Narcopolis, AVATAR PRESS, Jamie Delano & Jeremy Rock
AN: Hey Jamie, how are you?
JD: Okay -- weird snowfall melting under miserable rain now. What better ambiance in which to wrestle with ambiguity.
AN: Narcopolis seems to draw from genre of Dystopia, as did Outlaw Nation,and other fine works of yours. What aspect of this world is particularly out of synch with what it should be, in your eyes, and what is out of synch in your world of Narcopolis?
JD: I guess we humans are the main spanner in the ointment as far as I am concerned. As individuals, I can share fellow feeling with just about anyone, but, as a species, our collectively selfish, ignorant, superstitious and violent nature is - ah - regrettable. But, while despising the human condition, I do not either crave, or proselytise, any form of "Utopia", political, social or religious. Life is a journey through hostile territory. Our genetic imperative is for survival and our instinct brutal in pursuit of this and other advantage: any "redemption" lies in the style of our travelling... the grace with which we deal with our fellow travellers and the humility with which we draw sustenance from the world to support our brief exploration of the phenomenon of life.
The society of Narcopolis has surrendered its right to knowledge and self-determination, and by extension its responsibility for the consequences of its continuing existence, to the mercy of a "caring state" that offers physical comfort and emotional security -- infantilising its citizens -- in return for passive productivity.
AN: Who is responsible? Both in terms of your story and setting, but also, for the world we live in? Why is that so?
JD: We, the mature, sentient, curious, free-willed population of the planet are solely responsible for the societal conditions in which we live our lives, and through which we collectively interact. In time we may evolve the will and organisational skills to make redundant the instinct of the powerful to abuse and exploit the lives of those weaker... but I anticipate extinction may overtake us first.
AN: How does dealing with a concept or problem, in exaggerated form, allow artists and writers to address a subject, aren’t there enough obstacles in the way for most readers to enjoy a story?
JD: Does the mountaineer desire gentler slopes to his mountain? Do we read a story to be soothed asleep by mellifluous words, or engaged in the challenge of its journey?
Our world -- interior and exterior -- is intimidating in its complexity. Concepts collide chaotically, emotions derange and moral contradiction undermines and confuses us. I write stories, I guess, in a pathetically vain attempt to reduce the madness to a temporarily manageable proportion... a choice, appetizing, bite-sized chunk of reality that can be masticated and absorbed without fear of choking on all the bone and connective tissue. Then, perhaps, one mouthful at a time, I can begin to make sense of our common experience.
Stupid, I know: might as well build model railways...
AN: Drugs treat symptoms, drugs allow people to both heal and control their vices, drugs allow for people to live normally if taken with care and proper respect. But of course drugs are doorways to addiction, misuse and other unfriendly things. NARCOPOLIS speaks to a certain world of drug use. Is this in anyway directly allegorical to anything you have experienced personally? Why investigate this dark alley?
JD: Anyone who takes a drug does so to medicate their experience of the human condition... from ennui, to cancer through chronic back-pain. Our consciousness and physical realities are all we really own: it is our absolute right to modify either however we deem appropriate... and our absolute responsibility for the outcome of that modification. Although, in a humane and mature society, those that are ill-equipped to control the consequences of their bad-choices should be considered a burden to be carried by all as a cost of our wider liberty.
Some people consider their experience needs no alleviation or enhancement, they are comfortable in the shoes in which they walk, with their direct interaction with the world. Good luck to them. Others desire mediation by some chemical or spiritual agent ranging from alcohol to god. Good luck to them, too. We all deal with the world as we find it.
Personally, I like to operate with the benefit of the vague detachment conferred by employment of a habitual mix of nicotine, caffeine and hashish. Like all benefits there are hidden costs attached and I'll get the bill in due course. Basic rule of life: always be aware of both benefit and cost when making any decision.
AN: You write from a personal place, as most writers do, but, where is the line between personal journey and entertainment? Or, is there such a line? Do people become voyeurs therefore?
JD: Only the readers of biography or diaries, perhaps. We have celebrities for voyeurs to get off on. While a writer must necessarily reveal something of himself as interpreter of a perceived reality, it is really the commonality of human experience communicated when a writer hits a vein of "truth" that the reader finds appealing, I suspect -- the recognition of himself and his own experience.
AN: When working a complicated setting and world, is art that is complex and detailed adding another layer, or, does it simply reflect the nature of the story?
JD: Logically, when portraying an environment that, in general or in detail, is unfamiliar to an audience, a layer of complexity is necessary. But, in all things, between imparting that appreciation of the setting, adding value through visual enhancement, and risking inhibiting the pace of the storytelling through sensory overload of the reader, balance must be judged.
AN: Does this book mark a return to you to the comic book world? Why did you leave? What have you been doing since you fell out regular circulation upon the stands?
JD: As has been said: a week is a long time in politics. This is apparently true of the comics industry also. However, rumours that I have abandoned the industry are premature. As a comic creator, and as a human being, I am sometimes more prolific than at others. It's true perhaps that I have not pursued as many opportunities for publication over the last few years as I might have done. I guess I am fortunate in being at a stage of life that allows me the luxury of "laziness"... or, as I would prefer to characterise it, the occasional fallow period in which to recharge creative batteries. It is all too easy, when routinely adding to the general media cacophony, to feel one's words becoming so ubiquitous as to be devalued. Droning on interminably, one quickly becomes sick of the sound of one's own voice... and so, I suspect, must the reader. Regular comic books are voracious in their consumption of creativity... and in a marketplace in which supply outstrips demand, the reward for high quality input is not necessarily concomitant with the energy invested. Consequently, there is a tendency towards the dilution of effort, and by extension original thought and realisation, when the craft of writing is reduced to a nine-to-five occupation.
Since my last foray into the world of the regular monthly -- with Outlaw Nation -- I have experimented with a number of shorter comic projects -- of which Narcopolis is one example -- which will eventually see publication, while writing a couple of movie projects (which probably won't), working towards bringing 2020 Visions to TV screens, and distracting myself with grandchildren, peyote cultivation, and online poker in approximately equal proportions.
AN: Have you read Grant Morrison and Chris Weston's THE FILTH and if you have, how do you think their vision of a world is dissimilar from the one you create in Narcopolis?
JD: I haven't read this, or, I have to admit, any other significant comic works of the last few years. I'm sure it's a lot of fun, though. And I like the title: I don't know if it is relevant to Grant's story or not, but The Filth is a 'seventies street-slang appellation for the Police Service in the U.K., evocative of the prevalent corrupt ethos of that organisation.
