Matt Smith’s “Barbarian Lord” began as a series of one-page gag comics, then some short stories, before it took root as the 180-page book which was published by Clarion Books in 2014. The result is a character and world that feels larger than life, worthy of epic songs, and yet he never shook off the trappings of his comic strip origins, making him the perfect vehicle for Matt Smith’s dry wit. This review contains mild spoilers.
Written and illustrated by Matt Smith“A sword untried is a sword untested,” says one raven to another as they set out to witness the fate of the finest farm in Garmrland and its owner, Barbarian Lord. When he is cheated out of his lands and banished, Barbarian Lord begins a quest for allies and for justice, encountering monsters, ghouls, gods, and mediocre poets along the way.
Combining the rich traditions of the Vikings and Nordic lore with sword-and-sorcery-and slyly understated humor-this graphic novel introduces an original hero with classic flair, brought to life in Matt Smith’s beautifully drawn, detailed, and action-filled black-and-white illustrations.
I sought out “Barbarian Lord” for one reason: I’d seen Matt Smith’s art in 2016’s “Lake of Fire” (written by Nathan Fairbairn) and I needed more. And while still enjoyed Smith’s art in “Barbarian Lord,” it was his writing that ended up impressing me the most. That’s not to say the art was in any way deficient, only that the writing is laugh-out-loud brilliant.
The hero, known only as Barbarian Lord, is a familiar character type—he’s He-Man, Thundarr, Norgal, Rathraq—all characters that owe a lot to Robert E. Howard’s Conan. Barbarian Lord himself clearly began as a version of Conan as played by Arnold Schwarzenegger. And yet, thanks to Smith’s poetic dialogue, Barbarian Lord is utterly unique. It’s true, Barbarian Lord can best anyone and anything is combat, but it is not his swordsmanship or his strength that most define him. It is his wit.
At first glance, Conan is the obvious inspiration, but upon reading Barbarian Lord, the influence of Icelandic sagas and Norse mythology weigh far heavier. It’s a story that celebrates the tradition of storytelling. We may call our hero Barbarian Lord, but he could just as easily be called Bard Lord if everyone weren’t so terribly afraid of him. Even Barbarian Lord’s understanding of the afterlife is rooted in storytelling, where he must stand before his god, Hrokk (clearly Smith’s own version of Odin), and tell his story. Smith’s reverence for storytelling tradition is the foundation upon which everything is built, and so even though this is our first time meeting Barbarian Lord, his world feels old and familiar. Nothing is cheap or inauthentic—nothing is just a joke.
“Barbarian Lord” is not going to be everyone’s cup of tea. Smith’s dialogue makes no attempt whatsoever toward naturalism. In fact, he leans into the artifice of it, not quite breaking the fourth wall, but pushing hard against it. There are moments that feel almost like a stage play, with Barbarian Lord staring into the middle distance, delivering dialogue to an invisible audience. For some readers, this poetry is going to be a barrier, but for me, it was the best part of the book. If this same book had relied on pithy one-liners instead, it wouldn’t have the same spark.
The poetry is the core of the book. Everything else supports it. The cartoony style is in deliberate contrast with the tone of the dialogue; just in case you’re unsure, the art is constantly telling you it’s OK to laugh. Barbarian Lord always wears the same expression of mild annoyance, because when you’re as manly as Barbarian Lord, that’s the only emotion you’re capable of. He’s entirely too serious to be taken seriously. Matt Smith draws Barbarian Lord with Schwartzenengger’s characteristic gap between his front teeth, resulting in a character eternally bound to the ’80s Conan the Barbarian and Conan the Destroyer and all the silliness they entail. The art invites us to laugh—at least as readers, we are safe from his wrath.
Smith’s approach to the art seems to dance between two worlds. During scenes of extended dialogue, Barbarian Lord’s face is drawn in such a simple manner and with so few lines, I cannot help but be put in mind of a newspaper comic strip. The black and white art with gray tone supports this association too. However, during the action sequences, “Barbarian Lord” becomes truly epic. Smith knows how to compose action so that it’s both striking in its visuals while remaining clear and easy to read. Two sequences, a battle with a sea serpent and later a battle with a ghoul in the snow, are particularly impressive.
This approach reminded me a little of the Wallace and Gromit short films, the way they could be ridiculous without undercutting the tension of the action sequences (especially The Wrong Trousers). The drama of the action sequences is so well executed that it makes the dry humour even drier. However, unlike Wallace and Gromit, “Barbarian Lord” never strays into outright parody. Yes, it wears its influences on its sleeve—there’s even a nod to the 1982 Conan the Barbarian film when Barbarian Lord and his traveling companion Ulf discuss their gods in a scene reminiscent of Conan and Subotai discussing Crom and the Four Winds, and just as Crom laughs at Subotai’s Four Winds, Hrokk laughs at Ulf’s wretched bird—but these are moments of loving homage. This seems to be true of all Smith’s influences, approaching the material from a place of love first. He can be knowingly aware of how silly something is, but always in an affectionate way.
I couldn’t help but have fun with “Barbarian Lord.” It’s the perfect length, big enough to feel like an epic adventure worthy of song, but never outstaying its welcome. Smith teases more in the book’s final pages. Hopefully that tease comes to fruition.
