Wednesday, June 26, 2013
King of the Flies: Volume 1 Hallorave by Mezzo & Pirus
Story by PIRUS
Hallorave, I assume, gets it's name from the opening chapter of pill-popping, Halloween shenanigans. It starts out with a skeleton, a fly and a cat. These are just costumes of course. Sal is the Cat and we get to know more about her as the story progresses. Eric is the fly and sort of the main character. It's somewhat hard to say who the main character is really. Each chapter is from the perspective of a different character and they all sort of walk into each others paths. Well, stumble and covet. This one wants that one and is completely indifferent to the one they are actually with. Such is life I guess? Not my life. I couldn't are less about someone who doesn't show an interest in me. I never understood unrequited love. To me that just screams immature love. Oh what do I know.. wait no, I know lots damn it! I've been in enough different kinds of relationships and I'm very firm on one thing: I don't pine for someone who isn't pining after me. So this whole story, although familiar to others, couldn't be more unfamiliar to me. So... let's move on.
It all starts with the typical 21 year old discontent, but bleeds into the typical middle-life-crisis discontent. Sorta like American Beauty meets Ghost World. Is it no wonder that this book is on the same label as Daniel Clowes' work? What eats me up the most is just how much this story reminds me of Brett Easton Ellis. That's right, you though I only read comics. No no, I consume books from graphic novels to novels. I consume them. I eat them up and then spew out a bunch of jibberish that has little to do with the book and more to do with me and my thoughts. Get use to it, you're still reading aren't you? But in all seriousness, this reeks of Less Than Zero and The Informers. (note the italics, that's me trying to implement my tech writing regime to my blog.. I forget to do it most of the time.)
Brett Easton Ellis is one of my favorite novelists. I can't help but identify with the self-incriminating dissatisfaction of the 90's child. I was born in the early 80's but you get it. Apathy and self-loathing, hating your life, the world and your parents, the pointlessness, it was kind of the idea. That's what this story is about. Except there are a few things that I never got. I've always had a goal, I've always had a purpose, and I've always known what I wanted out of my life. I'm a dreamer and unlike most of the 90's, well... I think Lisa Simpson said it best when she implied that feeding the 90's generation of teens grunge music, was equal to shooting fish in a barrel. Apathy. Well I'm not like that, at least not anymore. The characters in this book, well they have no goals or aspirations, no hope, no cares really... and if they do, it certainly isn't something they think about often. To these characters, existence is a plague but not one they even give a shit enough about to find a cure for. They are lost in the self-medication of the streets. They abuse prescription drugs and chase them with bourbon. They aimlessly move through time trying to solve a riddle about themselves that no one has even bothered asking.
Long-stupid-post-short, I liked it. I really liked it. Especially the ending. WTF?? It was awesome. Didn't see it coming. Now that's what I live for :) A little excitement no?