A sequel by Hannah Berry

The story continues from where the first one left off: Britten awakes the next morning to hear a strange beeping whose source he cannot trace.

There is a knock at the door and a man gives him a telegram asking him to come urgently to a local museum.

Britten grabs Brülightly and goes to the museum to find a heist taking place – three men are stealing some kind of artefact. A high-octane chase scene follows, and while two men get away with the artefact Britten manages to catch the third and beat their plans out of him.

The thief reveals that they are all working for a mysterious source – ‘G’ – and that they were to take the artefact to the docks where someone would meet them.

Britten wastes no time and hot-foots it to the docks. The other two thieves are still there and after a high-octane shoot-out, Britten manages to kill them. But the artefact is not there.

A mysterious sexy lady suddenly appears, and tells him to stay out of it for his own good. There follows a passionate love scene in a nearby motel, at the end of which a sniper shoots her through the window. With her dying words, the lady tells Britten to look for ‘G’ at the Old Deserted Warehouse. She dies, and Britten falls to his knees, vowing to avenge her.

Before going to the Old Deserted Warehouse, Brülightly advises Britten that he needs to prepare himself, and so they go to a shady source they know and buy a lot of guns and some machetes.

They then storm the Old Deserted Warehouse, killing henchmen left, right and centre with guns and kung fu skills in a bloody, high-octane frenzy.

Surveying the carnage, from a high window, is ‘G’. He presses a button on a hand-held panel and Britten stops immediately, unable to move, while the sound of beeping increases in volume. G swaggers down to Britten and explains everything:

The artefact theft and the telegram were just a ruse to bring Britten to the Old Deserted Warehouse. The truth is that Britten is a cyborg sent from the future to prevent crime, and ‘G’, a master criminal from the future, had himself sent back to stop Britten. He wasn’t sure that Britten was the right person, until he saw him fight his way through the Old Deserted Warehouse with his kung fu skills and guns, but now he is sure. He turns to the panel to initiate Britten’s auto-destruct sequence, but while he has been talking, Britten has been edging closer to his last machete. Quick as a flash, Britten whips the machete towards ‘G’, where it lodges between his eyes, killing him down dead.

At that moment, the mysterious sexy lady reappears, saying that she was wearing a bullet-proof vest all along, and she and Britten walk off into the night together. But suddenly—

Britten wakes up in his bed, to find it was all a dream.

Click here to learn more.

**UPDATED**  Sorry, 1st April, I couldn’t resist! (It was a joke, Harvey Weinstein. Please stop calling.)

Anyway. Guess where I was the weekend before last? Did you guess ANGOULÊME? You are very clever! (Don’t listen to those other people.)

For anyone who doesn’t know what an angoulême is, I’ll explain:

Imagine if you will that you love your job like it’s the best job in the world. Imagine that you’re very good friends with a lot of other people who do the same job all around Europe, and that on those rare occasions you can all get together you do some serious socialising. Imagine that vast crowds of the general public love the job that you and your colleagues do, and are prepared to come from miles away to buy your work and revel in the general love of said job. Imagine your employers set up in immense temporary halls and structures in order to showcase and sell your work, and imagine all of this takes place in a small medieval city in France, which opens itself up every year to hundreds of events and hundreds of thousands of visitors (more than 220,000 in 2012, according to Wikipedia) in the space of just one festival.

Largo Winch, in a chemist window, advertising Dior. That's how seriously comics are taken here. I love France.

If your job is comics, you are at the Festival International de la Bande Dessinée d’Angoulême. (‘Bande dessinée’ or ‘BD’ being the French name for comics.) It’s the second biggest comics festival in the world and THE event in the European comics calendar, held every year at the end of January. This year was their 40th anniversary.

There are enormous markets set up for the buying and selling of BDs, and you can scamper from the grand constructions of major publishers to creator-owned stands via everything in between, leaving a trail of receipts in your wake. But there’s more to it than simply shopping or browsing through new and wonderful things: there are all kinds of comics-based shenanigans – talks and live events and exhibitions and screenings – going on all over town during those few days. This year I managed to see almost two of them! The festival is so big that there’s even a fringe comics festival going on. Imagine that. Crazy.

It’s only the second time we’ve been to Angoulême, Xavier and I. The first time was in 2010 when ‘Britten et Associe’ was part of the festival’s official selection, and we were lucky enough to be there courtesy of French publishers Casterman, eating free food and rubbing shoulders with comics superstars. Mostly eating free food.

The festival in 2010. That's my work, right there. Amazing.

After a terrifying start (caused by our understanding of the word ‘meeting’ that didn’t at all incorporate a synonym for ‘surprise filmed interview’) we had a brilliant and unforgettable few days. We didn’t exactly know what was going on in the grand scheme of things, but we enjoyed the ride. I spent a lot of time signing dédicaces and chatting away to people in my remedial French, while Xav went on a wild shopping spree and helped out here and there with translations (he’s not a translator by trade, but that was his official purpose for being there and he did it with style). It was amazing – it was just unfortunate that we didn’t know anyone. Still though, free food.

This year, we knew EVERYONE.

Not everyone, no. But we knew a lot of people, enough that we could always find a crowd to have dinner with, or to boire some coups with at social hub Le Chat Noir. I didn’t do any hardened drinking as I was trying to be respectable, but at the same time this is France and so I never went to bed before 1am.

