The Extraordinary Adventures of Adèle Blanc-Sec Vol. 1

First things first: Fantagraphics has delivered a beautiful new edition of Tardi’s classic series, collecting the first four volumes of The Extraordinary Adventures of Adèle Blanc-Sec: Pterror Over Paris, The Demon of the Eiffel Tower, The Mad Scientist, and Mummies on Parade. The cover is sleek and elegant – although I admit I preferred the rougher feel of the 2010 edition – and the interior is printed on smooth, high-quality paper, something that will matter to anyone who resorts to reading graphic novels digitally only when absolutely necessary. Colors have been harmonized; for example, all the captions on page 48 now share the same orange hue, and the text in speech balloons has been carefully rearranged to fit the smaller format. A few place names in French have also been altered. On the opening page of the first volume, for instance, the editors – no doubt to gain space – dropped “Jardin des Plantes” to keep only the English translation “Botanical Gardens.” I am probably being overly picky, but Tardi is a legend and Adèle Blanc-Sec is a classic, so for some readers these small changes might matter. French names are part of the comic’s distinctive charm. Fortunately, these minor modifications do nothing to diminish the quality of the finished product or the pleasure of reading it. This new edition also includes an introduction by Cynthia Rose, who captures the spirit of the series while providing valuable background on France in the 1910s and on the genre of the feuilleton central to the context and structure of the stories. Altogether, I’d say this edition was put together with love.

For readers unfamiliar with Jacques Tardi, it is difficult to overstate his importance in French comics since the 1970s. English-language readers may know his work on World War I, such as the acclaimed It Was the War of the Trenches (1993), but not The Extraordinary Adventures of Adèle Blanc-Sec, whose first volume appeared in 1976 following its serialization in various magazines. Oddly enough, these works share similarities despite their very different plots and characters. In both, Tardi mocks figures of authority and turns the traditional notion of heroism on its head. He also combines meticulous realism – especially in his drawings of Parisian buildings – with varying degrees of abstraction in character design. Indeed, Tardi excels at rendering Parisian buildings and monuments: the Élysée Palace entrance (p.9), the ocean liner (p.19) in Pterror over Paris, and the streets of Paris that open Mummies on Parade are stunning examples. By contrast, it can sometimes be difficult to distinguish among the many bowler-hatted men surrounding Adèle because they look so similar. This confusion is not a flaw but an essential feature of the feuilleton tradition that Tardi emulates – a kind of soap opera if you will – aptly defined by Rose in her introduction, as “tortuous, thrilling plots.” So, if a character dies in one story, they may or may not reappear in another.

Rhythm is also an essential feature of both the feuilleton and The Adventures of Adèle Blanc-Sec. The stories unfold at a sustained pace, interrupted only by brief pauses in which characters mercifully recap events for readers who may have lost tract of the tangled plot. One good example happens on page 118, when Adèle lies on her sofa after someone tried to kill her: “Espérandieu and the chauffeur never returned to Ménard’s last night … Let us recapitulate … For several days now, I have been followed and observed …Yesterday evening, …” – I won’t spoil it by quoting the entire monologue, but these intermissions are often cut short by a phone call that propels the story into the next action. I recommend rereading the stories, if only to revel in the pleasure of the tortuous plots and Tardi’s genius at building labyrinthine storylines that not only come to a logical conclusion, but provide the cliffhangers that will make you want to keep reading.

Rose's introduction points out that, when Tardi invented the character of Adèle Blanc-Sec, he filled the absence of compelling female protagonists in 1970s comics, and that is certainly true. But it did not happen in a vacuum. The 1970s was a transformative decade for the women’s rights movement in France, creating the stage for stronger, more complex female characters – not heroines with exaggerated curves and impossible waists, but women who felt modern, complex and simply more in synch with the times. It is also difficult to discuss the place of women in French comics during this period without mentioning Claire Brétecher, who introduced her character Cellulite – a different kind of princess – in 1969 and co-founded L’Écho des Savanes in 1972, a magazine to which Tardi contributed. I mention this not to diminish Adèle’s impact in a landscape quasi-empty of interesting female characters at the time, but rather to emphasize that readers were ready for someone like her and Tardi clearly understood that. (And if you have not read Brétecher, you absolutely should).

So, who is Adèle? Tardi himself admitted in a 2018 interview that he could not define her personality except that she is definitively “modern” and has “a bad temper.” Clearly a modern author himself, Tardi does not psychoanalyze his character. Adèle emerges through her actions, dialogue, recurrent monologues, and delightfully sarcastic remarks, particularly to the mummy she keeps in her apartment. We know nothing about her family (although the 2010 movie adaptation invents a sister); we are not sure what she is writing about, and she constantly pouts except in a few striking panels when she is depicted showing surprise or despair. This lack of information is wonderfully freeing, both for Adèle and for the reader. She kidnaps people, steals, and breaks into buildings. Yet she remains on the “good” side of things, flushing out criminals in the highest places and exposing corruption. She is daring and careless, intelligent and naïve, rigid and sexy. I disagree with Odicino, quoted in the introduction, who claims that “everyone hates her.” Some characters fall in love with her; many are attracted to her, including the resurrected pre-historic man in The Mad Scientist. Others seek her help, such as Simon Flageolet, while Professor Ménard defends her against the misogynistic Dieuleveult. If many men resent her, it is because she is beautiful (as Zborowsky and Espérandieu remark), intelligent, and above all, independent. Women are no more fans of hers: Clara Benhardt tries to kill her repeatedly over the course of two volumes! I suspect her worst enemies are not so much criminals and corrupted officials as their stupidity and lack of wit (I also like to imagine her swearing like a sailor in the cornucopia of the gutters.) In all her adventures, Adèle remains impossible to categorize, both for her foes and for readers – and the books are richer because of it.

The appeal and contemporaneity of the series also lies in its political, pacifist and anti-colonial outlook. These concerns are as central here as in Goddam This War! (also published by Fantagraphics), where Tardi condemns the French leaders’ thirst for power and disregard for human life. Sarcasm directed at politicians and state institutions is a national pastime for many of us French, and it is one of the great pleasures of the series. Take Page 10, where Tardi ridicules leadership by depicting government and police officials passing around the responsibility of solving the pterodactyl mystery like a hot potato, until it lands on Caponi, a rather dull-witted local detective who will make the perfect scapegoat, “should it go awry,” as the chief commissioner puts it. A few pages later, Tardi denounces colonialism through the absurd figure of Justin de St. HUBERT, who proudly boasts of having slain “hundreds of predators.” Ménard later calls him a murderer, and readers won’t help but rejoice when Ménard becomes the hunter and St. Hubert the prey (p. 34). Another very satisfying moment comes in The Mad Scientist, when Adèle learns that inspector Caponi has become a gang leader. She laughs so hard that tears come to her eyes.

The Extraordinary Adventures of Adèle Blanc-Sec has it all: adventure, humor, a compelling female character, gorgeous artwork, a masterful mise-en-page (just look at the first two pages), and a healthy dose of the unexplained. It is also, in this new edition, a beautiful object to hold. When do we get to read the rest of Adèle’s adventures?

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