than her homosexual ones out of that same need to be “one of the boys”), and Oats and Jackal are one of my favorite bromantic pairings.
Grimdark fantasy can often be depressing to read. But Jonathan French does an excellent job of infusing hope into his narrative. The story actually has a happier ending than I was expecting. [I was especially pleased when Jackal chooses Fetching to be the new leader of the hoof (she is voted in unanimously by the other riders). I find it incredibly annoying in books and movies when revolutionaries/usurpers decide to appoint themselves leaders, as the former does not qualify you for the latter. Part of Jackal’s arc is realizing that he is not meant to lead the hoof like he’d once desired. (hide spoiler)]
For the sequel, The True Bastards, I’m hoping to see [if a cure can be found for the thrice-blood child now infected with plague, how Fetching is doing leading the hoof, and what the mysterious Starling is up to (I don’t buy for a second that she’s killed herself). And of course, I fully expect that Jackal is going to have to fulfill his empty promise to the halfling’s resurrected god, Belico.
But don’t be fooled into thinking this book will be any less intelligent, epic, or heartfelt for it. The Grey Bastards is all of that and more. The novel follows Jackal, a half-breed orc living in the Lot Lands, the barren desert wasteland of Hispartha. He is a Grey Bastard, one of many half-orc hoofs, each protecting its own small town in the Lots. Members of a hoof are elite warriors that ride out on their Barbarians—giant warthogs—and slaughter invading bands of orcs.
Hispartha is a vibrant world, with a mix of fantastical species (orcs, half-orcs, elves, humans, halflings, and centaurs) with unique cultures and religions. Hispartha itself takes influences from Reconquista Spain, which is especially noticeable in the nomenclature, geography, and architecture.
The primarily atheistic half-orcs recently won their freedom from slavery at the hands of humans. Humans treat the half-orcs like second-class citizens, but tolerate them because of their strength, using them as a shield from the orcs. The elves are beautiful, reclusive, and probably the most cliché; there is one important elf character, but for the most part, we don’t get a good look into their culture in the first book. The centaurs worship Romanesque deities and go on crazed, Bacchanalian killing sprees during the blood moon.
Besides the half-orcs, the halflings are perhaps the most interesting. I still have a hard time visualizing them, trying to figure out if they are thin, pixie-like creatures or more stocky like dwarves. Their small stature and black skin makes me think of pygmies. They worship a god they expect will reincarnate someday, (view spoiler)
One thing that has always annoyed me about fantasy is that many authors feel that the characters of their world, being pre-industrial and thus “medieval,” must all be white, straight, Christian (or proto-Christian), cisgender males. If a woman appears at all is to act as the damsel, prize, or, if she’s lucky, a mystical enchantress to guide the heroes or provide a maguffin. It has come to the point in which this has become a tired and accepted baseline for fantasy. I don’t necessarily think that these fantasy authors are intentionally trying to be uninclusive, so much as they just seem to forget that other groups of people can exist in fantasy thanks to its fathers, Tolkien and Lewis.
But enough with my rant, the purpose of which is to highlight why I am often drawn to grimdark fantasy: at the very least I know that women, people of color, lgbt people, and other religions will be present, even if they are often victimized. This is because grimdark fantasy honestly depicts the horrors of rape, war, murder, slavery, and racism (or rather, speciesism in most cases) and has heroes and villains that are morally grey.
However, many authors describe these atrocities and then leave it at that, assuming that simply depicting them is enough to make a book mature and meaningful. They often fail to make any sort of statement on evil, and thus can seem to be, at best, blindly accepting it and, at worst, glorifying it (this often happens in the cases of magnificent bastard characters, who are absolute monsters but are so charming you almost respect or like them).
Jonathan French, however, does not fall short of the mark as many authors do, and for two main reasons: humor and humanity.
Let’s start with the humor. This book is hilarious. I mean in the I literally laughed out loud while reading it way. Sure, the jokes are often crass, but I have a dirty mind, so inappropriate humor is my favorite kind. The dialogue is especially top-notch, and the interactions between Jackal and his friends Fetching and Oats feel genuine, full of in-jokes, insults, and sexually-charged humor, all of which are exactly how I interact with my own close friends. And every major character in this book is so damn witty that I’m honestly jealous of them. If I could be quick enough to make even one of their zingers at the right time in a conversation, I would feel proud of myself for the rest of the day.
