The men and women he described have been wedged into my memory for decades. Who could forget that group of peasants trekking through the desert to a useless plot of land the government had granted them? Or that bragging, drunken, fornicating functionary whose visit bankrupts an already starving pueblo?
Or the idiot Macario, who kills frogs in order to eat them? Or the father who carries his dying son on his back, all the while reproaching him for the crimes by which the son has dishonored his lineage? Crimes haunt most of these characters. A bandolero is tracked down for hour after hour along a dry riverbed by unknown pursuers. A prisoner pleads for his life, unaware that the colonel who commands the firing squad is the son of a man whom the prisoner killed forty years earlier.
An old curandero or healer is corralled by a coven of women in black, bent on forcing him to confess to his many sexual transgressions against them. But, as always in Rulfo, the greatest crime of all is the destruction of hope, the orphaning of communities like the forsaken town of Luvina:. People in Luvina say dreams rise out of those ravines; but the only thing I ever saw rise up from there was the wind, whirling, as if it had been imprisoned down below in reed pipes.
But the chicalote soon withers. Then one hears it scratching the air with its thorny branches, making a noise like a knife on a whetstone. Migrants who leave their own infernal Comala behind still carry inside its memories and dreams, its whispers and rancors, as they cross borders and settle into new streets. That journey, related in concise, poetic fragments, turns out to be even more disquieting than expected. The only resident is an old woman, who gives the traveler lodging.
Although nobody else appears in those parched streets, Juan hears voices that ebb and flow in the oppressive heat of a tormented night, phantom murmurs so stifling that they kill him.
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Juan himself, we gradually realize, has been dead from the start of his narration of these events. He is telling his tale from a coffin he shares with the woman who used to be his nanny and wanted to be his mother; we are struck with the petrifying knowledge that they will lie there forever in that morbid embrace, alongside the corpses of others whose lives have been snuffed out by this demonic caudillo.
Today it is a depressed area filled with auto repair shops and warehouses. The bright spot is a well-worn, decades-old American Legion post. Several blocks northeast are the elegant brownstones of Park Slope. Their remains lie intermingled in what should be hallowed ground. Their assault on that house arguably remains one of the most important elite small-unit engagements in American his- tory. It bought precious time for the Patriot cause, allowing hundreds of colonial troops to retreat through a gap in British lines.
The lonely weathered placard nestled among the auto-body shops of present-day Brooklyn bears silent witness to the drama that once unfolded in this place and the extraordinary men who changed history. Over the crackle of musket fire and boom of cannon, the indomitable Major Mordecai Gist and many of the founding officers of the Baltimore Independent Cadets ordered their men forward. Shots tore through the ranks of more than two hundred Marylanders. Now, these same barriers that had shielded Americans were called upon to repel them. From a distant hill, General George Washington watched the gallant display through his spyglass.
What brave fellows I must this day lose!
Yet not all was lost. The soldiers who participated in that unorthodox assault would become known as the Immortals or the Maryland Reading the solemn words etched on that metal sign made me curious. I wanted to know what really happened to these men, who they were, and why citizen-soldiers—amateurs—fought and sacrificed their lives and fortunes to fight the most formidable army in the world. Over the years, I unearthed a hidden war buried in letters and diaries. Forgotten pension files bore testament to heroism and sacrifice, and even to betrayal by fellow Americans.
Download PDF The Immortal Revolution (The War of the Dead Book 2)
These sacrifices by a small group of men—in the right place, at the right time—who were willing to march thousands of miles and endure years of unimaginable hardship, made the difference between victory and defeat. Their nine-year saga has remained untold for over years and nearly forgotten, much like the mass grave in which their comrades now lie. Gist and hundreds of Marylanders from all walks of life became an elite corps that formed the nucleus of the greatest fighting regiments of the war.
They helped to keep the Continental Army intact through the darkest days of the Revolution. It is also a story about close friends whose fellowship in battle kept them together in the most impossible circumstances, enabled their survival, and helped them emerge as some of the most decorated and successful battle captains of the war. I knew it was going to do okay. It was the Hulk, I knew we were doing good work, people were hungry for what we were selling. But what's happening now is far beyond just "okay.
It's doing so well now that it's actually quite frightening, because I'm still writing an experimental, chaotic, synchronistic work, and Joe's still having fun and pushing himself to the limit on the visuals, but part of me understands that, to quote the seminal '90s band Take That, there is a road going down on the other side of this hill, and we don't have a map for what happens then. I do want to make it clear that Marvel have taken a very light touch with this book - the editors I'm working with, Wil Moss and Sarah Brunstad, and before that Tom Brevoort and Alanna Smith, all know they can give me a certain amount of rope and I'll bring it home, and Immortal Hulk is proving that that approach is successful.
This isn't Hollywood, and so far nobody's pushing to dilute the vision, and it's possible we might be inspiring other creative experiments of a similar nature.
Why the Future Might Be Our Greatest Dream
But with all that said, nothing in this world is certain, and either we will come to an end on our own terms or we won't, but nothing is forever. Look at Batman. Stuff happens. Can you tease a little about the future of Hulk? Will we see a new Hulk emerging from the old one? Change is a constant in Immortal Hulk , and we're coming up to a big one as the themes we've set in motion play to their conclusion. Issues 23 and 24 have been solicited, and they hint at some big bold moves to be made — but issue 25 is what's going to change the game.
People say things like that a lot — it's the hype train — but I honestly mean it. It's experimental in a way I'm not sure we've seen since the '70s. And from there, we plan to go to some very, very interesting places. Update your browser for more security and the best experience on this site.
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