So I recently finished reading 100 Bullets. I actually finished the last volume on the plane back from visiting Ohio recently with the girlfriend, right as we were touching down.
Sort of trippy, right? I thought so too.
I know I’ve talked about 100 Bullets before, but this is a little different because now I’ve seen the whole picture, whereas before all I had was a taste. A taste that totally hooked me, but nonetheless, a taste.
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
Tess and I were randomly talking about noir a bit last night before I crept off to watch Deadliest Catch on TV, and the language specifically came up. What’s great about noir and about the way Azzarello crafted the world of 100 Bullets, the Minutemen and The Trust and the briefcase, is that while it’s incredibly rich and detailed, weaving a story that totally fucking gave me goosebumps as it came to an end I really didn’t see coming, it’s not confusing.
Far too often, intricacy is used as an excuse for confusing layers of writing that is meant to be “deep” but just ends up being layer upon layer of un-fucking-necessary. Here, there are layers upon layers upon sublayers, but never once did I feel confused, never once did I feel like I lost track of the story. I might have gotten confused at moments regarding who did what and why, but for the most part I really do think that those were moments that were purposeful, moments meant to throw you off.
I’ve been reading A LOT of comics the past few months, moreso than regular books, and being one of those people who see comics as a medium for storytelling and not a type of story (a phrase I first saw used by the great artist Skottie Young), 100 Bullets is one of the best works of fiction I’ve ever read, period.