Heading home can often be quite bittersweet.
There are those things you remember fondly, the tropes and hallmarks of family life that bring warmth to your soul and a smile to your face; then there are the parts of being with the ones you know and love that induce teeth grinding of such ferocity that scheduling a dentist appointment right after your visit is almost obligatory.
Cadet Tilde of the Baxnan Military Academy stationed on Olympus Station in the disputed territory between her home empire and that of the Juria knows exactly how that feels, though in her case its more of the latter and far less of the former than she or anyone else would like.
In Tartarus, with evocative writing by Johnnie Christmas and luminously beautiful artwork by Jack T. Cole, we bear witness to what happens when a series of unplanned events, which may or may not involve an unsanctioned R&R trip to the wild and lawless mining colony of Tartarus by Tilde and her classmates Klinzu and Oskan, take Tilde far closer to her family roots that is she is evenly comfortable with going.
The problem, and trust us, it’s a doozy of a problem, is that Tilde’s long-vanished mother, presumed dead, is Sarku, a ruthless warlord who treated the mining colony with a cruel lack of concern for anyone’s wellbeing but her own.
In the brilliantly-realised past prologue to Tilde’s story, we see how Sarku engineers an impressively action-packed escape from her prison pit deep in the bowels of Tartarus, eager to reclaim what she sees as rightfully hers.
Things do and don’t go quite to plan but one thing that is made quite clear is that Sarku passionately loves her then-baby daughter; of course; 17 years later, raised by her grandmother, knows none of this, oblivious to her inheritance, such as it is, her family or what lies on wait for her on Tartarus.
With this kind of layered, complex and emotionally resonant set-up, there are a lot of action-packed and just as importantly, deeply personal places that Tartarus can go and go there it does, taking us with on a thrill ride of a journey into a world where the past and present collide with adrenaline-pounding results.
An integral part of this utterly beguiling, high-octane, technicolour intense adventure into her unknown past is the artwork which brings alive, with unstoppable, luscious vivacity, the surrounds of Tartarus where the temple-dwelling Djinn and the warlords battle for control.
Tartarus is rumoured by those who have never been there to be a place like no other, and Cole realises this with art that is so detailed, so immensely rich in colour and presence and so richly evocative that you feel like you could tumble into its vivid surrounds.
You may not want to, of course, thanks to the bloodthirsty nature of a society that rewards kidnapping, betrayal and lust without breaking a sweat, and certainly as Tilde comes to grips with a place she once called home, she begins to seriously re-think her rash decision to spend her off-time in a place which does not do casual and is all-in come what may.
Christmas’s story is epic in every sense of the word, a dystopian tale of one woman’s quest, a completely uncalled for quest by the way of which she would happily be rid if events didn’t overtook her to such a degree that reversal is not even an option, to fix things gone wrong that compounds in such a riotously exuberant and unstoppable way that she has no choice but to go with its mad and zestful flow.
Tartarus is archetypal sci-fi blockbuster brilliance that delivers up epic fights against tyranny, corrupt grabs for power and a dazzling lack of humanity all while telling a deeply personal story of one woman and her trip back to family that is way worse, and yet thrilling to read, than anything you might experience each Christmas or Thanksgiving.
Christmas balances the extravagance of a gangster plot with the intimacy of Tilde’s need to adhere to her inner integrity and commitment to what’s right to an almost infallible degree, offering a tale in Tartarus that evokes the high emotional stakes of sci-fi iconic properties like Star Wars with the truthfulness of the human condition that you would find in a thoughtful indie drama.
It’s a delectable combination that understands all too well that while full speed ahead is intoxicating beyond belief, that we need to humanity at its heart too since nothing happens anywhere in the universe without something richly personal beating like a heartbeat at its core.
Christmas and Cole seem to understand this implicitly, giving us in Tartarus a story that will thrill every last one of your senses, including your love of sumptuously coloured artwork, and touching your heart in a way that will surprise you as you are reminded that while you might be able to go back, contrary to that well-worn admonition not to, getting out again ever is an altogether different and terrifyingly complex proposition.
