It is often a wonder to me how books find us at the right time, as if searching us out, right when we need to be reading it. In this instance, I blame the kismetic reissue of this powerful and politically charged sci-fi comic story squarely upon the shoulders of Fantagraphics heads Gary Groth and Eric Reynolds. Leave it to those two who, already in the process of reprinting artist Alberto Breccia’s work with their own ‘Alberto Breccia Library,’ saved this blistering critique of brutal government regimes and imperialism, of alienating isolation and confusion amidst an an unknown threat, for release at the tale end of 2020 – a year fraught with those very same struggles. The result is a tale that still packs as powerful a punch here in present day America, some 50+ years after its original release in Argentina. It is a cold (yet undeniably beautiful) reminder of the cyclical nature of human aggression, of a species bent on violence and subjugation, told by two masters of the craft.
Written by Héctor Germán OesterheldCover by Alberto Breccia
Illustrated by Alberto Breccia
An atmospheric, apocalyptic allegory of political resistance from an Argentine comics master.
In the 1950s, pioneering comics writer Héctor Germán Oesterheld authored the serialized science-fiction adventure story The Eternaut, now a seminal Argentine graphic novel. In 1969, Oesterheld reimagined his classic narrative as a bold allegory of political resistance against the oppressive Argentine regime; Alberto Breccia’s expressionistic chiaroscuro style lends a chilling dimension to this apocalyptic tale.In The Eternaut 1969, a deadly “snow” falls. Juan Salvo’s small household of family and friends are spared, protected inside his home—but what horror awaits them in the silent, deserted streets of Buenos Aires? Venturing out in search of supplies, our everyday heroes soon join the resistance against an enemy far more sinister than anything they could have imagined.
Many have stated that reading the 1969 version of “The Eternaut” is a better experience after having read the original comic strip, released almost a decade and a half earlier- that edition with substantively more traditional artwork by Francisco Solano López. Certainly it adds context for the reader, revealing a more cutting and directly political allegory in the reimagining than was perhaps originally intended, the first iteration of the tale very much at home in the post-World War II genre of pulpy science-fiction concerned with nuclear proliferation and annihilation. The deadly “snow” of the original thought by the characters to be radioactive fallout, the story wouldn’t be far from what you’d see in American company E.C. comics during that same time period. Because of Oesterheld’s beautiful prose and Solano López’s skillful draftsmanship, the 1957 comic was hailed as an instant classic in Argentina. While it certainly may be beneficial to have foreknowledge of this version and it’s cultural effects, I think it’s more important and beneficial to the experience of reading “1969” to be aware of the broader cultural and political issues of Argentina at that time, and of Oesterheld’s burgeoning outspoken criticism of the military juntas bent on seizing power and overthrowing the democratically elected populist leaders. It is here that the work soars, a damning indictment of brutal dictatorships needlessly embroiling its people in endless struggles, death, and destruction. Oesterheld, known throughout his career as a fervently humanist writer, grew more and more political over the course of his career, to the point of joining up with the Montoneros, a leftist guerilla organization opposing the violent military junta in control of Argentina in the late 1970’s. Writing most of his later works from hiding, he was eventually apprehended by the junta and “disappeared.” His death is believed to be sometime in 1978, a victim of his homeland’s brutal rulers. It is through this lens that the Eternaut comes into sharpest focus- it was a clarion of resistance, and its effects prove, at least to me, that the pen can be mightier than the sword.
That being said, this 1969 retelling was met with few accolades when originally published. While the original found a more receptive audience in the “Hora Cero Semanal,” a weekly comics magazine quite popular in the late 1950’s, “1969” was serialized in a cultural/entertainment magazine (more akin to an American gossip magazine), and its audience held a more conservative viewpoint. Exacerbating the dissonance was the art. Alberto Breccia, now considered a modern master not only in Argentina but across the world, combined very expressionistic and stark imagery with a mixture of styles that must have seemed alien to an unsuspecting reactionary audience. Within four months the strip was unceremoniously dropped from the magazine, and its ending rushed, crammed within the last few installments of the story.
Breccia, though, it should be said, only found new heights after the disappointing reception of “1969.” European readers embraced his art, and his influences can be seen in American comics by the likes of Frank Miller, Bill Sienkiewicz, and Dave McKean. Though perhaps not as universally embraced as Oesterheld and Breccia’s triumphant comic “Mort Cinder,” “The Eternaut 1969” nevertheless showcases why Breccia was and is considered one of the greats. Often experimenting with collage, inks, and brush techniques, his psychedelic and jarring imagery is made all the more potent by his eye for panel compositions, lighting, and textures. “1969” is a wonderful showcase for all of his abilities, the villains of the piece (no spoilers here, sorry, I don’t want to ruin it for you) are drawn with an eerie, desperate scratchiness so that shape and form or more hinted at than explicit. The first scenes of the “snow” falling on an unsuspecting Buenos Aires mix the peaceful beauty of a winter’s night cityscape, and the soundless horror of what that snow has wrought. I’d love to know more about Breccia’s process, too, because his work is reminiscent of manga artists, using photographic reference and tracing techniques to create hyper-realistic backgrounds and settings among the more caricatured humans.
This third volume of Fantagraphics ‘Alberto Breccia Library’ is not only another great indication of the synergy between Oesterheld and Breccia, but also a fascinating time capsule pulling us into the strife and paranoia of Argentina during the era in which it was created. Assisting our understanding of the text (superbly translated by Erica Mena), are an afterword and two insightful essays, one on each of the creators. It is this supplemental material that really brings the work into focus, helping us understand the artists that brought us the art, and the context for which it was created. Though I certainly think the work’s themes will (sadly) forever be considered relevant and contemporary, its particular importance to the time and place it was written makes for an enlightening and enriching experience.
