Gertrude blows things up, stabs people, carves out hearts, and squashes talking mice with beer mugs, usually with a maniacal, enraged grin.
Skottie Young always draws the best expressions and the most dynamic action shots, but here he takes it to a whole new level. (Followed by throwing up a small lake: if you’re squeamish, don’t read this book, is what I’m saying.) At one point Gertrude defeats the local mushroom-hat militia by eating them alive, which sends her on a drug-induced hallucination, because of course it does. The art is hilarious and exhausting, panel after panel of gore and adorable little figments ripped limb from limb. She’s had it with street directions given in haiku and forests full of rabid chipmunks. She still looks like a ten year old, but she’s got all the impulse control of a drunk psychopath and the mouth of a sailor. Twenty-seven years later and she is over it. Gertrude fell through into Fairyland as a little kid, and was given a quest: find the key and you can go home. Remember Toon Town in Who Framed Roger Rabbit? It’s like that, only much much worse. It isn’t even the cute cartoon mayhem of his Little X-Men, Little Avengers issues.įairyland is violent and goofy and gross, as wacky a mess as you could ever want. The first volume of Skottie Young’s I Hate Fairyland isn’t some sweet story in a land of spun-sugar towers and graceful unicorns, or the otherworldly beauty of Oz.
“Over the top” doesn’t begin to cover it.
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