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Comic Conversion

Comic Conversion: The City of Ember

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The City of Ember | Novel: Jeanne DuPrau / Yearling | Graphic Novel: Dallas Middaugh & Niklas Asker / Random House Children’s Books

The City of Ember CoverOver 200 years ago, the City of Ember was created by the Builders, and now the citizens exist in a perpetual darkness only broken by the electric lights in their homes and lining the streets. But the lights keep going out, and the city’s power source, an ancient generator that no one understands, is constantly failing. Twelve-year-old Doon is determined to find the solution and save the city, but keeps hitting dead ends until his friend Lina finds a strange paper inside a lock box. Thanks to her baby sister, the words—written with the strange, typed script of the Builders—are only half-legible, but she can make out one: Instructions. Certain these are instructions for an exit, Lina and Doon set to deciphering the words so they can follow the directions out of Ember. But with everyone so certain that there is no escape, they find more resistance than they bargained for.

Released in 2003, Jeanne DuPrau’s The City of Ember gave us a teen dystopian novel before The Hunger Games was even a thing. There have since been three sequels and a 2008 movie adaptation, but it wasn’t until September, 2012 that Random House published a graphic novel adaptation. Adapted by Dallas Middaugh and illustrated by Niklas Asker, the comic takes DuPrau’s deeply shadowed world and attempts to bring it to life.

The City of Ember has an immediately interesting premise: two children in a city with perpetually depleting supplies who together find a way to save their people. The characters don’t know why they are there, and they don’t even know why it is always so dark (though readers will probably make their own accurate guess about that). The characters are also much more layered than expected. Doon wants to figure out the answer and save everyone, but it’s partly because he wants the glory of being Ember’s hero so his father, a kind man, can be proud of him. He’s also plagued with a volatile temper that often hinders him. Lina has fewer of these problems—too busy taking care of her sister, a toddler, and her ill grandmother. But she is sometimes overcome with desires—the best job, a pack of colored pencils (rare), a can of pineapple (rarer)—that she momentarily loses sight of important things, like Doon’s concern or her sister. These all add up to make Doon and Lina more sympathetic, as we see pieces of ourselves in them, and even increase our anxiety and investment, as we see how they’ve gotten in their own way before they even realize.

The big problem I had with the novel was the pacing. While the opening gets us right into the story with the choosing of jobs and Doon’s concern over the power and food supply, it’s mostly a slow buildup of information until about a third of the way through the book, when Lina finally finds the Instructions. And after that things move slowly as Lina struggles over each word and tries to get others to help her, like the mayor or her flighty friend Lizzie, who obviously don’t care about her discovery. Things do pick up once Doon gets involved and they start to solve the puzzle. Also, the anxiety does build up at the end as we see how Doon and Lina messed up in their decision to wait on revealing their discovery, and find themselves on the run.

The City of Ember GNAsker did a decent job portraying the darkness of this world in the graphic novel, even filling the gutters with black, and his detailed sketchings of rooms and buildings display the drabness of everything: the cluttered rooms, and clothing and items drained of color from their multiple uses. Asker also understands the importance of silence as he draws out moments like Doon’s exploration of the Pipeworks, and seems to know that narration is entirely unnecessary if his art and panel order are clear, such as when Lina discovers her grandmother has died in the darkness of night.

Dallas Middaugh must have noticed similar issues with the pacing when he adapted the story. Very quickly we see that he cut things out to keep the story from coming too much to a pause, like Lina’s friend Clary (whose important actions are performed by Mrs. Murdo) and even Lina’s failed attempts to show the Instructions to people other than Doon. Trimming the plot helps the pace of the story, but it also alters the emotional effect many of the novel’s scenes had. One big example, which seems very small, is when Lina goes to buy colored pencils from the shop. First, because we missed the prior scene of her aching to just go look at them, we don’t get Lina’s experience of coveting something that others don’t have, which becomes important when Lizzie and then the mayor are discovered to be hoarding rare food. This also diminishes our perception of Lina’s guilt when she loses her sister, Poppy, because she’s too busy debating on whether or not to buy the pencils. So while Asker does an excellent job of showing us a stricken Lina as she watches Poppy sleep later that night, we don’t have as clear of a sense that this is her fear combining with her own extreme guilt.

Jeanne DuPrau’s original novel has a fascinating premise that is riddled with anxiety from the first pages. Its slow trek towards the point keeps it from being as immediately exciting as something like The Hunger Games, but DuPrau starts to make up for this in the faster-paced climax. Middaugh and Asker’s adaptation moves the plot along more quickly and manages to convey enough background information through invented dialogue. But certain things are lost—Lina’s guilt, Doon’s temper, and the panic of other citizens that causes some to run out into the the darkness in hope of finding light—that diminish the characters, flatten them, and turn them into people we’re just not quite that invested in. So while The City of Ember graphic novel effectively gets the story across, it just doesn’t have enough feeling to put it on par with the novel.

Comic Conversion: Nursery Rhyme Comics

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Nursery Rhyme Comics | Edited By Chris Duffy | Published by First Second

Nursery Rhyme ComicsMost people gain some familiarity with nursery rhymes as children, reciting “Humpty Dumpty” in school or picking out favorites from a big collection. This introduction usually comes through a Mother Goose story book, but that fictional old lady (or goose in a bonnet, depending on what book you have) isn’t with whom these rhymes originated.

While a lot of rhymes can be traced back to a certain time and place, many came to be the same way as folklore and fairy tales—passed down over the centuries with no precise origin or even meaning. Because of that, not only has some of the wording of the rhymes changed over time, but any version can be treated with varying interpretations and imagery. Despite their age, these sing-songy, fun, sometimes weird rhymes continue to resonate with children, so it makes perfect sense for publisher First Second to reinterpret the stories through one of the more popular mediums today—comic books—in their collection Nursery Rhyme Comics.

Altogether there are 50 rhymes presented in this book, each one drawn by a different artist. In my experience, such a wide variety of creators almost inevitably leads to just as much variety in quality. Somehow, this is not the case. Instead, First Second has gathered 50 amazingly talented artists who, despite their differences in design and technique, make each page a treat.

Thanks to the brevity of the rhymes, the comics take up no more than three pages each, so very little time is spent with any single artist. These sudden shifts do create a little bit of abruptness as you move from short rhyme to short rhyme. Fortunately, editor Chris Duffy managed to arrange the comics in a sort of arc, beginning with “The Donkey” playing a saxophone “to wake the world this sleepy morn,” moving into more active comics, and then slowing down towards the conclusion of “Wee Willie Winkie” as the story’s children fall asleep with their own copy of Nursery Rhyme Comics.

