Comics review: Marc Ellerby's Ellerbisms

A comic strip that began life with few pretensions.

Ellerbisms began life with few pretensions. It was to be a diary comic like so many others: a page of a Moleskine a day, illustrated with something which happened to Marc Ellerby in the last twenty-four hours. These are the bread-and-butter of the indie cartoonist's world, and, along with gag strips, make up the majority of webcomics (once you exclude the furries, at least). But, as Ellerby says:

Then I met a Swedish girl called Anna and it stopped being so sporadic (and boring).

What you end up reading is a chronicle of a relationship, messy bits included, written as it happened. To this end, Ellerby has also added a new prologue and epilogue, as well as adding a few pages in near the beginning to elaborate on the context of some of the strips. This is a good idea; those early strips, already the weakest part of the book, occasionally make reference to events which Ellerby simply didn't get round to illustrating in real time, and the extra content helps the story hold together as one coherent piece.

New artwork next to old does serve to emphasise how much better a cartoonist Ellerby is now than he was when he started. But thanks to his decision to excise the first few months of Ellerbisms strips, and turn the book from "the complete collection" to "the complete Marc and Anna", there's little of the genuinely amateurish stuff left in. His very first strip remains as a nostalgic title page, and it's a nice scene in its own right; but if the first twenty pages were like it, readers might never hit the good stuff.

Which would be a shame. Like Joff Winterhart's Costa-nominated Days of the Bagnold Summer, Ellerbisms' short episodes, frequently just a page each, build up a detailed, touching portrait of the young couple (whereas Bagnold Summer's episodic nature was an affectation, this is the real deal). We see them fighting over nothing, singing and preparing, and their holidays, working days, and days out in the park. The end, when it comes, isn't surprising, because we have come to know the pair so well that the writing was on the wall. But it is saddening nonetheless.

Not that Ellerbisms is a mopey book. It wears its page-a-day heritage on its sleeve, and the pages of silliness and gags are frequently laugh-out-loud funny. But without that emotional core, it would feel like so many other good but ephemeral webcomics.

Ellerby has also worked hard to make Ellerbisms worth reading as a book, rather than just mooching off the still-available free archives. As well as the aforementioned extra content – and removed content, because what's not collected is as important as what is – it's also packaged together with production values (including delicious rounded corners, a hat-tip to the Moleskine heritage) that well exceed what was necessary to get it out the door. It's all part of Ellerby's – and diary-comics co-conspirator Adam Cadwell's – audacious self-publishing venture, Great Beast.

The two are publishing high quality editions of their complete diary comics – Cadwell's The Everyday is available in hardback, nigh-on unheard of for a self-published webcomic – as well as their other works, like Cadwell's six-part Blood Blokes, about hipster vampires, and Ellerby's Chloe Noonan: Monster Hunter, a sort of Buffy-without-powers. If it works, it will let them cut out the middleman, and may just make publishing these sort of comics, if not quite profitable, then at least break-even. If it doesn't, it will have been an expensive experiment.

No matter what the quality of the physical objects produced, Great Beast will live or die on the skill of its artists. While Chloe Noonan has failed to find the commercial success it deserves, leading to a reboot being planned, it shows that Ellerby has the chops to make something fun and accessible. Hopefully it will find the audience it deserves, and give Ellerby a ticket to riches. But Ellerbisms is proof that he can do much more than just that.

What you end up reading is a chronicle of a relationship. Photograph: Getty Images.

Alex Hern is a technology reporter for the Guardian. He was formerly staff writer at the New Statesman. You should follow Alex on Twitter.

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Politicians and fashion? Why their approach can be telling

My week, from spying on the spies to Theresa May’s fashion charm offensive – and how Sadiq stole hearts.

About nine months ago I was asked if I wanted to spend a morning with Zac Goldsmith, as he appeared to be wakening from the slumber that had obviously taken hold of him when he decided to run for mayor of London. However, after about three minutes in his company (maybe less, actually) I realised that not even his campaign team – let alone voters in the Borough of Southwark – thought he had a hope in hell of winning.

