Writer: Alan Moore
Artist: Eddie Campbell
Publisher: Knockabout Comics (UK edition), Top Shelf Comics (US edition)
The term "graphic novel" is one which is thrown about a lot in the comics industry, but From Hell is one of the few works that can truly compete with other great works of literature on their own terms. With intriguing subject matter covered by a mixture of factual accuracy and informed speculation, and a combination of intellectual complexity and character-based drama, it's the kind of book that would be a revered bestseller if mainstream culture didn't have such a blind spot as far as comics are concerned. Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell use From Hell to outline a possible explanation for the Whitechapel murders of late-19th-century Victorian London, but this simple summary doesn't do the book justice, as it's the exploration of wider issues - whether it's the British class divide, the media obsession with serial killers, sexual attitudes, architecture, Royal scandal, Masonic conspiracy, the conflict between the matriarchal and patriarchal influences on society, or the nature of time - that make the book such a substantial and satisfying read.
From Hell isn't a whodunnit in the classic sense, as the identity of "Jack the Ripper" is revealed fairly early on in the book. This enables Moore to set out his version of the story in great detail, constructing the edifice with plausible conjecture that is always grounded in a reality which feels strong enough to support his grand theory. Moore peppers the story with just enough historical fact that you occasionally forget that you're reading a fictional account of the murders, and should readers be in any doubt about just how much research went into the book, an extensive appendix gives annotations for every chapter (and acts as a useful guide as to just how much of the writer's story is an invention). Moore also uses the appendix to offer his own opinions on the legitimacy of his sources, candidly acknowledging their unreliable nature at times, giving numerous interesting insights into the Ripper legend, and commenting on his own story with a dry wit (regarding the inclusion of a vignette relating to the 'Elephant Man': "Given that John Merrick and the British Empire died in their sleep at roughly the same time, I thought the irony worthy of inclusion").
Moore's explanation of the murders is too intricate and involved to do justice in a short review, but in simple terms, it's the story of detective Fred Abberline's investigation of the Whitechapel murders which are being committed by Sir William Gull - the royal surgeon and Mason - who has been despatched to murder several prostitutes who have learned of the potentially scandalous sexual indiscretions of the young Prince Albert. However, it's with the details that Moore really brings the story to life, presenting a comprehensive overview of Victorian society in its entirety and subtly positing the theory that it was the most pivotal age of modern history, and one which continues to exert a strong influence over the world today. In one pivotal scene, Gull himself claims to have "delivered" the twentieth century with his campaign of murders, and it's interesting to see just how many modern horrors Moore manages to prefigure in his examination of Victorian culture (memorable scenes include a horrific nightmarish vision suffered by more than one character at the moment of Adolf Hitler's conception, and a final spiritual journey in which a dying Gull encounters Peter Sutcliffe and Ian Brady). There are also numerous appearances from contemporary figures such as John Merrick, Oscar Wilde and even a young Aleister Crowley, but these cameos never feel forced or gratuitous, and Moore is careful never to overuse these period details in such a way as to detract from his core narrative.
Eddie Campbell's black-and-white artwork is a perfect fit for Moore's story, capturing the large cast of characters with ease and bringing the grisly murders to life with just as dispassionate an eye for detail as he reserves for the more mundane elements of day-to-day Victorian life. The frequent tableaux of bustling Victorian streets feel as authentic as period photographs, and there's a real variety to Campbell's manner of drawing which is put to good use to serve Moore's script: Campbell often seems to modify his style to suit the subject of a given scene, reflecting the social standing of different characters with a varying level of finesse and tightness in his linework - in the same way that Shakespeare might have contrasted iambic pentameter with flat prose - to draw clear divisions of class between his characters. If it’s an intentional technique, it's a highly inventive one, and shows just how integral the artist is in the telling of From Hell's story.
One of the most impressively conveyed themes of the book is that of the nature of time and its perception by man, with a hallucinating Gull experiencing portentous visions of the complex tapestry of past, present and future which can't help but be reminiscent of Dr. Manhattan's chronologically shuffled view of the world in Moore's Watchmen. Starting off with occasional jarring flashes of anachronistic detail (which are so brief that readers might question whether they really saw what they saw), the visions become increasingly regular and prolonged as Gull's murders continue, allowing Moore and Campbell to pepper their Victorian saga with meaningful glimpses of the future society which will be ushered into existence over the next hundred years. In fact, it's with these more tangential scenes that Campbell really gets the chance to stretch his artistic legs: in one stunning chapter, Gull delves into the history of Masonic symbolism during an extended coach tour of London landmarks, a sequence which is superbly illustrated by the artist (I dread to think how much reference material he must have ploughed his way through in order to capture the architecture of the city so accurately).
In addition to the extensive endnotes, a second appendix is presented in comicbook format, allowing Moore and Campbell to examine how the cult of "Ripperology" has evolved over the century since the Whitechapel murders. In a fascinating 24 pages, Moore and Campbell bring us a whistle-stop history of what they call the "Gull-catchers": the historians who have attempted to piece together the Ripper legend. It's a highly informative read which casts Moore's story in a new light, but it never gets too dry thanks to Moore's knack for self-deprecating comedy (he and Campbell eventually join the other Gull Catchers before commenting, Elmer Fudd style, "Be vewy, vewy quiet. We're hunting Wippers") and the increasingly absurd nature of the Ripperologists’s speculation. As they trample each other and cannibalise past theories, the appendix reaches a crescendo, and Moore cleverly compares the cult of Jack the Ripper to the concept of ‘Koch's Snowflake’ as a subject which will always be confined in scope, but for which there will always be an appetite for new revelations and uncovered detail - even if the new contributions being made in the field are becoming ever more insubstantial and irrelevant.
In reviewing this book, I've still hardly scratched its surface: I've barely mentioned the compellingly human detective Fred Abberline, whose determination to uncover the truth is given a dramatic irony by the reader's knowledge that - even if he finds his man - the truth about the murders will never come to light; I haven't commented on the never-more-relevant story threads which deal with the public and media obsession with serial killers in 'civilised' society; and I haven't focused on Moore's incredible talent for authentic, characterful dialogue and his ability to juggle a massive cast of characters without any one of them feeling short-changed or underwritten. For all these reasons, From Hell deserves its place as the definitive graphic novel, and it confirms Alan Moore's status as the finest writer with which the medium has ever been blessed.
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