The DonkeyWith so many great artists on board, it would have been a shame to have them all adhere to a certain theme or mood, and it seems that First Second wisely allowed their artists to interpret the rhymes in any way they wanted. Style and mood range from things like the calm watercolors of Patrick McDonnell’s “The Donkey” to Reina Telgemeier’s bright cartoons. But the artists also give us their own takes on the rhymes themselves. Telgemeier’s “Georgie Porgie,” for instance, is a kid at his birthday party getting pie all over the girls he kisses. And in Andrew Arnold’s version of “Hot Cross Buns,” a pigeon steals cakes from a pair of bratty kids.

Artists interpreting some of the more nonsensical rhymes, like the weird non sequitor at the end of “I Had a Little Nut Tree,” have fun with stories that just don’t make much sense anymore. Then there’s “Hush Little Baby”—a song with pretty general action—transformed by its artist into an active conversation between a father and his daughter, making excellent use of word bubbles and creative panels.

Some of the artists did choose to take more traditional or literal views of the rhymes, like in Richard Sala’s version of “Three Blind Mice”, and while these are still well done, they aren’t quite as memorable as some of the other selections. But even some of the more literal takes do an excellent job evoking emotion, like the blow-by-blow account of the very short rhyme “The North Wind Doth Blow,” in which we see a robin tumble through the air before finally coming to a rest, or the pure romance of Edward Lear and Craig Thompson’s “The Owl and the Pussy-cat.”

One thing Nursery Rhyme Comics proves by the end is how effectively nursery rhymes can converted into comics. These sing-songy stories have no narration that the artist must carve out, and no descriptive prose that they must decide whether to write or visualize. Instead, these are stories so simple that the artists may come at them with all their creative talent.

This collection serves as a pretty great introduction to nursery rhymes for kids, covering all the bases, from weird and funny to calm and peaceful rhymes. This book can also be used as a sly way to introduce comics into the life of a kid you know—offering up so many styles and tones that any kid is sure to find a graphic novel niche to enjoy. Dialogue and narration are spaced out nicely, preventing the pages from becoming overly cluttered with words, which makes this an easy book to read out loud with a child, but also fun for an older kid (or an adult) to read by him/herself.

Thanks to the artists First Second gathered together, this was a thoroughly enjoyable book. And whether or not you’re already acquainted with the rhymes included, it’s so much fun to see how the artists chose to adapt them.

Comic Conversion: The Infernal Devices: Clockwork Angel

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The Infernal Devices: Clockwork Angel | Novel: Cassandra Clare / Margaret K. McElderry Books | Manga: Hyekyung Baek / Yen Press

Tessa Gray arrives in England to live with her brother, but instead of Nathaniel she finds herself kidnapped. A pair of warlocks keep her locked in a house, forcing her to utilize a power she didn’t know she had—the ability to change into anyone, living or dead, and access their memories simply by holding an object they possessed. Suddenly Tessa is rescued by Will Herondale, a beautiful and dangerous boy who claims to be a Shadowhunter—warriors blessed with angelic power who exist to rid the world of demons. The rest of the Shadowhunters, like the diminutive Charlotte and the kind but sickly Jem, agree to protect Tessa from the mysterious Magister who had her kidnapped, and to help her find her lost brother. But as Tessa, Will, and Jem strive to figure out what is happening, Tessa may uncover some terrible truths.

Cassandra Clare’s first series, The Mortal Instruments, tells the story of Clary and Jace, a pair of superbly star-crossed lovers, which takes place in the present day. When the first three of this soon-to-be six book series was completed, Clare began work on a prequel that takes place over a hundred years before Clary and Jace’s adventures, The Infernal Devices. It’s not necessary to read both series together, but The Infernal Devices does provide some background for the other The Mortal Instruments, giving us a look not only at the ancestors of some of our favorite characters from the first set of books, but also a peek into the earlier lives of some of the immortals that make an appearance in both books. Since I often find myself more delighted with the side characters (in this case, a couple of immortals) than the main pair in The Mortal Instruments, this is a series I couldn’t help but pick up. Yen Press’s release of the manga adaptation was the perfect excuse to give this series a go.

While this novel, and presumably the rest of the trilogy, can stand on its own, there are some times when Clare seems to take for granted that her readers are already familiar with The Mortal Instruments series, as she doesn’t go quite so deeply into the details about Shadowhunters and their history, or spend so much time explaining the problems with Downworlders. The big things are easy to pick up on, though, like the harshness of their lives (most don’t grow very old, as they die in battle, and if they decide to leave they lose all contact with the ones they loved) and the Accords, a deal set with creatures like vampires and werewolves to help keep the peace.

A problem I’ve had with Clare’s writing in the past is the abundance of dead details—in particular, descriptions that have absolutely no bearing on the story. Most things such as dresses and rooms I can let slide, as Clare uses these descriptions to fix her readers in the time period. Other things, however, are entirely useless, like her constant referral to Will’s blue eyes. Bits like this waste time, slowing down the pace of the novel while also leaving little for the reader to imagine herself. Another thing that tends to clunk up the story is the tendency for conversations to veer off course, like when Tessa begins to ask Will to leave her brother alone, then suddenly rants (for pages) about Will’s personality and how he should be looking for Jem’s cure. These conversations just turn into characters saying things the readers already know or that are inconsequential to the story, unnecessarily dragging out the time between plot points.

Even with my gripes, Clockwork Angel is an entertaining young adult book, particularly if you’re already a fan of Clare’s other series. Her story is engaging, with sudden twists and betrayals, which are still exciting even if you can see them coming for ages. The cast is diverse (if predictable), with both the “good” and “bad” boy romantic interests, but even the most seemingly flat characters, like Jessamine, have hidden depths that, even if they don’t reveal themselves completely in this novel, leave the readers to believe that we’ll come to understand these characters as the series progresses.

