Go ahead and take a look at my numeric score and realize this was probably the weakest issue of “Abbott” so far. I point this out because “Abbott” is an uncommonly good comic. It is unusual for a relative newcomer to the comics scene to come out of the gate so hot, but Saladin Ahmed’s creator-owned follow up to “Black Bolt” is fire. This middle chapter of the first arc continues the story admirably, and then turns everything on its ear in the last few pages. “Abbott” is a gem.
Cover by Taj TenfoldWritten By Saladin Ahmed
Illustrated by Sami Kivelä
Colored by Jason Wordie
Lettered by Tim CampbellAbbott’s investigations pits her directly against some of the most powerful men in Detroit.
At its core, “Abbott” doesn’t have a huge, high concept. It’s a pretty traditional urban fantasy. Fans of the book would probably object, pointing out the well-realized historical setting and the strong character work, but none of that addresses the simplicity of the concept. “Abbott” is a detective story of a journalist investigating some spooky, kinda Lovecraftian happenings. When you think of it like that, it’s not much different from something like “Witchblade.”
But it is different. Take the character of Fred, Abbott’s boss at the newspaper. He doesn’t get too much time on the page, but he is a deeply complicated man. By today’s standards, he’s a curmudgeonly racist, sexist jerk. In the Detroit of the ’70s, he’s an important ally, who respects Abbott despite her race and sex and because of her obvious talents. The other newspaper bosses don’t even do that. In a lesser book, Fred would either be presented as a wonderful woke white man who can see past other people’s bigotry. Or maybe he’d be grosser, a disgusting representation of white privilege. He’s something in between: a full person with really terrible flaws.
If that superb level of characterization was reserved only for issues of race, we’d be talking about “Abbott” as a book with something important to say, but maybe not much else. It’s not though; every character, every relationship goes that deep. Abbott and her ex-husband go out for hot dogs, and their friendship is deeply complex. The two of them know getting back together is a bad idea, even if they gently entertain the idea. Their relationship works better as a friendship and a work partnership. It’s clear that he’s as sloppy as Abbott is orderly, and that even though they have shared values, their relationship was never going to last. All of that in just a few short pages.
Wardell, the young waiter at the diner Abbott goes to every day, is another great example of character work done in small space. He’s the epitome of toxic masculinity, but he’s also a cute gangly teen. Ahmed’s experience with fiction and poetry serves him well. Instead of letting it be a hindrance, he transfers his skills deftly from other media.
That can also be seen in his relationship with artist Sami Kivelä, I’ll say right up front that Kivelä does excellent work. It doesn’t have the transcendent, fantastical quality of other fantasy comics artists, but that serves the book well. His style is grounded, so when Abbott is on the run from a horrific centaur creature, it feels like something that could really happen. I looked up Kivelä’s past work, and what I learned really blew me away. His work has primarily been for the cheesecake-y fairy tale publisher Zenoscope. I am, to say the least, not a fan of anything Zenoscope puts out, but Kivelä seems to be able to take what he learned from working on very different comics, and leave behind what wouldn’t fit.
Kivelä also does some fascinating things with panels. It’s nothing too showy, but the chase scene at the beginning in particular makes a great use of vertical space. As Abbott speeds away from the monster, we get long panels representing her rear-view mirror. Not much changes from image to image, but it was one of the most effective pages I’ve seen all year. The creature gets closer and angrier, reaching out towards the reader. I was totally transported, and on the edge of my seat. Not many comics can do that.
Lots of comics are very good. Many manage to feel important. “Abbott” does both, and it blends the two together. It feels like it’s discussing important issues because it takes pains to present the real world, as it really is. It features a writer and an artist with long careers that never had to lead to this point, but in hindsight their partnership feels inevitable. That’s the best word to describe “Abbott,” inevitable. This is a book that needed to happen. Thankfully, it’s also very, very good.
Final Verdict: 9.1 – Grounded writing and art make “Abbott” far more than the sum of its parts.
