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Bernard Prince

Though it has been getting better in the last decade, there are still huge amount of European comics that have never or only been sporadically been translated into English, even though these series were hugely popular all over the world. A publisher like Cinebook is doing its best to remedy the situation, but it’s still only a drop in the ocean. So I thought I’d spotlight some deserving series here every now and again. First up, Greg and Hermann’s Bernard Prince.

Bernard Prince is one of the classic adventure series from the groovy age of Franco-Belgian comics, created by two mono monikered top cartoonists. Greg was an editor/writer who had worked his way up through the pulp comic magazines to creating several series for the French Pilote, before becoming editor of Tintin in 1966. At the time this was an increasingly old fashioned, somewhat staid magazine overtaken by younger competitors. Greg turned it around by bringing in new artists and writers, creating several new series himself, one of which was Bernard Prince. As his partner he chose Hermann Huppen, a young new artist for whom this would be his breakthrough series.

a sequence from Bernard Prince

Together they would create some thirteen full length adventures, plus several short stories, with the series running from 1966 to 1978, after which Hermann quit the series to work on his own creations. Over the course of the series you could see his artistic talent grow and grow, as he evolved his art away from the somewhat flat, smooth. clear line inspired Tintin house style towards his own much more craggy look.

Only one short story of Bernard Prince has ever been published in English, in the august 1973 issue of a short lived comics zine called Wonderworld. Luckily, one Harry Lee Green has scanned it in and saved it for posterity. It’s as good an introduction to the series as any, even if the main character is slightly more passive than normal. Pay no attention to the translation, which is servicable at best.

La Fournaise des damnés

As you can see Bernard Prince is a traditional three man band strip, with Bernard Prince himself as the rugged hero and straight man, his best friend Barney the elder, fattish comic relief and cabin boy Djinn as the younger sidekick. There were women in the series, but these came and went as the plot demanded. The stories were largely the same: Prince and co would travel somewhere exotic in his yacht the Cormoran, get involved in whatever local difficulties were going on, then win the day through a combination of brain and brawn. Perhaps the best story in the series is “La Fournaise des damnés” (The Scorched Land), which sees Prince having to fight his way through a Canadian forest fire.

What makes Bernard Prince such a good series, head and shoulders above contemporary action-adventure series like Bob Morane or Bruno Brazil is both that Greg is always cleverer and more interesting than he needs to be to tell the story, as well as the evolution of Hermann from just another promising young cartoonist to one of the giants of the European adventure comic. In the end he was too good for the series and he moved on to his own creations. But Bernard Prince is where he got his start and developed his chops and fpr that reason alone it should be translated.

The Cormoran

Slow River — Nicola Griffith

Cover of Slow River


Slow River
Nicola Griffith
343 pages
published in 1995

Everybody knows about the Bechdel test now, don’t they? Introduced in Dykes to Watch out For, it’s a test to see if a given story meets a minimum feminist standard: a) does it have at least two women, who b) talk to each other about c) something else than a man? It’s a good way to think differently about the movies you see or the books you read, to see how common it is for a story to have only male characters, or only a token female character, sometimes as prize for the hero. Having a story with only male characters is normal, having one with all or majority female characters is the outlier, can get you shoved into a women only ghetto like romance or feminist literature.

This is true in science fiction as well as mainstream literature, which made reading Nicola Griffith’s Slow River so interesting. It’s her second novel, also the second of her’s I’ve read and like the first, the cast is almost exlusively female. But where that one was set on a planet where men had died off due to some handwaved plague, this one takes place in near-future English city that for once isn’t London. I’m not sure whether Nicola Griffith made this choice of cast deliberately, or it just happened naturally because of the story she wanted to tell, but it works.

Read more..

Eight months

So last night I came home completely stressed out, you know, with that feeling in the back of your throat as if you’d been screaming all day, heart racing so fast I thought I’d get a heart attack. At first I thought it was just a side effect of having had a busy week at work, what with everybody else on holiday, but it hadn’t been that busy or stressfull. It was only when I looked at the calendar this morning that realised what was really behind it: today it’s been eight months since Sandra died.

It’s funny. In everyday life, at work, I can hide my grief so well I largely forget it myself, but it only takes one small thing to get it back. For some reason the local supermarket has been a reliable trigger: one moment you’re looking at the frozen peas, the other caught in an ineffable melancholy. At home everything reminds me of her of course so that’s no refuge either. But it doesn’t really matter where I am; Sandra is inside of me and her memory comes back at any unguarded moment. This is not necessarily a sad thing, but the grief is still stronger than the joy of the memory.

What’s still haunting me is the anxiety of the last two years, the constant worry about whether the worst will happen and how. Now that the worst has happened, the anxiety is still there, only slowly disappearing, like land rebounding after an ice age.

So what I notice is that I still haven’t gotten some of my sharpness, my drive back, still am wondering what to do with the rest of my life now that she is gone. Which sounds like something out of a romantic, sombre pop ballad, but in real life isn’t very good to find yourself in.

Workers playtime



I’ve been mostly alone at work this week, as most of my cow-orkers are on holiday. To fill up the space I’d normally listen to Radio 4 or 6music, but they’re flakey on my work connection. Youtube to the rescue, as with the removal of the fifteen minute time limit on uploaded videos, it’s now possible to put up entire rock concerts. So’ I’ve been listening to Bruuuce a lot lately, as well as Iron Maiden.