Joenicolosi

Genius is a new graphic novel written by Steven T Seagle and drawn by Teddy Kristiansen and it's not really like any other graphic novels I've read. In a very good way.

Ted Marx is a physicist, and he's a genius. That's what he's been told all his life, ever since he started skipping grades in elementary school. It's only natural that he'd be recruited directly out of grad school and into a world-famous physics institute, but once he reaches it, he flames out. Ted Marx appears to have had all his significant physics insights while he was still an adolescent, and whatever well he visited for those insights has run dry. He's terrified of losing his job. He needs the money to shelter and feed his two adolescent children, his dying and terminally grumpy father-in-law, and his wife, whose persistent headaches are about to take a turn for the worse.

Ted worships Einstein, and frequently holds imaginary conversations with him, so imagine his surprise when he learns that his hateful, spiteful, senile father-in-law was once military guard to Einstein, part spy, part confessor. And what's more, the old man says that Einstein entrusted him with an idea that he never told anyone else, an idea that he's kept secret, true to his oath, for all these years. And if there's one thing that Ted really needs, it's an idea.

Genius is a remarkable book about some very difficult-to-illustrate subjects: creativity, inspiration, and yes, genius. Kristiansen's moody, impressionistic watercolor illustrations -- not usually my kind of thing -- perfect for the material. There's a full-blown, multi-page spread of pure abstraction that is so right and fitting that it made me wonder why we bother with words at all.

I'm not familiar with either of these creators' work (though apparently Seagle co-founded the studio that created the kids' megafranchise Ben-10). But based on this, I'm adding them to my "buy-everything-they-do" list.

Don't take my word for it -- click through below for the prolog and first couple pages of chapter one, courtesy of our pals at FirstSecond.

Genius

"Sir, you’re going to have to stop doing that."

Nick didn’t answer, just flicked the switch and watched the target slide across the range on its track. He stopped it at about halfway, still practicing his aim, working his way up to longer distances.

"The other customers are complaining, dude. You’re really creeping people out here."

The owner of the range, a tall pot-bellied man in his early 50s, had stepped into Nick’s booth. Nick didn’t pay him any mind. He was big, but he was soft. And he wasn’t going to stop Nick from what he came here to do.

"Come on, man. Don’t make me, like…I could call the cops, you know."

Nick put his protective headphones on, not even looking at the guy, or the few other customers at the range who had gathered at the end of the line to watch the confrontation. The tattletales, Nick thought.

"I told you when you came in, you can only use targets approved by the—"

Nick’s first shot rang out. He didn’t hear it, but he could see the sound as it pushed the manager away from him like a hard shove, the guy throwing his hands up over his ears as he ran down the line and out the door. The mob scattered in after him, and they gathered to watch Nick empty his clip from behind the glass.

Nick took off his headphones and flicked the switch, calling the target back to him along the track. A few shots went wild, but eight of them were straight-up fuckin’ bullseyes. Not bad. He took the perforated paper down and replaced it with a fresh one, identical to the first.

The crowd behind the glass groaned as they watched another anatomically correct Spongebob Squarepants get loaded into place and go sailing down the range. No one wanted to see Spongebob’s perky yellow genitals obliterated by gunfire again, but they all watched anyway. Nobody looked away.

Sophie screamed as the last grains of wood keeping the door together gave up. The door caved in, hunks and shards and splinters of wood falling to the floor. All that remained between her and him - the maniac wearing a ski mask, barking at her, wielding an axe - was a flimsy quarter of the door. Easy enough for this blood-spattered lunatic to step right over, and she watched as he did, his chest heaving, axe raised above his head.

As he stepped forward, Sophie heard a loud ripping noise. She saw the malignant victory in the man’s eyes fade, begin to turn into something else. His momentum carried him a couple of steps closer, too close, dangerously close, but all Sophie could do was follow the man’s eyes as he looked down at his own pants.

They had caught in the door, and as he lunged through its splintered remains, his dirty jeans tore away from his pale, spindly legs. A shroud of denim hung from the door behind him, and he stood staring at it numbly as Sophie noticed that the man wasn’t wearing underwear. She could see his penis. It was like a baby’s penis, tight and compact, raised up in the air like a dainty pinkie at a tea party, sticking up because it wasn’t big enough to hang.

Sophie couldn’t hold it in. She broke the silence, first with muffled chuckling, then more pronounced laughter. “Shut up," the man in the mask said. He lowered his axe. Sophie kept laughing, couldn’t help herself, oh God it was so TINY, she babysat for a nice couple and it reminded her of changing diapers in their house. “Shut up!" the man yelled, his voice actually cracking. He backed away, the axe falling to the floor with a thump. Sophie was clutching her ribs now, tears streaming down her face from the monster with the baby penis. 

He was still yelling at her to shut up and pulling at the tattered strips of his jeans when she got up and picked up his axe.