There was only ever going to be one winner, and the enthusiasm with which Sadiq Khan has been greeted by London has been heartwarming. He won the politician award at GQ’s Men of the Year Awards a few weeks ago, and I’d never heard such a roar as he leapt up on stage to collect it. Well, I’ve heard such roars for the likes of Michael Caine, Elton John and Amy Schumer, but rarely for a politician. In fact, the last time there was such fulsome applause for a politician at the GQ awards was when we gave one to a pre-Sextator David Blunkett. Perhaps I shouldn’t be surprised: the last time Noel Gallagher graced us with his presence, he asked: “Is this what a Conservative party conference looks like?”

 

On the dole

The recent past is being hauled over so repeatedly that soon there are going to be ­retrospectives of events that happened only last week. Or next week. On paper, the new exhibition at the V&A in London, entitled “You Say You Want a Revolution? Records and Rebels 1966-1970”, seemed slightly behind the curve, but the reality is very different – as it’s probably the best exhibition you’ll see in London this year.

This is all down to the curation, which was handled by Geoffrey Marsh and Victoria Broackes, the wizards behind “David Bowie Is”, the most successful show in the V&A’s history. It’s a terrific exhibition, although being reminded of the cultural and political insurrection of the Sixties also reminds you of the period’s seemingly innate optimism as a new London was mushrooming into life. Winston Churchill was dead, abortion was about to be made legal and the rise in happiness seemed exponential. Britain was experiencing almost full employment (though the government wobbled slightly in the spring of 1966 when it was announced that the jobless total had gone up to half a million). It never occurred to anyone that there might not be a job
waiting for them when they left school or their red-brick university.

 

Priced out

There certainly won’t be a house waiting for them, not if they intend to live in London. The marketing bods behind the new development at Battersea Power Station came in to make a presentation at Vogue House a few weeks ago, showing us lots of slides and videos about their fabulous ­development. There’s a Frank Gehry this and a Frank Gehry that, a swimming pool, a private members’ club and lots of artisanal independent retailers selling organic rhubarb and fancy beer, blah blah blah.

Their roll-call of “good things” included the ominous words “affordable housing”, but this appears to be anything but. After the presentation, I promptly stuck my hand up and asked them what they actually meant by affordable housing. The answer I got wasn’t satisfactory, so I asked again: “What does your entry-level accommodation cost?” And the very charming man with the lapel-mike coughed apologetically and almost whispered, “£350,000.” At which point I made my excuses and left.

The idea that my daughters can one day get on the property ladder in London is pure fantasy, and they certainly won’t be living in Battersea, or indeed anywhere near it.

 

Back in fashion

Last Thursday, Theresa May hosted her first reception at Downing Street for the British fashion industry, an event that usually takes place twice a year, and which is attended by fashion designers, industry figures, newspaper and magazine editors and the like. ­Samantha Cameron was always a significant supporter of the sector (which contributes more to the country’s GDP than the car industry), as was Sarah Brown before her, and it is instructive that May has decided to follow in their footsteps.

It’s also telling that Mrs Cameron was not only invited to the event at No 10 but turned up, which says a lot about both women. Theresa May is a fundamentally shy person, yet she not only made a pitch-perfect speech in front of a Brexit-sensitive (and quite possibly suspicious) crowd, but chose to embrace the opportunity to espouse the growing importance of an industry that was so closely associated with the wife of her predecessor. There is such a lot of noise at the moment surrounding the PM’s apparent lack of interest in remaining on good terms with David Cameron, so one wonders what, if anything, is going on here. Taken at face value, May’s move at the reception was extremely classy.

 

The spying game

The following day I found myself in Cheltenham for a five-hour briefing on counterterrorism, cyber-defence, drug smuggling and child kidnapping at GCHQ.

I had expected the place to be like the Foreign Office, but it’s actually more like Google, Apple or Nike, and feels as though it could easily be a campus on America’s “Left Coast”.

There is an incredible sense of purpose at GCHQ, a feeling that they are all working for the common good, and frankly I found it infectious. While the denizens of Silicon Valley might be very adept at pushing the frontiers of consumerism, designing training shoes, telephones and algorithms, it felt far more appropriate to be spending time with men and women obsessed with making the world safer.

Dylan Jones is the editor-in-chief of GQ and a trustee of the Hay Festival

This article first appeared in the 22 September 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The New Times