Krampus… I don’t know what it is about this book, but I freaking loved it. I am seriously considering driving to writer Brian Joines house, then artist Dean Kotz’s place, and giving them a hug for crafting this ridiculous story, and then, most likely punching them in the face for making me wait another month for book two. Heck I might even hug and assault the rest of the staff working on this book.
What is it I love about this book? I honestly cannot peg it. It nails some kind of magical essence between childish whimsy and drunken masochism that is rarely scratched in today’s world.
In one issue, Joines has created characters that have sincerely sparked my curiosity, from the twisted Sugar Plum fairies, to the drunken wreck that is Belsnickel (was he drunk? I don’t really know, but he looks like hobo Santa, and I dig it!)
The story opens with a bolt of action, and manages to weave in a magnificently coherent narrative, with a charming cast, and somehow managed to jam it in a single issue. Really, my only modest complaint is: why the hell is Krampus French? Or am I just weird and reading him as French? Whatever, it’s a modest gripe, and it only had me pause for the briefest of moments before I plodded ahead with enjoyment.
The visuals, hell, I loved them two. The character design is really spot on and amazing. Each character seems to have been given really unique attention and detail, and they craft the panel about them in fanciful way that really makes each scene pop. Artist Kotz really just kills it scene by scene, creating a lively work that inspires morbid wonder.
I want to say more, but really, just go read it.
In summation, Christmas plus extra awesome.
5 out of 5.
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About the Author - CajunBean
He was born in the swamps of Louisiana, where he spent his days punching gators in the crotch and funneling gumbo til his eyes bled. Then one day, a powerful foreign entity dragged him across several state lines, and tethered him to the Colorado Rockies, where he lives in perpetual fear of freezing to death and there is nary a gator crotch in sight for punching. Now he hides inside, dreading snow flurries, and hammering away reviews and non-nonsensical ramblings for the outhouse overlords (cuz apparently someone saw fit to lord over outhouses).
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