Writer: Brian K. Vaughan
Artist: Miko Henrichon
Publisher: DC Comics (Vertigo Imprint)
Weight of expectation can be a good thing. Good advance word of mouth can create buzz around a book, enabling it to reach many more readers than might have ordinarily picked it up. It can prime people for a truly important piece of work that they might have missed, and draw attention to a new or underrated creative talent. In short, it can create the kind of excitement that the world of comics needs if it’s to survive as a modern medium. In the case of Pride of Baghdad, however, I can’t help but feel that weight of expectation has been slightly counter-productive, preparing me for quite a different book to the one that Brian K Vaughan and his artistic collaborator Miko Henrichon have produced.
I’ve been a keen follower of Vaughan’s Ex Machina since the very first issue, and whilst his Y: The Last Man left me slightly cold, I can still recognise the polished, thoughtful craftsmanship which is evident in all of his work. There’s none of the kind of hollow, shallow storytelling that can plague the worst kind of comic books, and for Vaughan, I get a sense that everything means something - and every word counts. I was therefore surprised to see him tackle a story which is, on the face of it, quite a simple one; and as such, I was sure that there would be layers of meaning behind the core concept of a loose family of lions escaping their home in Baghdad’s zoo after the bombing campaigns of 2003. Anyone expecting The Lion King will be disappointed: yes, it’s difficult to erase the image of Simba from your mind when Vaughan writes his young Ali with the same youthful vigour and capacity to irritate as Disney’s cub – and even more so when artist Miko Henrichon appears to have used the character as a model – but should the scenes of gang rape or decapitation not clue you in to the fact from an early stage, the book’s climax in Baghdad’s presidential palace and the heavy, dramatic final few pages make it explicit that this is not a story for young children. Equally, though, there’s not as much commentary on the politics of the Middle East as I expected. Some might find this a relief, as it’s a topic that’s been covered extensively in the mass media for some years, and anyone interested in picking up this book will likely already be aware of the many complex issues which surround that part of the world. So, instead of writing the story of his animals around the points that he wants to make about the war in Iraq, Vaughan drops his real-world elements into the story only where they seem fitting or relevant, with the result that the book is far more character-centred than built around social commentary or provocative political posturing.
As such, as an allegorical tale the book never reaches the heights of an Animal Farm or a Lord of the Flies, and whilst Vaughan’s decidedly Orwellian cast of talking animals interact in a suitably anthropomorphised manner, they aren’t tied to an easily-digestible symbolic representation of recent events in the Middle East. Instead, Vaughan’s characters each espouse a different political viewpoint, whether it’s the literally (and figuratively?) half-blind Safa who has no love for the old world but seems reluctant to celebrate her ‘liberation’, the hopeful, uncynical youth of Noor, or the simple, well-meaning Zill who just seems to want things to work out ok in the end. Some of the best moments come when the lions encounter other animals, and the scene in which two of them come across a wise, ancient turtle is the closest that the book comes to overtly politicised writing, with its vivid depiction of a river of oil strangling the life out of the creature’s friends and family. Even then, however, Vaughan never stretches his metaphors too far – and that’s perhaps a blessing, as an in-depth discussion of the subtleties of the current political situation in the Middle East via talking animals might be a tall order for any writer, even one of Vaughan’s calibre. However, the other side of the equation is that there’s never any really meaty discussion of the war in (or invasion of) Iraq bar some interesting explorations of the many perspectives that the liberated lions have on their forced “freedom” - and everything that goes with it.
Readers will likely debate for many months to come the significance of many elements of the story. Do the other zoo animals signify any particular international factions? Does the bear in the Presidential Palace represent the violent dictatorship of Saddam Hussein, or America’s own heavy-handed occupation? If the Lions are Iraqis, do the scenes of torture and “inhumanity” between the animals represent Hussein’s tyranny of his own people, or the American treatment of captive Iraqis in prisons such as Abu Ghraib? And how should we interpret that abrupt, shocking ending? A telling passage earlier on in the book (in which the lions discuss the significance of a statue in Babylon which depicts a Big Cat battling a man) should clue readers in to the fact that Vaughan wants readers to make up their own minds, and the book actually becomes stronger for its refusal to commit to a single worldview. Vaughan’s writing may not be perfect, and there are a couple of clunky lines which stand out as unsubtle and incongruous (“the change is so gradual” / “If only it were…” or “I’d say there’s been a regime change, yes?” may carry witty double-meanings, but they don’t flow as naturalistic dialogue), and readers looking for in-depth politics or a new, novel perspective on the “War on Terror” may feel that Pride of Baghdad struggles to say anything truly profound or insightful. The rest of us, though, will likely find it quite compelling and provocative that Vaughan throws so many ideas into our lap and invites us to consider them ourselves, rather than to follow any one particular line of thinking on the subject.
I haven’t discussed the artwork yet, and it would be a crime to overlook the beautiful, lush visuals of Miko Henrichon. As with many readers, Pride of Baghdad is my first exposure to the artist’s work, and you can’t help but be impressed by his use of colour to influence the book’s mood. The warm, golden glow of the desert gives way to a green oasis of calm which is shattered by the arrival of Iraqi tanks, before the pride ventures into the dirty red chaos of war-torn Baghdad. Henrichon’s linework is also solid, if a little sketchy at times, but his style is very well matched to the subject matter, pulling off the difficult balancing act between making the animals look authentic and imbuing them with human emotions and characteristics at the same time. Some images would work just as well as stand-alone nature illustrations, as his standout depictions of the antelope or the turtle that the lions meet along the way are fantastically detailed and expertly-coloured. Yet it’s with the urban scenes that the artist really makes his mark. Without the evocative renderings of the collapsing, bombed-out Baghdad streets, Vaughan’s writing wouldn’t have half the impact that it does - and as the book comes to a close, leading us through Hussein’s palace and back into the streets for a rich, red sunrise before the final punch to the gut, the emotional content of the book is felt far more keenly through Henrichon’s visuals than any of the text. This book deserves to make the artist very popular, and I’m sure publishers will be very keen to get him more high-profile gigs as a result of his work here.
This book is already garnering rave reviews and an overwhelmingly positive reader reaction, and it deserves the plaudits for its exploration of the price of freedom, the nature of tyranny, and the effect that both can have on the civilian mindset in a country like Iraq. However, to call it the greatest graphic novel in the history of the medium is perhaps overstating the case. I have no doubt that, like the best comics, Pride of Baghdad will reveal certain subtleties on third and fourth readings, and as disappointed as I was that the book wasn’t a more explicit and intellectual discussion of the current situation in the Middle East, I can still appreciate it for the beautiful, thought-provoking and relevant graphic novel that it is – especially in this classy, neatly-presented hardcover edition. Don’t read this book with any expectations, and you’re likely to be won over by its warmth, emotional content and restrained intelligence – just don’t expect it to be a thorough critique of the ongoing occupation which still claims so many lives today.
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