Now, for the manga. Hyekyung Baek’s adaptation does a good job of keeping us close to Tessa, convincingly converting the narration to her inner thoughts and giving us a shot of her dynamic expressions even in the middle of the excitement. Compared to the novel, the comic’s plot really clips along, with Baek skipping some unneeded scenes and cutting down the rambling conversations. But unfortunately, more often than not this swift pace works against the manga. Characters are moved like props from one place to the next so it’s hard to keep track of their movements, such as in one scene in which Tessa and company shift from the library to an upstairs room seemingly instantaneously. And while I feel readers get a clear understanding of Tessa and her character arc, the too-quick pace is damaging to the development of the other characters: we never get a clear picture of Charlotte’s trouble and insecurities with running the institute, and even snotty, selfish Jessamine comes across more sympathetic in the novel.

I enjoyed Baek’s art in the Gossip Girl adaptation, but while her style worked wonders in that glamorous, sexy world, it doesn’t quite click for me in Infernal Devices. Don’t get me wrong, Baek’s character designs are gorgeous, but I feel her style often makes the teenage characters look too old, and backgrounds are bland and boring, even when she includes detail. Baek also seems to go for prettiness over what was actually described in the novel, most notably when it comes to the maid Sophie’s face. When we first meet Sophie, Clare describes her scar: “a thick, silvery ridged scar slashed from the left corner of her mouth to her temple, pulling her face sideways and distorting her features into a twisted mask.” Baek draws the scar merely as a long scratch on the cheek, which could be taken as a stray strand of hair if Tessa didn’t mention it. One thing Baek’s art definitely improved upon were the goofy asides. Bits that came across as a bit awkward in the novel worked more easily in the comic, as exaggerated expressions and super-deformed characters gave the jokes more punch.

Many of my issues with Clare’s prose are stylistic, and while I wasn’t as invested in this novel as I have been in her other series, the problems I had still did not get in the way of my overall enjoyment of the book. The manga adaptation has its good points, but overall it left me feeling frustrated. While Clare’s novel may meander, the manga’s swift pace just barrels through the plot and skims over characterization. Baek’s adaptation is something fans will likely enjoy, but those looking to get a proper introduction to Clare’s universe are better off going with the novel.

Comic Conversion: A Wrinkle in Time

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A Wrinkle in Time | Novel: Madeleine L’Engle / Laurel Leaf | Graphic Novel: Hope Larson / Farrar Strraus Giroux

Meg Murry is the intelligent daughter of two world-renowned scientists, but her world is still falling apart. Unable to cope in school, she’s failing her grade and getting in fights with teachers; meanwhile her four-year-old brother Charles Wallace, the smartest, kindest person in her life, refuses to talk to those outside his family, leaving the whole town thinking he’s a simpleton. Everything would be better with her father around, but Mr. Murry has been missing for years, ever since he went to Washington to work on a top secret project. Then, a mysterious old woman named Mrs. Whatsit appears at their house on a dark and stormy night. She and her friends, Mrs. Who and Mrs. Which, take Meg, Charles, and their friend Calvin on a quest through space and time to save their father and fight a battle against the darkness that threatens to consume the universe.

First published in 1962, A Wrinkle in Time has won a number of awards, including the Newbery medal for children’s literature. Despite that, Madeleine L’Engle had quite a struggle getting it published, being rejected almost 30 times because the story was “too different.” Now, her science fiction novel has been continuously in print for 50 years and continues to make showings on lists of top books for children. In 2010 publishing house Farrar, Strause and Giroux — the original publishers of A Wrinkle in Time — decided to create a graphic novel version of the now classic book, signing on artist Hope Larson to bring the beloved story to life.

I’ve been a long-time fan of Madeleine L’Engle, and though my awe of her really began with A Ring of Endless Light (to this day one of my favorite books) A Wrinkle in Time and all of its companion novels hold their own special place. It’s difficult to think of a contemporary novel, children’s or adult, that you can compare this to. Very basically it is the usual story of good versus evil — the light against the dark — but her characters aren’t as simple as that. Charles Wallace is empathic and smarter than most humans can imagine, but he’s also arrogant, while Meg, the ultimate hero of the story, is emotional, angry, and easily affected by the evil creature IT. When talking about Earth, which is shadowed by a darkness that has taken over many other worlds, their friend Calvin admits, “We make some awful bloopers there.” But, he points out, humankind is fighting the shadow, trying to be better than they have been. That is what A Wrinkle in Time is about, perhaps more than good vs. evil; it’s about knowing and accepting your own faults, and striving to be better than you may have been before.

Right away in the graphic novel we see the famous opening words scrawling across the page: “It was a dark and stormy night.” From that point on, Hope Larson remains faithful to the original book. She did still make the decision to edit down some parts, such as when Meg is momentarily left alone in the darkness after she rescues her father from his prison. These were things that worked very well in the context of the book, increasing the apprehension and Meg’s fear. In the graphic novel, however, this would have resulted in repetitive images and slowed down the pace.

Though L’Engle’s original novel is written in the third person, the story is told entirely from Meg’s point of view. Obviously aware of this, Larson used some effective techniques to keep it that way. Rather than copy-and-pasting narrative passages from the novel, Larson reworded portions so they were Meg’s first-person thoughts, keeping us close to Meg. Larson also does something interesting with her art while Meg is paralyzed — there is none. For five and a half pages there are is nothing but small black squares as Meg struggles to move and listens in on her father and Calvin’s conversation. By keeping the panels small, Larson maintains the steady pace while also creating the feeling of movement more effectively than one black page full of text would have done.

Larson made the interesting choice to color the entire graphic novel in shades of blue. While I would have loved to see the story in full color, the soft monotone grants the images an ethereal quality that fits with the novel’s tone. The character designs, for the most part, were what I’ve been imagining for years: Meg is scruffy and grumpy, and Larson remembered to keep a bruise on her cheek throughout, while Calvin is lanky and adorable. The only one that didn’t quite reconcile with the image I’d had in my head is Charles Wallace. Larson’s attempts to have Charles look far too intelligent and wise for his years made him look a bit strange to my eyes. This works much better later on when Charles is being controlled by IT, but Larson’s design makes him appear a bit creepy long before that’s supposed to be the case.

Really, any problems I have with the graphic novel are just nitpicking. Any changes Larson made were minimal and effective in maintaining the flow and tone of L’Engle’s novel. The biggest issue I had was with some of the character designs, but that’s ultimately a matter of preference rather than quality. Larson’s love and respect for A Wrinkle in Time is apparent in every page, and I couldn’t have ever possibly hoped to experience a more satisfying adaptation of L’Engle’s work. I would always want to urge kids to read L’Engle’s book, it would not be disappointing in the least to see them reading this graphic novel instead.

