Review: From Hell by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell

Note: This post originally appeared on my discontinued website maartensity.com. The published date and time has been adjusted to match the original.

No one who has an interest in the history of London can fail to be at once intrigued and disturbed by this masterful work. It is an absorbing narrative with many elements of a meta-narrative to appeal to the intellectually inclined. What intrigued me is the author's awareness of the ultimate futility of trying to determine the truth of the Ripper murders with any final certainty, while at the same time managing to weave such a self-assured story.

The novel suggests that the myth of Jack the Ripper "gave birth" to the twentieth century, or one could say that the spirit of "his" myth can be found in the atrocities of the 20th century. Yet I believe the culture on the ground that surrounded those notorious East End murders is still being investigated with fresh zeal today. I own a copy of Sarah Wise's The Blackest Streets, published just last year, which has as its subject the poorest of the poor living in the Old Nichol towards the end of the 19th century. The "Old Nichol Gang" make an important cameo in From Hell, and in the fear they created by their earlier murders they played an important role in Mary Kelly's decision to initiate blackmail. (Not everyone agrees that a specific gang called the Old Nichol Gang existed, but there is little doubt that a mob was around in the Old Nichol, and gangs of all sorts). Both groups (women in the East End and people living in the Old Nichol) had poverty in common.

The subject of From Hell is sinister and disturbing, no less for the suggestions of conspiracy than for the horrendous murders themselves. However the novel is a reminder that reality is layered, and that the nature of that layered reality is not the solid thing we suppose it to be.

Gedig: My Diep Ontwaakde Hunkering

Note: This post originally appeared on my discontinued website maartensity.com. The published date and time has been adjusted to approximate the original.

Die hitte slaan op uit die teerpad
en die geur van stof en sinkdakke
roer swart sade van herinnering
die hartseer van herinnering
van 'n diep ontwaakde hunkering
want hier al langs Jakaranda takke
wat skuif en skuur oor die bruin sinkdakke
lê 'n diep begrawe hunkering.

Bo die pienk, gevalle Jakaranda blom
op grond grof tot die reën weer kom
hoe snak ek as die blare wink
as baksteen rooi deur die blare blink
beur my hart as die onthou weerklink
soos dreunings ver in die middagson
die donderweer van die reën wat kom
wat heimwee in my hart weer bring.

Daar's 'n huis wat agter heinings staan
'n huis waar grasse ruig opstaan
met skadus teen die baksteenmuur
en'k onthou weer eens was iemand hier
en sy het daar langs die rooi steenmuur
in die son soms vir 'n ruk gestaan
geglimlag en dan in gegaan
en my hele hart herroep haar hier

Want my leefruim het sy weg gebaan
met doel en drif verspoel in eiewaan
en haar sag bruin oë en helder lag
diep wys stem en roesbruin hareprag
het vir ewig eendag stilgeraak
vir ewig sag bruin nimmermeer
en die diep verlange eggo weer
want hartseer bly geduldig wag

Terwyl die hitte styg uit die teerpad op
en die geur van sinkdakke en stof
sag-saggies sweef soos herinnerings
soos die hartseer en herinnering
van my lank begrawe hunkering.
Daar duskant Jakarandatakke
wat skuif en skuur oor die roes sinkdakke
verrys beelde van my hunkering.

Review: The Invention of Hugo Cabret by Brian Selznick

Note: This post originally appeared on my discontinued website maartensity.com. The published date and time has been adjusted to match the original.

Isn't it strange? Sometimes you buy a book, it looks and is easy to read, promises to be entertaining--and yet rests on your shelf for ages. That was the case with The Invention of Hugo Cabret. I acquired the hardcover soon after it came out in 2007, yet only took it from the shelf last night--more out of a restless need to consume reading matter than a particularly focused interest.

And yet it was all finished in one sitting! The story boasts nearly 300 pages of illustrations, a further 120+ of prose, and is very innovative in its whole conception--you realise just how much towards the end, making it well worth the journey.

Its strength lies in the film-like sequences of illustrations to move the reader through the spaces that the characters occupy, adequately supported by passages of prose holding the story's panels together and expanding on the characters and the action. Nevertheless, the choice of subject is integral to the overall message and structural metaphysics of the novel, because the various facets of the book work together to provide its message, much like the different parts of the automaton in the story.

I should admit that I was seldom thrilled while reading it, merely pulled along by the speed of the ride. Yet as a whole it is a strangely compelling story with both educational and entertainment value.

Critics and reviewers (and this isn't a review as such) often judge too soon after reading a story, forgetting that its value is often changed by the way it grows on you (or fails to). I suspect The Invention of Hugo Cabret may have some aptitude in this regard, and I should give it the time it needs to prove itself.