A John Hughes coming-of-age story by way of Jack Kirby and He Man.
To Grant Morrison, the world is so much bigger, dangerous and even wonderful than what we see and experience every day. Usually, Morrison is trying to tell us that with big, loud and colorful comics, whether it's in New X-Men, All Star Superman or even We3. He wants to show us some new concept or idea; one usually designed to blow our minds. That's how we get Superman saving reality by singing in Final Crisis or even the painting that ate Paris in his Doom Patrol run. Morrison's built his own comic's cottage industry of playing with these grand, meta-universal themes on a large scale. So the pleasant surprise of Joe the Barbarian is how small and personal the story feels.
For a Grant Morrison penned book, the amazing thing about
Joe the Barbarian is how "normal," the book feels, how grounded and down to earth it is. Joe Manson is a normal, high school age boy, with all of the normal insecurities that brings. Raised by a single mom (his dad apparently died while serving in the military) and having to watch his blood sugar levels ("Make sure you eat your candy" his mom reminds him,) Joe is a very normal, practically mundane, character, something we get so little of in Grant Morrison's writing. Having no guns, no powers and, more importantly, nothing special is what makes Joe so special and unique among Morrison's characters.
Like most of us geeky kids that age, Joe's wonderful attic bedroom is still full of his toys; superheroes, army guys, Star Wars and robots. These are the substitutes for the friends and family Joe doesn't seem to have besides his mother and pet rat Jack. They're what live up in his bedroom. And during one moment where Joe's blood sugar maybe drops a bit too far, they come alive to him. An Action Elite soldier and Ultimus Alpha (think GI Joe and Tranformers) tell Joe, "Death Coats came. Playtown burns from Teddy Bear Alley to Starbase Heights. And the drains are soaked with guts and stuffing." Yes, his toys talked to him about the danger they're in. As Joe says after that incident, "Uh-oh." Are this toys really in some kind of danger or is Joe's vision caused by his diabetes?
Sean Murphy and Dave Stewart provide the art and coloring for this book. As Morrison simplifies his own writing, Murphy and Stewart fill Joe's world with such vivid detail that makes this one of the most accessible and identifiable Morrison stories ever. From the deep dark shadows of a school bus to the endless fields of a military cemetery and even to Joe's home, a few decades behind current fashion, Murphy makes Joe's world real and tangible. Even when Murphy draws the toys talking to Joe, there's a wonderful sense that they're both life-like and toyish at the same time. Seeing some of the toys missing limbs and looking lost creates a wonderful tone to the story.
Make no mistake about it;
Joe the Barbarian is a Grant Morrison book, filled with the usual concerns that Morrison writes about, but it's a much simpler book. It's much more open and approachable than Morrison is known to be. Toys coming to life, showing the signs of a great battle and teddy bears limping along on crutches– yeah, that sounds like the most approachable opening to a Grant Morrison story in a long time.