Comic Conversion: Cirque Du Freak

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Cirque Du Freak | Novel: Darren Shan / Little, Brown and Company | Manga: Takahiro Arai / Yen Press

When Darren Shan and his best friend Steve find a flyer for Cirque Du Freak (a circus of freaks) they just have to go. A wolf-man, a snake-boy—what boy wouldn’t love it? But when Mr. Crepsley and his spider, Madame Octa, come on stage, both boys are overcome with desire—Darren, to own the spider, and Steve, to become a vampire! Darren manages to get his hands on the spider, but his control slips and the deadly bug bites his friend. Mr. Crepsley is the only one with an antidote, and he will only hand it over on one condition: Darren must become his assistant.

According to his website, Cirque Du Freak‘s author (confusingly also named Darren Shan) was inspired to write his vampire novels by the combined inspiration of Goosebumps, with its easy-to-read format, and the dark horror of Stephen King novels. Later, manga artist Takahiro Arai was awarded the opportunity to recreate Shan’s story in manga form after winning a contest. Even though the manga adaptation was originally published in Shonen Sunday, thanks to Yen Press’s ties with Little, Brown and Company (the original novels’ publisher) they were able to print the manga in English.

I love creepy stories. I ate up the Goosebumps series as a kid, cringing and wincing at every page and then scrambling for the next book. I’d been eying the Cirque Du Freak novels precisely because of the promise for creepiness, but unfortunately I found myself disappointed. Despite the generally excited tone of the narrator, the descriptions often read with too little emotion to invoke fear or horror, even when a woman’s hand is bitten clean off by a wolf-man. Shan also manages to ruin his tension simply by reminding us of it too much. In the prologue, his narrator reiterates the point that this is a “true story” where bad things can happen—a common enough tactic that beefs up the tension. But then, Shan keeps doing it: “Little did I know that Alan’s mysterious piece of paper was to change my life forever. For the worse!” “If only I hadn’t been so scared of looking like a coward! I could have left and everything would have been fine.” It quickly becomes repetitive, and makes it feel like Shan is trying to force anxiety on the readers.

Despite my dissatisfaction with the creepy tone, the story is still pretty compelling. A boy becomes a vampire not because he wants to or is forced to, but because that’s the price he pays to save a friend from the mistake he made. There are quite a few times where the novel drags. Shan apparently feels compelled to describe all of Darren’s actions—even unimportant ones like the chores he did while waiting to go to the circus—and the chapters set aside to describe all of the freaks take ages. The plot itself is engrossing enough to still qualify the book as a page turner, but it’s tough to ignore all the awkward bits.

Takahiro Arai’s manga adaptation is definitely creepier. This is thanks in large part to the art; particularly with the freaks, the character designs at times take on a surreal, over-exaggerated feel, and his backgrounds of oversized crescent moons and propped up coffins look like scenes out of Soul Eater. Sometimes Arai takes it a little too far with Steve. His wide eyes and sharp-toothed grins are too quick to give away that there’s something messed up about this kid, but even so he feels like more of a threat than he did in the novel. Darren does look much younger than I imagined him (though to be fair, the book never specifies his age), and unfortunately the designs for the side characters are either weak or generic-looking, like the “cute girl” assistants in the freak show.

The manga takes a couple of liberties with the story in both minor and major ways. In the manga, Darren and his friends play soccer for money rather than fun (as they do in the novel), but this streamlines their path between getting cash and buying the tickets. Arai also changes some of Mr. Crepsley’s actions. First, he gives the flyer directly to Darren (rather than someone handing a flyer to a friend’s brother), again streamlining the plot while also making it seem more deliberate than coincidental that Darren was there that night. Then Mr. Crepsley shows up immediately to take back Madam Octa after Steve is bitten—meaning that Darren’s little sister sees him. Having not read the rest of the series, I don’t know if Darren’s family ever makes it back into the narrative, so this could either be foreshadowing that Annie will eventually figure out what happened…or an unfulfilled expectation for the reader.

The sometimes emotionless writing of the book really kills the creepiness that Shan obviously wants to build, and while the pacing is quick there’s a good deal of unnecessary action that still manages to gunk the story up. Arai’s adaptation fixes a lot of these problems, rooting out unnecessary tidbits and making the story just a little scarier. But I think what I like the most about the manga version is that if I had had no awareness of the original book, I probably wouldn’t have been able to pick this out as an adaptation. The manga flows well on its own, and the straight-from-the-text narration is kept at an astonishingly low level. And even though the novel has the strange feeling of being more of a “part one” than its own stand-alone story, the full volume of set up works well in the manga format. The Cirque Du Freak manga has its own issues, but it’s still the better choice.

Comic Conversion: The Baby-Sitters Club

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The Baby-Sitters Club: Kristy’s Great Idea | Novel: Ann M. Martin / Scholastic | Graphic Novel: Raina Telgemeier / Graphix

Kristy Thomas has a great idea — she and her friends can work together to give beleaguered a one-stop-shop for baby sitters. That’s how the Baby-Sitters Club is formed, with Mary-Anne, Claudia, and the new girl, Stacey. A few problems pop up—prank calls, crazy kids, and accidental dog-sitting among them—but the club can work through it all. Stacey has a secret, and Kristy’s dying to know what it is. But when she pushes her new friend too hard, she risks losing the club when it’s barely even started.

Kristy’s Great Idea, the very first book in The Baby-Sitter’s Club, was originally published in 1986. Since then there have been 131 novels (and that’s not including any of the spin-off series!), though original author Ann M. Martin only wrote the first 35 herself. In 2006, five years after the conclusion of the novel series, Scholastic’s imprint Graphix released a graphic novel adaptation by Eisner Award winner Raina Telgemeier. The books themselves went out of print in 2009, but recently, Scholastic began rereleasing the first several books for a new generation of fans.

Confession time—I was a HUGE Baby-Sitters Club fan. I owned half the novels, and continued getting the other half out of the library until I realized I was older than the characters I was reading about. I picked up the first Baby-Sitters Club book again with some trepidation. At the very least, it’s been 13 years since I last read a BSC novel, and as it tends to go with many things I loved as a child, I worried the book wouldn’t stand up today. I was wrong. Martin tells the story in simple but interesting prose, easily keeping her readers engrossed. And it’s funnier than I remembered, like when one child insists her cat, Boo-boo, has been bewitched by the creepy neighbor when the animal begins to freak out and streak across the yard. Now over 25 years old, the book has some quirks that date it in the 80’s (handwritten essays, overalls as a fashion statement), but much of the novel focuses on the girls and their relationships with both family and friends—universal problems with any preteen reader—so that the story still feels current and relatable. And although each of the characters has a particular role that she fills—the tomboy, the popular girl—within 150 pages Martin gives them enough depth so that we get realistic, fleshed-out characters instead of a group of stereotypes.

