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See, I saw that very, very differently: the exact line is (translated) "Nobody gives a fuck about where the hand's from. All we care about's the ink," which I saw it as indicating a certain lack of imagination, which is a common trait amongst Grant Morrison's bad guys—a lack of curiosity, of playfulness, which carries over into all aspects: everything about the Hand—even the sex—is purposeful, practical: even Mercury's inky narratives are carried out to a purpose: the growth and harvesting of new technology. There's no play here.
In fact, the only people we see playing—just trying things to see what happens—have been amoral monsters like Von Vermun and Hughes.
"The ink makes things real": the source, then, of Le Pen's ability to shape events by writing them—her pose mirroring that of the hand's owner: as above, so below.
Grant has said that this is the most meticulously planned book he's ever done, as opposed to the more improvisational Invisibles. In a way, this is a case of the protagonist dictating the approach. The strength of the Invisibles lay in their ability to confound the expectations of a hierarchical predictable enemy—but the Hand, as agents of control, depend on planning and predictability.
One exception: Ned Slade, who's been described as good at improvising... which may be why he's having trouble fitting in...
But for such a planned book, there are many bothersome inconsisitencies in the art. Chris Weston can't seem to decide from page to page whether the stripes on Ned's insignia go above or below the shield; Cameron Spector has switches from the Frequency to the Horns; and the colors of Spector's and Mercury's uniforms change from issue to issue.
Also: Does the giant hand remind anyone else of Alan Moore's SWAMP THING: LOVE AND DEATH? |
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