Witchcraft
Fri., Oct. 25, 1996
Teddy Kristiansen
DC Comics, $14.95 paper
Many are the crimes perpetrated against witches and women through the ages, and in this graphic novel (originally published as a three-part comic series), writer James Robinson seeks to address about half of them. Beginning with a Pictish pirate band's savage assault on a coven in Roman-era London, Robinson creates the catalyst for a tale of revenge across the centuries. As she is being raped by the pirate chief, the priestess of the coven, Ursula, calls on Hecate, goddess-queen of witches, to help her obtain vengeance, in a future life if not the present one. Her plea is heard by a trio of enchantresses -- the trinity who represent Hecate in her three incarnations: maiden, mother, and crone -- who agree to avenge the crime whenever Ursula and her attacker are reincarnated together in London. What follows are three episodes in which the souls of these antagonists are brought close enough for retribution to be possible.
Given the way Robinson has structured the book, with each episode corresponding to an incarnation of Hecate, we know that Ursula must endure at least two lives before vengeance is hers. But suspense seems not to be Robinson's chief concern. Rather, he seems most intent on creating vivid images of repression and hatred over two millennia -- of witches most specifically, but in a broader sense all women and in the broadest sense, anything that is "Other." That he does with vigor, fashioning a kind of horror that has nothing to do with the supernatural, but with man's -- and I mean precisely that -- awful predilection for ignorance, prejudice, and violence. In a medieval groom's assurance to his bride that "it'll only hurt a little"; in a gypsy's comment that the "locals fear us"; in a rapist's words to his male victim that "it takes more than sword and a sneer to be a wild man"; in a modern husband's remark to his wife that, "if you worried about me more, worried about the home being right, I think we'd both be happier, don't you?", Robinson depicts something more frightening than malevolent spells and spirits. And that feeds in us a page-turning fury because we feel so keenly the need for justice.
Adding to the book's effectiveness is the distinctly different feel each era gets. Here, Robinson is aided immensely by his artistic collaborators. Teddy Kristiansen's second century is dark, scratchy, and angular, a world of primitive brutishness, and Peter Snejbjerg's 14th century is more rounded and developed but still frequently subsumed in shadow. The 19th century of Michael Zulli is lush and romantic, a time of high fashion and the influence of exotic cultures, while Steve Yeowell's 20th century comes off as antiseptic and Formica-clean. (While he only contributes the book cover and frontispiece, Michael Kaluta adds a fascinating baroque portrait of Hecate's sorceress sisters.) They help us leap visually across the centuries, and each adds his own satisfying fillip to the menace and mystery within these covers.
It is a bit curious that this story of female persecution and retaliation has been formed wholly by male hands, but given the nature of the tale, it may be that these men are endeavoring to make amends for their gender's crimes through their efforts here. Whatever their motivation, these artists have concocted a juicy revenge fantasy well suited to Halloween -- or any season, really. -- Robert Faires