One thing I didn’t notice as a kid was the diversity in the book. A main character is Asian, many characters come from broken or mixed homes, and another deals with a disease. The Baby-Sitters Club covered a spectrum with its characters, but what’s really fantastic is how blended and natural this diversity is. Being a different race or having a non-traditional family doesn’t feel strange in this book, or forced as if Martin was trying to make a point. Instead it’s just natural—the way things simply are—a wonderful point of view for a children’s book to have.

Having now rekindled my love of Ann M. Martin’s series I went into Raina Telgemeier’s graphic novel with a decent level of excitement. From the front cover you can tell that this adaptation is crafted by a fan. The character designs are alive with personality, from Kristy’s wide grin to Mary-Anne’s perpetually nervous looks. She even manages to make Claudia look sufficiently more “grown up” than her friends while still making her believably 12-years-old. Characters’ faces carry a range of emotions that are more telling than some of the prose, like with the loaded looks Kristy gives Watson, her stepfather-to-be.

The graphic novel matches the quick pace of the novel, packing in all of the events without making the comic feel crowded and rushed. Like a lot of adaptations, Telgemeier transfers parts of the novel’s narration to the comic’s voice over, but it works better here than in most cases. The first person point of view keeps the narration sounding like Kristy’s telling the story. Also, Telgemeier is pretty wise in how she uses it, generally only inserting the narration when it would be too awkward or long-winded to put the information into dialogue or thoughts.

I was absolutely wrapped up in the world of The Baby-Sitters Club through elementary and middle school, and it’s with a glad heart that I say I can still recommend the novel today. The novel is funny and easy to relate to, and with the cute updated cover little girls might not notice that the book is three times as old as they are. Telgemeier’s graphic novel is also a great introduction to the series, so much fun and so well-crafted that I’m genuinely disappointed that only the first four BSC books received adaptations. Acknowledging my own bias, I lean more towards recommending the novel, but both are great books that I’d give to any little girl.

Have any graphic novel adaptations you think do a good job? Or a comic you want me to check out for you? Leave suggestions for future columns in the comments!

Comic Conversion: The Wonderful Wizard of Oz

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The Wonderful Wizard of Oz| Novel: L. Frank Baum / W. W. Norton Norton & Company | Graphic Novel: Eric Shanower and Skottie Young / Marvel Comics

When Dorothy’s dog, Toto, hides under a bed during a twister, she follows in an attempt to save him. As a result, both are trapped in the house as it’s carried away by the storm. Dorothy wakes up to find herself in a new land, and discovers that she has just killed a Wicked Witch. She’s a hero to the Munchkins, but Dorothy only wants to go home—and the only person who can help her do that is the Wizard of Oz. As she travels to see the wizard she meets a talking scarecrow, a man made of tin, and a lion who’s afraid of everything, but when they reach the end of the road will they all be able to get what they wish for?

L. Frank Baum published the first Oz book in 1900, and it became a success almost immediately. He went on to write 13 more novels in the series, and even produced a stage adaptation of the original book. And we all know that Oz has inspired movies, including one written and directed by Baum and, even more famously, the MGM movie starring Judy Garland.

It’s safe to say that The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is universally recognized as a classic novel and a staple of American culture, but Baum’s great aspiration was simply to create an enjoyable story for children: “The Wonderful Wizard of Oz … aspires to being a modernized fairy tale, in which the wonderment and joy are retained and the heart-aches and nightmares are left out.” And that’s just what Baum created. With simple—but still lovely—language, Baum has carried generations of children through his rich, fantastical world full of characters that are entertaining as well as deep and real.

Baum’s story is pretty straightforward, but Dorothy and her friends experience a number of adventures both before and after they meet the Wizard (certainly many more than in the MGM film). Shanower and Young manage to find a way to fit all the adventures from Baum’s novel into the comic—but that’s not necessarily a good thing. Dorothy’s three friends are given more room to expand as characters in the side adventures, but in context of the comic, these feel like wasted time. Bits like the Lion jumping a gorge feel unnecessary, taking up little enough time to seem unimportant, but enough page space to disrupt the flow.

The comic also fails to escape the problem of using too much of the book’s original narration. Much of it is helpful for establishing the setting, but sometimes the narrative is contradictory to the illustrations, such as when Dorothy and the Scarecrow are described as walking through a “dismal country” while the art shows a bright, friendly-looking forest. Luckily the comic doesn’t rely as heavily on the narration as other, less well-crafted adaptations, such as when we first see Dorothy’s home in Kansas. Baum aptly describes the monotony of the scenery in the original novel: “Dorothy … could see nothing but the great gray prairie on every side … The sun had baked the plowed land into a gray mass … Even the grass was not green, for the sun had burned the tops of the long blades until they were the same gray color …” As imagistic as that prose is, Shanower wisely chooses not to put any of the description in his novel. Instead, Young and colorist Jean-Francois Beaulieu give us a sweeping view of the gray plains with Dorothy in her pink dress as the only spot of color.

The art works in favor of the characters as well. Adding his own touches, like a mustache on the Tin Woodman, Young inserts his own vision into the designs rather than simply copying Denslow’s original art or redrawing the actors from the movie. The personality Baum gave his characters shines through, like his roly-poly lion and his viciously cruel Wicked Witch. Young’s illustrations also increase the intensity in some scenes, such as one in which the Scarecrow and Tin Woodman fend off the Wicked Witch’s beasts. Wolves are given bright red eyes, and we see the sketchy shadows of their heads flying as the Woodman chops them apart. A silhouette of the Scarecrow snatches descending crows and crushes their necks.

It seems almost impossible to escape the over-narration problem with comic adaptations, at least those of classic novels, but Shanower manages to reduce it enough so that you’re not constantly wincing at artwork clogged with text. Shanower may have also kept a few too many of the off-shooting scenes, but he does offer those with no Oz experience outside the MGM movie a glimpse of the true depths of Baum’s characters. Young’s art is what really makes this adaptation worthwhile. His illustrations enhance the whimsical fairy tale feel of the original book, giving the comic its own life and a leg to stand on amongst the many adaptations Baum’s work inspired. Baum’s book is a classic that all fans of children’s literature should read at some point (I’m ashamed to say I didn’t read it until adulthood), but Shanower and Young’s adaptation is still a fine means for jumping into the world of Oz.

