In a post-Pulp Fiction world of crime storytelling, the use of multiple, interlocking storylines has become a commonplace device. When employed with skill, it can create a rich and textured universe with depth and veracity. When used ineffectively, the separate storylines become episodic and exist as disjointed short stories stitched together only by a title.
David Lapham's Stray Bullets falls into the former category as a complete, defined and utterly fascinating world of crime and morality. Lapham however exceeds the cartoony caricatures of Pulp Fiction by creating a host of characters that are clearly entrenched in our world, and it is this veracity that makes it one of the truly great crime epics of the past decade.
Stray Bullets is indeed a vast and sprawling crime story, but unlike the works of Hammett, Puzo or Tarantino, its world is not populated by criminal masterminds or slick mobsters who know exactly the right thing to say at exactly the right time. In fact Lapham's characters seem to specialize in saying exactly the wrong things at the wrong time, and it is their fallibility which gives this series the essential dose of realism that takes it to the next level of crime storytelling.
Amongst the large cast of characters there isn't a single admirable protagonist - they all display signs of rage, of violence, of ignorance and sometimes of blatant stupidity. They are bumbling small-time crooks making their way through life in the most convoluted and amoral ways possible. As aforementioned there are no Tarantino-esque clever one-liners, quotable catchphrases, or even slight pop-culture references in Lapham's work. His characters speak in everyday vernacular, at times with accents and differing pronunciations, much of it lewd, snarling and vastly inappropriate. In actuality, there is no real reason for we the readers to personally like any of the characters, but this certainly does not mean that we cannot identify with them. This is where the true power of Lapham's work resides.
Lapham, through his expressive artwork and penchant for details in design and vernacular, creates characters and situations that we all, regardless of our moral compass, tend to find ourselves in and associated with; the small girl who is picked on, the young inexperienced boy with self-esteem problems, the father who feels he has let his family down, the people who can't see an immediate way out. Because of their emotional authenticity and Lapham's ability to set them in a real world (his details of clothing, physicality and environment are simply spectacular) the characters ring as true, and because we identify with them we can actually care about what happens to them, because they are people just like us. This despite the book containing extremely graphic and heinous acts of violence, scenes which we would never hope to witness or experience in our own lives. But even with the violence we still care, which is a remarkable feat and one of the rarest accomplishments in recent comics, which have specialized in desensitized and emotionally empty violence.
Recent books like Jimmy Corrigan and Asterios Polyp craft characters and worlds that exist within our reality, and it is what makes these books the prime examples of the artform. David Lapham's Stray Bullets certainly belongs in that canon, and in many facets surpasses these works by eschewing literary pretensions for deceptively complex declarations of simple, basic truths. These are not just interweaving crime stories, they are the paths of everyday people living life in its most unglamorous and naked self, a collective web of experience that is both beautiful, shocking and thought provoking. Essential reading.
Note: This review applies to the first eight issues of the series, and not the collected trade listed here.