The Autumnal #1 (featured image) Reviews 

“The Autumnal” #1

By | September 25th, 2020
Posted in Reviews | % Comments

Kat and Sybil trade city life for a quaint northeastern town. There’s something beautiful, but deeply unsettling about the colorful leaves, especially with the fall equinox coming. (Warning: may contain minor spoilers.)

Cover by Chris Shehan

Written by Daniel Kraus
Illustrated by Chris Shehan
Colored by Jason Wordie
Lettered by Jim Campbell

Following the death of her estranged mother, Kat Somerville and her daughter, Sybil, flee a difficult life in Chicago for the quaint — and possibly pernicious — town of Comfort Notch, New Hampshire. From NY Times best-selling author, Daniel Kraus (“The Shape of Water,” “Trollhunters,” “The Living Dead”), and rising star Chris Shehan, comes a haunting vision of America’s prettiest autumn.

Ahhh, tropes. The double edged sword of genre fiction. Horror stories, especially, seem to be built around good ole, tried and true tropes. On one hand, they can make writer’s job easier, helping them push their way through potentially tedious backstory and jump right into the action. On the other hand, without a little restraint, one trope after another can become a predictable, cliché ridden mess.

In truth, “The Autumnal” #1 begins with some pretty well worn tropes: struggling single mother with atypical seven-year-old daughter leaves her crappy, Big City life behind and relocates to a quaint, small New England town courtesy of a completely unexpected inheritance.

In this case, the mother is Kat, the daughter is Sybil, the big city is Chicago and the town is Comfort Notch, New Hampshire – Home of America’s Prettiest Autumn.

Thankfully, the characters are compelling and the dialogue is outstanding. Kat seems like a total bad-ass. She’s not afraid to speak her mind, she used to be in a band and she’s got a rather large, vaguely punkish tattoo on her left shoulder blade. It’s also probably not a spoiler to mention that she’s sporting one conspicuous black eye, presumably from some a-hole she recently gave the boot. “Twenty-six months, you think you know a guy.” Probably not Sybil’s father.

Speaking of which, young Sybil is more than a little bit quirky, wise beyond her years and hugely likable. Apparently, she takes medication with lunch for Intermittent Explosive Disorder (also known as IED, an actual diagnosis in the DSM-5.) When she acts-out she refers to herself “Mistress Explosion Destroyer.” That’s not only dope as hell, it reveals a whole lot about the mother-daughter relationship at the heart of this narrative. Kat and Sybil are on the same wavelength, practically able to finish each other’s sentences or communicate without words.

From that familiar set-up, you might think you know this story – but you probably don’t.

In the hands of writer Daniel Kraus, the familiar seems off kilter and none of it feels formulaic. His dialogue, in particular, sounds fresh and enigmatic. When Sybil covers one her eyes with a large orange maple leaf, Kat says, “I don’t want you looking like me.” Sybil responds, “I can’t help it. We have the same chlorophyll.”

Sounds like the perfect statement to kick off an enticing series about a close-knit community and the unknown outsider who’s probably gonna eff it all up.

“Don’t do that,” says a bearded stranger, taking the leaf from Sybil and holding it close. On the surface it’s pretty straightforward, but we can tell something’s not right.

Visually, Chris Shehan’s painterly style suits the material well. His loose, understated lines and irregular panel borders underscore his technique. His framing is pretty straightforward, without many unusual angles, but the leaf scene mentioned above is seamless and intuitive. At times Kat seems to be mugging for the camera, or maybe her eye-line is off. When she takes off her sunglasses in the opening scene, it seems like she breaks the fourth wall and it’s unlikely that’s the intention.

Jason Wordie’s colors are absolutely spectacular and worthy of the claim “America’s Prettiest Autumn.” The first one-third of the book, presumably in Chicago, is suitably monochromatic, and dingy, with fiery chemical sky. With splotchy institutional greens and lots of faded blues, the interiors tired and claustrophobic. It makes sense why Kat wants to leave.

When we get to Comfort Notch, the colors crank up to 11. You can hear the crunch of the oranges, bask in the glow of the yellows and feel the woosh of the reds as dead leaves scurry across the page.

It’s idyllic, but it’s not. Kat is clearly struggling and it surely doesn’t help when a group of kids in the park start chanting a sing-songy rhyme that’s actually creepy as hell. Weird chalk drawings on the sidewalk are a fantastical storyboard and a taste of what is to come. The story builds as it goes until it reaches the climax, which feels sorrowful and sudden. Things are just getting started. Kraus and Shehan have dropped several clues, but there’s still a ton of intrigue and presumably a big dose of body horror to come.

Final Verdict: 8.2 The story starts with familiar beats, but quickly makes us care about the compelling main characters, getting weirder and creepier as it builds to the cliffhanger.


John Schaidler

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