Have any graphic novel adaptations you think do a good job? Or a comic you want me to check out for you? Leave suggestions for future columns in the comments!

Comic Conversion: Soulless

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Soulless | Novel: Gail Carriger / Orbit Books | Manga: REM / Yen Press

Twenty-five-year-old spinster Alexia Tarabotti has a a few problems. First, she’s a spinster, and being a half-Italian in Victorian England isn’t helping. Second, she’s a preternatural, a human without a soul. And third, a vampire has just died–and it might be her fault! Alexia finds herself in the middle of a mystery involving vampire hives, royalty, and scientists, as rove vampires and lone werewolves are disappearing. In the midst of it all, Lord Maccon, the werewolf pack leader and head of the Bureau of Unnatural Registry, is taking a decided interest in her, and not just because of her preternatural powers. It’s enough to overwhelm any lady–but Alexia is out to prove that she’s much more formidable than that.

Soulless, written by Gail Carriger, is the first novel in the Parasol Protectorate, a paranormal romance/mystery series from Orbit Books. The story takes place in a Victorian England where werewolves, vampires and ghosts are not only real, but are a part of every day society. Last July, Yen Press debuted the manga adaptation of this series in Yen Plus magazine, and has just recently released the first volume in the series, trusting the artist REM (Vampire Kisses) to bring Carrriger’s steam punk supernatural romance to life.

Two pages into the Soulless novel I found myself utterly delighted with the prose. Taking on a distinct Victorian tone, Carriger uses the slight sarcasm you get from a Jane Austen novel to describe a surprise vampire battle. This creates some hilariously fancified lines (“For his part, the vampire seemed to feel that their encounter had improved his ball experience immeasurably.”) and amusing quips (“to put the pudding in the puff”) that plastered a grin on my face from the start. Of course, it pretty quickly feels like Carriger’s laying it on too thick, but luckily she seems to find a happy medium, and the tone evens out.

Soulless is a pretty steamy book, and while like most romances the “amorous activities”, as Alexia calls them, can get out of hand (making out in a jail cell? Really?) the love story never completely overshadows the mystery. The characters themselves are a treat: Alexia is smart and sharp-tongued, and despite the historical and cultural hindrances is a pretty inspiring female character. Lord Maccon is a little more one-dimensional as a gruff werewolf with a soft spot for a certain spinster, but it’s adorable to watch him fumble with human vs. werewolf courting. Members of Alexia’s immediate family fall flat: her sisters are foolish, her step-father is disconnected, and her mother is arrogant (by the end I don’t see why she would stoop to marrying an Italian in the first place). But other side characters liven up the story, with the flamboyant-but-formidable vampire Lord Akeldama, Alexia’s mildly eccentric friend Miss Hisselpenny, and Maccon’s perceptive Beta Professor Lyall, allowing our main pair to vent their thoughts while still showing plenty enough personality to make them interesting on their own.

The characters are just as appealing in the manga, with REM’s art style helping to enhance that. Akeldama is still exceptionally flamboyant, with outfits and mannerisms just as fancy and theatrical as I imagined. His exuberant, italicized dialogue is cut down a bit, but his sly smiles and occasional shift to a super-deformed look gives him the energetic feel of a mischievous child. Lord Maccon maintains his roughness in dialogue, though REM gives him a cleaner look than I would have pictured. Still, his care and interest in Miss Tarabotti is both more amusing (an arrow leads his gaze right down Alexia’s cleavage), and more endearing. REM also seems to know enough not to let text boxes overwhelm the art. Because of this, the occasional heavy-handedness of Carriger’s Victorian prose is eliminated, leaving us only with the delightful bits (“I say!” says Alexia as a vampire tries to kill her. “We have not been introduced!”).

The pacing of the comic is generally very even, with a good balance between the supernatural mystery and the romantic plot. On a couple of occasions REM chose to cut scenes out. Much of the deletion has little affect on either the flow or understanding of the story, like when Alexia’s mother and half-sisters return from a shopping trip: while it’s interesting in that it deepens the reasons for Alexia’s dislike of her own family, all this scene does is emphasize her sisters’ frivolousness and her mother’s condescension, things we’ve picked up on well enough. This scene is not missed, but another, when pudgy scientist Mr. MacDougal takes Alexia on a carriage ride, is a little more noticeable. While the book has him taking her around town as he explains his scientific theories, the comic only shows the end of the ride, when he drops Alexia off, and she merely comments that he had some “interesting theories on the soul.” Readers may be able to guess the conversation based on the dinner from a few pages earlier, but the main problem lies in the abruptness of the scene, giving the distinct feeling of something having been hacked out.

Both versions of Soulless had a couple of missteps in pacing that momentarily jarred me out of the story, and the romance scenes didn’t always have the best timing, considering the other tensions going on. But I easily jumped right back into the flow, and the romance is sexy enough to make up for the occasional poor placement. Soulless could have gone the route of many a paranormal romance novel, making the supernatural plot nothing more than a cheap gimmick, but Carriger manages to create not only an enticing romance but also an engrossing mystery and a fleshed out, believable fantasy world. REM’s art style and sense of panel layout gives us an adaptation that’s just as enjoyable, so in this case I say pick your favorite medium – you can’t go wrong either way.

Comic Conversion: Pride and Prejudice

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Pride and Prejudice | Novel: Jane Austen / Norton Critical Editions | Graphic Novel: Nancy Butler and Hugo Petrus / Marvel Comics

Elizabeth Bennet is happy to see her older sister Jane falling in love with Mr. Bingley, a rich young man who has just taken up residence in a nearby home. Unfortunately, in order to see Bingley, Elizabeth and the rest of the Bennets have to put up with his proud, unsociable friend, Mr. Darcy. After being scorned by him, Elizabeth vows to have nothing to do with the man, and decidedly hates him after finding out about the injustice he’s done to another new acquaintance, Mr. Wickham. But first impressions aren’t always what they seem, and Elizabeth may find that she’s sided with the wrong man.