Humor is necessary to prevent any grimdark fantasy from becoming too over-the-top or depressing. And honestly, humor is needed most when the world is a dark and frightening place. But too much humor could accidentally downplay the point of grimdark: the brutally honest depiction of the atrocities that people are capable of.
And this is where it is important to have an element of humanity. By this I mean that the “good guys” must make some action or statement on those atrocities. Too often I read or watch hardened badass characters with no emotion who can watch a person get tortured and killed without flinching (maybe even do it themselves) and who never stop to question the nature of their society (even as part of their character growth), and I have difficulty finding them at all relatable or even the least bit interesting.
Now, often for this type of character, he or she is dead inside as a coping mechanism and part of their character arc is learning to allow themselves to feel their repressed emotions: heartbreak, anger, fear, etc. This can be done very well (see The Hunger Games for a great example—dystopian scifi and grimdark fantasy have very similar undertones). But most times it just ends up falling flat.
But Jackal already starts out with more personality than most grimdark protagonists. He is a humorous and light-hearted person. Sure, he lives in a desert wasteland, his race is entirely created by rape, he’s treated as a second-class citizen, and his life and the lives of those around him are in constant danger of rape and/or murder by invading orcs or blood-crazed centaurs. But despite all of that, he still has a sense of humor, people he loves, a community, ambitions, moral code, and all of the other things that these protagonists are often lacking.
Don’t get me wrong, he can be an asshole, and he’s often acts rashly before he thinks. But the scene that really stuck with me the most was [when Jackal and the wizard Crafty come across an unconscious elf sex-slave. I was expecting him to say something along the lines of “There’s nothing we can do for her, we have to save ourselves” or “This isn’t any of our business” or “It would be best to just put her out of her mercy.” These are the typical lines that a grimdark protagonist might utter while their companion—accused of being a bleeding heart—frees the slave. But this was not the case. Jackal and Crafty both immediately set out to free the girl and steal her away from her owner, despite the danger to themselves. And when he comes across an entire castle-full of these women, Jackal again sets about freeing them without a moment’s hesitation. (hide spoiler)]
And it’s no surprise that Jackal has a serious problem with rape. As I’ve mentioned before, half-orcs are entirely the product of roving bands of orcs raping human, elven, or even half-orc women. [When Jackal learns that Starling, the elf slave he rescued, is pregnant with a half-orc baby, he is not only furious with the orcs that gang-raped her, but also disturbed by the fact that elven society shuns any of their women who have been raped, and that these victims often end up taking their own lives rather than give birth to an impure half-elf. (hide spoiler)]
Furthermore, Jackal, unlike many people in Hispartha, does not buy into misogyny or sexism. His best friend Fetching is the first female half-orc to have joined a group of riders. Not only does Jackal respect Fetching, he understands the emotional turmoil that she is dealing with being the first female rider and how she overcompensates as a result to earn the respect of the other men.
While there is quite a bit of speciesism (pretty much none of the species get along with one another), the inhabitants of Hispartha come in every skin color and nobody gives a damn. Furthermore, sexuality is primarily treated as each person’s individual preference and nobody else’s business. While characters may make jokes about acting “backy” (gay), these are made in good humor between friends, and nobody gets particularly offended by them. Fetching is herself openly bisexual (though she seems to suppress her heterosexual desires more than her homosexual ones out of that same need to be “one of the boys”), and Oats and Jackal are one of my favorite bromantic pairings.
Grimdark fantasy can often be depressing to read. But Jonathan French does an excellent job of infusing hope into his narrative. The story actually has a happier ending than I was expecting. [I was especially pleased when Jackal chooses Fetching to be the new leader of the hoof (she is voted in unanimously by the other riders). I find it incredibly annoying in books and movies when revolutionaries/usurpers decide to appoint themselves leaders, as the former does not qualify you for the latter. Part of Jackal’s arc is realizing that he is not meant to lead the hoof like he’d once desired. (hide spoiler)]
For the sequel, The True Bastards, I’m hoping to see [if a cure can be found for the thrice-blood child now infected with plague, how Fetching is doing leading the hoof, and what the mysterious Starling is up to (I don’t buy for a second that she’s killed herself). And of course, I fully expect that Jackal is going to have to fulfill his empty promise to the halfling’s resurrected god, Belico.