Writer/Artist: Chester Brown
Company: Drawn & Quarterly

Canadian frontier history. Not what you’d expect to inspire some of the best comics of the last few years, but there’re at least two bookend works I count among my favorites. First is Northwest Passage, a two-fisted actioneer from Oni that uses history as its launching point, then filters it through the same lens of myth we Americans view our “Old West.” Notably more grounded in history, Chester Brown’s Louis Riel recounts the revolutionary doings of a charismatic 19th century Canadian of Métis (mixed Indian and white) ancestry. Bold but flawed, and even possessed of delusions of religious grandeur in his later years, Riel is an ideal historical figure for biographical treatment.

Before we get into the story, though, take a moment to click on the thumbnailed scans in this review to get a feel for Chester Brown’s art. Those familiar with his work won’t be surprised, but many might find it a surprisingly “cartoony” approach to a serious story of land rights, government oppression, and violent uprising. Brown’s stated inspiration is specific: the cartooning of Harold Gray, made famous in the 1920s and 30s in the comic strip Little Orphan Annie. Gray’s style used simply cartooned characters, but cast them into a world dense with shadows and crosshatching - a surprisingly somber reflection of Depression-era grit. So too, Louis Riel, which follows troubled times for the French/Indian settlers of the territory that would become modern-day Manitoba. Brown, like his comic strip inspirations, keeps exclusively to medium shots of his characters. That’s almost unheard of in modern, cinema-influenced comics, but it gives the story its documentary-like feel. It invites the viewer to consider the factual truth of a scene from a distance, not get caught up in emotionalism and melodrama.

Oh, and aesthetically it just looks damn great. There’s an inherent appeal to these character designs, with their bulky bodies, big noses and giant hands. Beautiful landscapes, too. Alternately spare and heavily crosshatched, they draw you into their own stylized world of the tough, icy Canadian wilderness. And with a story running 240 pages in length (plus the largest addendum of footnotes since Alan Moore’s From Hell), Louis Riel will draw you into its world.

Which isn’t to say it’s always an easy read. Brown’s distinct character designs and matter-of-fact staging definitely lighten the burden, but this is still a complex tale. At its heart: a Métis settlement 12,000 strong, considered “half-breeds” by Canada, England and anyone else with a stake in keeping the locales from determining their own representation in this fertile land. Into this volatile situation, the well-educated and bilingual Riel rises to the fore to speak for the settlement. Brown meticulously chronicles the many small incidents that make violent conflict inevitable, giving the reader a real sense of how such events arise. Bribery, bureaucratic stalling, even the unlikelihood of two guns jamming simultaneously, make for a precarious exchanges. Eventually, though, blood is spilled - always surprisingly shocking given the book’s cartoony visuals and seemingly indifferent staging.

I’m happy to report that amidst all these weighty matters, Louis Riel’s straightforward storytelling intentionally or not gives rise to some amusing moments. Characters under pressure will opt for one decision, then, pressured by the other side, suddenly give in with a simple “okay.” It’s almost like the mob mentality gags that crop up on The Simpsons. And you get used to the fact the scenes are structured with simplicity and forthrightness, cutting immediately to the next relevant scene the instant they’re done, when…all of a sudden…there’s Riel in the midst of a magical fire! Soaring through the heavens in the vision that inspires his disastrous religious zealotry! What’s funny: this scene – utterly life-changing for Riel – occurs over the space of a mere six panels. Six panels of divine intervention, then boom! Done! Next scene! It almost cries out for more introspection, but you have to smile at Brown’s uncompromising aversion to melodrama.

The net result is a very human picture of a series of rebellions between 1869 and 1885, warts and all. There are a few touches of conspiracy theory with big business getting behind crushing Riel’s uprising, but Brown spells out such speculation in his footnotes and, honestly, makes for a pretty convincing case. As an aside, I love that all the text, footnotes included, is hand-lettered. There’s a total lack of calligraphic flourish, as befits the documentary tone.

As to the visuals as a whole – honestly, the best I’ve seen all year. Wholly distinct from the glossy sheen of most comics, Louis Riel has a decidedly old-fashioned look. From its unusual size (closer to a prose trade paperback) to the heavy stock of its paper (love that art store smell) to the pickle-juice tint of the pages (roll with it), it’s simply a strange and beautiful object to own and immerse oneself in.

In fact, I like most everything about this book. Unabashedly recommended to fans of pure cartooning, to those interested in historical yarns, and anyone who wants to see the medium stretch.