Pride and Prejudice was originally published in 1813, but despite the nearly 200-year gap between its creation and the present day, Jane Austen’s novel proves itself endlessly popular. There is a plethora of unofficial sequels, as well as several movies and a wonderful mini-series from the BBC. The Victorian novel has even been famously readapted to include zombies in the Bennet sisters’ quest for love. So, despite the distinct lack of action or anything else people expect in a comic, it’s entirely unsurprising that someone tried to make a graphic novel out of Austen’s book.

I won’t hide the fact that, as far as classic novels go, Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites. Anguished high school students may disagree, but one of the biggest draws of Austen’s novel is the humor. We start right off on a sarcastic note with one of the most famous lines in literature: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.” Austen spends much of her novel poking fun at society, using characters like Mrs. Bennet (who is basically a caricature) to overemphasize the ideas and expectations of the time, and even by today’s standards her jabs still ring true. But best of all is, of course, the love story: no “love at first sight” garbage, but a gradual shift from hate to affection as misunderstandings and first impressions are slowly overcome.

This may have come from my own warm feelings towards the Elizabeth/Darcy romance, but I had hopes of the graphic novel having a sort of shoujo-manga feel, much like Marvel’s more girl-centered Spider-man Loves Mary Jane comics. The cover in particular tricked me into believing that this would be the case, with its pastel colors and soft shading, along with the cute teen magazine-esque blurbs. The interior art is a different story. The first shot of the Bennet sisters has all five looking awfully sexy and sultry, including Mary, the one often described as plain. Lydia specifically is wearing a heavy-lipped, open-mouthed expression as she talks of the officers in Meryton, as if the artist wants to foreshadow her less-than-desirable behavior still to come. Mrs. Bennet’s large, exaggerated expressions still convey her silliness, and snobby Caroline Bingley wears a suitable pinched expression, but in general the art sucks out much of the lighthearted feeling.

The graphic novel falls victim to over-narration, showing a usual lack of faith in the art to clue readers in to what’s going on. However, there are some cases where the artist shows some sense of how to use a panel layout. When Mr. Collins is proposing to Elizabeth, each row of panels is split between Mr. Collins’ and Elizabeth’s faces; while Mr. Collins is haranguing her, we see on Elizabeth’s face her mounting frustration and annoyance, where in the book we only get her emotions after the speech. We see this similarly again when Mr. Darcy gives his proposal, and her trembling fists show her rage at his pride. But while the graphic novel draws out these scenes, overall the pacing is much too quick. Most of the scenes don’t last beyond a page, if they even get too far, and a lot of very key moments that should have been dwelt on are rushed through.

The characters suffer from the fast pace as well. Many of the main characters escape relatively unscathed—we have a good understanding of Elizabeth’s headstrong personality, and Mrs. Bennet is still satisfyingly absurd. Minor characters do suffer from diminished page time or complete omission: Mary, the middle Bennet sister, only appears on a couple of pages, and Maria and Mrs. Hurst, sisters of other key characters, have been cut out entirely. It’s not big loss, as none of these characters do much to push the plot forward, with Mary only proving an opposite to the rambunctious Lydia and Kitty, and Mrs. Hurst simply echoing Caroline Bingley’s disdain for the Bennets. Unfortunately the downsides of this are greater. We hardly catch sight of Mr. Darcy’s younger sister Georgiana, who doesn’t have a line of dialogue. Even more detrimental to understanding the plot is Mr. Wickham’s diminished page time: his brisk introduction gives us no real clue as to why everyone finds him so initially charming, so the revelation of his past and future immoral behavior isn’t as shocking as in the novel.

Despite the fact that the artist uses some panels to good effect, the two most appealing aspects of Pride and Prejudice—the romance, and the humor—are severely diminished, thanks to a pace that moves too fast and art that just doesn’t match the tone. Marvel’s adaptation is not awful, but it still won’t be appealing to anyone who isn’t already an Austen fan. Even big Pride and Prejudice fans would likely rather chuckle along with Pride and Prejudice and Zombies or spend six hours watching the mini-series than spend the 45 minutes it takes to read this adaptation.

Have any graphic novel adaptations you think do a good job? Or a comic you want me to check out for you? Leave suggestions for future columns in the comments!

Comic Conversion: The Alchemist

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The Alchemist | Novel: Paulo Coelho / HarperSanFransisco | Graphic Novel: Derek Ruiz and Daniel Sampere / HarperOne

Santiago, a shepherd from Andalusia, has had the same dream twice, in which an angel brings him to the pyramids of Egypt and tells him that this is where he will find his treasure. Just as Santiago is about to pass on the suggestion he encounters a king, who tells the boy he should listen to the omens and follow his dream, for that is his Personal Legend—the one thing he is meant to do in this world. Thus begins the shepherd’s journey into Africa, where he meets a thief, a merchant, an Englishman, a woman, and an alchemist, and learns how difficult and how rewarding it can be to follow your dreams through to the end.

Originally published in Portuguese in 1988, Paulo Coelho’s novel The Alchemist has sold millions of copies and inspired quite a following. Really, it’s unsurprising that someone would try to make a graphic novel out of it. In his introduction, Paulo Coelho goes on about how the Sea Lion Books adaptation is exactly what he dreamed of, so I went into the graphic novel (adapted by Derek Ruiz with art by Daniel Sampere) with relatively high hopes, but I soon found those hopes petering out.

The Alchemist is a parable for following your dreams, and much of the prose reads like a fable. The narrative voice is one of the star aspects of the novel, moving the story at a steady pace from one thing to the next. It creates an easy flow that carries the reader through the book even where there is minimal action. The graphic novel takes much of that narration out, and that’s probably for the best. Most of the original narration is replaced with first-person introspection from Santiago, keeping the reader in Santiago’s mind and also preventing the art from being covered with blocks of text.

The pacing of the graphic novel still gets clunky. There isn’t always a clear transition between scenes, with some pages literally jumping from day to night without warning. Sampere and Ruiz also don’t always give the proper amount of panel space to things. The image of Santiago becoming a monster and killing his sheep—a passing thought in the novel—is given 3/4 of a page, while his vision of the oasis being attacked isn’t granted a single image.

The art does do an able job of showing other things, filling in settings described in the novel with stalls, buildings and palm trees. There are times, however, when the art is less vivid even than Coelho’s sparse descriptions. When Santiago enters the chieftains’ tent we’re given this description: “The ground was covered with the most beautiful carpets he had ever walked upon, and from the top of the structure hung lamps of handwrought gold.” This doesn’t seem too difficult to recreate, but the graphic novel shows us only an empty, blank room.

