Little Things Hitting Each Other

The world of fantasy literature is oft a repetitive one. Unless your last name is Grimm, Tolkien or “Anonymous Poet From Before We Wrote Shit Down Because Clay Was Expensive,” than you probably stole your story from somebody else.

“What madness is this?” you exclaim. “Oh, that vile wordsmith Steinho is making wild accusations once more! What about Harry Potter, you fiend? For goodness sake, what about Harry Potter?” By the way, in my head everyone talks like Charles Dickens.

Well guess what, popular children’s fiction lovers! Things like boggarts, mandrake roots and the philosopher’s stone were part of English mythology long before the fabulous J.K. Rowling ever included them in her wondrous tale. To her credit, it’s the way in which Rowling wove together existing folklore and original ideas that have made her books so enticing, and her earnings so extensive she could probably fill a giant bin with gold coins and swim in it.

No, it’s all those other fantasy writing hacks that I detest so; the ones who fail to get past the familiar triad of human, dwarf and elf. (Or the current and more repulsive trend of vampire, werewolf and teen moron.) Why must there always be dwarfs and elves? Why must the dwarves always be miners and carry axes and talk with Scottish accents? I’m waiting for the hilarious fantasy novel about the dwarf who got sick of living in a dank cave, and moved to Hawaii to become a pearl diver and teach surfing to tourists.

Until that day arrives, I am thankful for the few original discoveries I have made in the fantasy genre, such as David Petersen, and his graphic novel series, “Mouse Guard.” Once upon a time, in a magical land known as Michigan, a lad named David Petersen was born and watched a lot of cartoons, and grew up to draw his own cartoons about heroic warrior mice, who fight bears and hawks and wear smashing little capes. This is the gist of “Mouse Guard.” While it follows the general guidelines of a typical fantasy epic, with ruthless nobles and legendary swordsmen, terrified villagers and vicious monsters, the key difference is that every character is a badass mouse. Currently, there exist three books in the Mouse Guard world, including “Fall 1152,” “Winter 1152,” and the six issue mini-series in comic stores at this very moment, “The Black Axe.”

Anyone who has ever loved the adventures of Robin Hood or King Arthur, not to mention anyone who appreciates beautiful, rich illustrations, will enjoy these stories. It is such a mistake to assume the media of comics has nothing to offer other than tights-wearing mutants and hyper-violent mayhem. I recently perused the first volume in the “Preacher” series by Garth Ennis, and while I was intrigued by some of the mythology, the excessive visual nastiness kept me from reading further. Maybe I’m turning into an old woman, but I find myself less and less excited about seeing pictures of cartoon faces being blown off.

If you think just because these graphic novels are about adorable mice in cloaks, they will not appease your garish American appetite for violence, than you are most certifiably wrong, you villainous warmonger. In one story from “Mouse Guard: Legend of the Guard,” the wife and young son of two knights must watch as their respective champions stab the crap out of each other, knowing their opponent must die if they themselves are to survive. Another chapter tells of a young lady mouse who watches her fiancée die at the hands of an evil king, and must take up his weapon and blood-drenched armor to avenge the murder. If these mice ever sing, it is not on the shoulder of a cartoon princess.

So if you feel ill at the sight of another Gandalf clone with names like Aoyemandyer, or fantasy series where someone turns out to be the descendant/reincarnation/long-lost cousin of a Greek/Norse/Egyptian god, soothe your rankled soul and read “Mouse Guard.” Because watching a mouse stab a bear in the face is both hilarious, and cool to see.