Reviews 

“Sword Daughter” #1

By | June 7th, 2018
Posted in Reviews | % Comments

A village burns, a father sleeps, and a young girl takes up the sword. The newest tale by Dark Horse comics taps into something both primordial and literary, inspired by the quietude of Japanese samurai cinema. Our review will contain minor spoilers.

Cover by Mack Chater

Written by Brian Wood
Illustrated by Mack Chater
Colored by Jose Villarrubia
Lettered by Nate Piekos

The Forty Swords came at night and murdered the entire village, save for two people: the infant Elsbeth and her grief-stricken father, Dag. Setting off on a revenge quest that will span the width of Viking Age Europe, they find the key to repairing their damaged relationship lies in the swords they carry. Created by Brian Wood (Northlanders, The Massive, DMZ) and Mack Chater (Briggs Land, Lazarus), Sword Daughter is a visually stunning, emotionally poignant story of parental guilt and acceptance of loss.

Elsbeth Dagsdottir was forged in the flames of her burning village. The eponymous sword daughter was raised by nuns and waited a decade before her comatose father woke up. She’s okay with being alone, she tells us on the first page, in a series of narration that continues throughout the issue. The reasons are all too clear. And while Elsbeth is able narrate her story from caption boxes, her actual voice remains trapped in her throat. Elsbeth is effectively mute. She speaks in pictograms: x’ed out word balloons, ocean waves, and ravens. Is her loss of voice congenital or due to trauma? Either way, despite Elsbeth’s inability to utter a word, her stoic demeanor and violent belligerence make her a heroine worth watching out for.

Plot is a distant concern on Brian Wood’s to-do list. Sure, there is the revenge story element driving our characters to violent action, but it’s far from the point of this ancient tale. We know nothing of the village or those lost, and scarcely a fragment of Elsbeth or Dag’s former lives. Instead, we’re urged to take in the forlorn wilderness and the simple life these simple people have made from the land. We’re to witness the fractured relationship at the center of this story. There’s almost a literary quality to ‘She Brightly Burns,’ a confident indolence that allows the story to unfurl like autumn leaves falling from a tree. Blood Meridian-esque chapter headings break the narrative into bite-sized vignettes. “Ormamanudur / Worm’s Month / 991 AD,” reads the first chapter heading. It’s all very stylish and compelling, adding an undeniable literary quality to the pages. The script is confident in its minimalism, allowing Mack Chater to truly take the reins with slick, cinematic presentation.

Mack Chater revels in the gloomy beauty of Norway via 991 AD. Windswept moors, pale beaches, dead trees, and black rock compose the barren landscape of the Viking age. It’s a time where the land seems to be hibernating, waiting for its inhabitants to mold it, mine it, or otherwise alter it. The Forty Swords are all too happy to oblige, feeding the land with spilt blood and immolated remains. “Sword Daughter” is busiest when this gang of murderous ruffians occupies the panels. In their first appearance, the gang nimbly disposes of the villagers. Donning tally-marked masks, they’re a frightening force of chaos. But ten years have passed, and the Forty Swords have grown decidedly more vicious and organized. Chater depicts the gang with more detail here: their frames bulkier, their armor thicker, their masks etched with the sword swings of battle. They stand together, as if posing for a photo shoot, hanged corpses adorning the trees behind them.

A beige background envelops the whole issue, filling in the skies, gutters, and negative space. It’s the ideal complement to Jose Villarrubia’s washed-out color palette. Off-whites, smoky grays, taupe, and sage paint a desolate portrait of ancient Norway. Color is leeched from the land. It’s brittle and dry, sucked of life. Red, however, is the sole color outlier, an impactful hue that cuts through the color neutrality whenever the Forty Swords make their bloody appearance. And like the violence and chaos red represents, it’s an inevitable chromatic interlude. No matter how much life can feel neutral in its colors, the redness of death will cast its color in time.

Brian Wood takes a minimalist approach to the story. The “less is more” approach places the focus squarely on the antagonistic relationship between father and daughter. Since her father Dag has recently woken from a ten-year slumber, they have some catching up to do. As the title card splash page indicates, they’re off to a very rocky start indeed. Despite the two protagonists’ stoic demeanors, Chater is able to infuse their underlying emotions through body language and expression. Because what is there to be meaningfully said after the destruction of your family and ten long years? This father and daughter may be related by blood, but they’re strangers in every other way. They will come to understand each other by their swords, slick with the blood of the masked cabal—the Forty Swords.

Final Verdict: 8.3 – A quiet study of father and daughter bonded by revenge amidst the beautiful Norwegian desolation of 991 AD.


Matt Sadowski

Matt is from Chicago but is currently living a curious existence in Xiamen, China. He can be found on Twitter as @mattrsadowski

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