Even while it merely matches or falls behind the descriptions in the original book, the graphic novel does take the opportunity to allow for a different view of a situation. When Santiago first shows up in Africa, a tavern owner tries to warn him about a thief, but because they don’t speak the same language Santiago thinks he’s assaulting him. In the graphic novel the tavern owner is given dialogue, so we see before Santiago does that the man is trying to help him, and we understand the trap he’s walking into. The graphic novel also offers its own interpretation of some of the more abstract parts of Coelho’s story, such as when Santiago is talking to the wind. Coelho describes it like any windstorm, but Sampere and Ruiz decide to portray the wind with the form of a woman. It’s a pretty straightforward, unadventurous interpretation of the scene, but it’s also one of the few times that the artist and script writer seem to put their own vision into the comic.

One big issue I had with the graphic novel was its persistent grammar problems. While some were minor and might not be noticed by someone breezing through the story, this isn’t just my inner English major getting riled up. While the grammar mistakes are prevalent throughout (the artist’s introduction in particular is a horror to read) the real problem is that the mistakes are in lines that were copied verbatim from the novel. So, someone got it right once, and still the graphic novel managed to mess it up. That might not be the biggest deal, but it reeks of laziness that exists in other parts of the graphic novel as well, such as inconsistent character art and insufficient time spent on important characters like Fatima, the woman Santiago falls in love with.

There are a number of things The Alchemist: A Graphic Novel does right, at least compared to other comic adaptations. Narration is minimized in favor of character dialogue, and Coelho is more or less correct in saying that “the graphic novel does not lose the essence of the story,” as the original points he tried to make in his novel are still relatively clear. But there are also a number of little things that stack up against the adaptation. The clunkiness and occasional laziness detract from the magical feeling of the story, leaving the adaptation OK at best. The graphic novel won’t win any more readers for Coelho, so if you want to read The Alchemist, or convince a friend to give it a try, I’d suggest sticking with the original novel.

Comic Conversion: Witch & Wizard

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Witch & Wizard | Novel: James Patterson and Gabrielle Charbonnet / Grand Central Publishing | Manga: Svetlana Chmakova / Yen Press

One minute Whit Allgood is falling asleep in front of the TV, the next an army is breaking down his door, brandishing guns and dragging his sister Wisty out of her bed. But the biggest shock for Whit and Wisty comes when they’re accused of being a wizard and a witch by the New Order—the all new government that’s taken over the whole country—and are sentenced to death. As they struggle to survive in their jail cell, the siblings discover that they do have special powers, from telekinesis to bursting into flames. Even after they manage to break out, thanks to the help of a ghostly friend, Whit and Wisty still have to find their parents, and they might have to break back into jail to do it.

Witch & Wizard is one of the latest series to come out of the James Patterson novel mill, this time written in conjunction with Gabrielle Charbonnet. Though there was already a graphic novel adaptation from IDW, Yen Press decided to come out with their own version of the dystopian novel using artist Svetlana Chmakova, creator of Dramacon and Night School, to create Witch & Wizard: The Manga. Both versions of the story have their flaws, but one might be more worth your time than the other.

Let’s start with the novel. One good thing you can immediately say about Witch & Wizard is that it gets right into the action. The story has barely started before the New Order troops are breaking down the Allgoods’ door. It doesn’t slow down much from there, even when the siblings are locked in prison, as they deal with sadistic jailers and have to fight a pack of mad dogs for food and water. The short chapters (most only last 1 or 2 pages) help create the illusion that you are speeding through the book. But even with all the rapid action, the story can get pretty clunky at times. You’ll start the next chapter, and suddenly Whit and Wisty are somewhere else, or there’s someone new in the scene who wasn’t there before. And the short chapters, while helping you feel like the book is a fast read, hurt the overall smoothness of the longer, more dramatic scenes.

Whit and Wisty are certainly fun characters, with their wisecracks, determination, and magical powers. Wisty in particular has an entertaining, sarcastic tone. But unfortunately, it’s all surface. Though the story is in first person for both characters, you never feel like you get truly, deeply in their heads. Even when the story pauses for inner thoughts it’s pretty generic, like how awful or cool or sad something is. Then there is the villain, The One Who Is The One, who should be dark and terrifying… but for some reason, Patterson and Charbonnet have him spouting some of the weirdest lines. They range from awkward – “I can even shut your sister up!” – to just plain goofy – “TRICKS ARE FOR KIDS!” – and really diminish the fear readers should have of this all-powerful villain.

Now we come to Yen Press’s manga adaptation by Svetlana Chmakova. The visual aspect of the comic actually helps with the clunky-ness in the book. New character appearances are less sudden, and we see the transition from one place to another, so there’s no flipping back a page to see how Whit and Wisty suddenly got from point A to point B. Chmakova’s art also helps to brighten up some of the less-than-stellar character personalities. Sure, the villains are just as one-dimensional as in the novel, with their little dark beetle eyes, but other characters seem more human in her hands. Whit wears a blank look of shock when he discovers that Celia is a ghost, and Wisty’s range of expressions, from cartoonish excitement at living in a fancy department store to the dark, narrow-eyed look when she casts her angry spells, make this witch even more fun and exciting than her novel version.

Despite the pace of the original, cuts were needed to fit the whole story into a single graphic novel. We miss out on some interesting shows of magic, like when Wisty floats in her sleep, or Whit speeds himself up to handily defeat some guards. But the comic also does away with some bits I didn’t care for, most obviously The One’s horrible, cheesy lines. The One still isn’t as dark and foreboding as I would like (you can always go creepier) but at least his dialogue doesn’t make me cringe.

The Witch & Wizard novel has a lot of problems that I have a hard time overlooking. While the pacing is nice and quick, the novel persistently trips itself up with awkward breaks and sudden shifts in location. And the plot, while a decently done fight-the-power dystopian, can get repetitive, takes unnecessary turns, and ends so abruptly I’m honestly surprised Patterson and Charbonet didn’t add in a couple more chapters to smooth things out. Chmakova’s adaptation doesn’t escape the plot issues of the original, but in streamlining the plot to fit into a single graphic novel she manages to toss out some of the minor chinks, resulting in an easier flow. When you combine that with art that is much more expressive than Patterson’s prose, overall you get a more enjoyable read. It’s still not perfect, but Witch & Wizard the manga improves enough on the original to be worth your money.