Nye Wright and Corinne Pearlman. So bright eyed at the start of the festival. So full of pep.

It’s not the easiest place to get to, Angouleme, and finding accommodation is a huge challenge, so why the hell did we go this year? I’ll tell you for why: BUSINESS. Adamtine is not available in French (the official verdict from Casterman is that it’s “too original”, which is as flattering as a rejection is ever likely to get so I’ll take it) and I desperately want to come back to the festival some day to eat free food, draw dédicaces and talk to people in my French which is still, despite three more years of lessons, remedial.

Tucked away down a side street is the Rights and Licensing Hall, where all the business – the buying and selling of foreign rights – goes down. Capituri te salutant: ‘those who are about to schmooze, salute you’. (Probably. I didn’t do Latin at school.)

Compared to the frenzy outside it’s a relatively laid-back space, containing a small coffee bar and a stage at the end of a circuit of foreign publishers’ booths. A wave of the right kind of pass gets you inside and a previous appointment, or a bold smile and a set of cojones, gets you a meeting. Coffee’s free.

As the comics capital, Angoulême's walls sport appropriate graffiti

The indefatigable Karrie Fransman and I were auxiliary schmoozers, as Monique Corless from Random House was already there to sell the foreign rights to Jonathan Cape/Square Peg books and was doing so ably and suavely. We’d heard that it was helpful if authors promoted their own books, though, so there we were. Watching and waiting to see if people’s appointments hadn’t turned up, and then sidling over and introducing ourselves. Karrie’s like a force of nature, and I’d like to think I was equally charming, but I was nervous and probably too sweaty for that. Still, we schmoozed those foreign editors and we schmoozed them good.

What was interesting to learn, and might be of especial interest to any UK comickers looking for a French translation, was just how rigid the publishers (particularly French publishers) are on the formats of their catalogues. Their books are usually organised into series that have a unifying tone, or a certain kind of theme, and are all identified by their dimensions and general style of artwork. Unless you design your book for a particular foreign publisher, a lot of its suitability is down to chance: a number of times we’d sit down with editors who’d flick through our books appreciatively but tell us that they were the wrong size.

The whole thing seems oddly restrictive, especially when looking at the section of my own graphic novel shelves that house the ‘British’ collection. It’s brimming with eclectic charm. Like a kid’s mouth: all adult and baby teeth combined. I guess it helps to have a recognisable line in such a competitive arena, but I can’t say I like the uniform approach. It’s not up to me, though, and I still feel guilty that some poor Casterman employee had to painstakingly go through every single page of Britten and take out a horizontal sliver so that it could fit into their catalogue.

Speaking of 'brimming with eclectic charm'...

I know it sounds improbable, but I’m not going to lie: meeting all these people on a full charm offensive was hard work. It involved being a lot pushier than I’d generally like to be, and I’d be the first to admit I didn’t really know what I was doing. It was actually quite a relief to be in meetings when my book had been discounted early on for being the wrong format, because then there was nothing at stake and we could just have a nice chat.

Even if nothing comes of these meetings, though, the festival was worth it. We worked hard and we played hard: we schmoozed and we boozed, and there’s nothing like hanging around with friendly faces in a city that’s charged with comics enthusiasm!

HIGHLIGHTS:

Having a picnic on the TGV with Corinne Pearlman of Myriad Editions and Monique Corless of Random House, and then looking over and seeing a cat on the train.

Finally seeing the printed version of La Villa Sur La Falaise – Casterman sent one out but it went to my old flat and subsequently disappeared. It looked very nice, since you ask. You should probably buy it.

Learning the correct way to high five from the ever-lovely Aneurin (Nye) Wright: always look at the other person’s elbow. This led to more high-fiving than I honestly felt comfortable with, but it’s rude to leave people hanging.

Breakfasts, chez Patricia

Explaining to a lady in my remedial French while briefly minding the Comica stand that Comix Reader is made up of contributions from comic artists who distribute and pay for the distribution themselves. It’s available for free in order to get the comics out there. (Three of its contributors, Mike Medaglia, Elliot Baggott and Andy Poyiadgi brought it out to Angoulême to distribute.) Generally the amount of support for comics in France means that creators with this level of talent would be published, and so self-publication like this is very rare. The French lady was impressed and took a copy. That’s right, madame, we kick some self-publishing derrière here in the UK.

“Head Yum” - Corinne Pearlman

Brainstorming over lunch for the Lakes festival; electricity and pasta! Do you wish there was a big international European comics festival in the UK on the scale of Angoulême? WATCH THIS SPACE.

Laughing at Megan Donnolley’s broken glasses at the Comica stand. I was a bit tired and hysterical by this point – sorry, Megan.

"I bet I could fit in that" - Tony Bennett, Knockabout

Listening to a talk by Jason Shiga almost by accident (we were expecting to see Matt Madden but he wasn’t there due to a clash on the timetable) – I was only vaguely aware of him before, but the guy is clearly some kind of genius; incorporating mathematics into his comics to create multiple choice stories. I left wanting to own everything he has ever made ever.

Meeting briefly, on the last night, the charming and very famous Charlie Adlard of The Walking Dead fame. Also, standing quite close to Guy Delisle at the Chat Noir. Of course I didn’t go up and say hello, the guy’s a hero!

Going to sleep. Every single night. It was the only downtime we got…

Learning after we got back that Glyn Dillon and Jon McNaught both won awards, the Prix Spécial du Jury and the Prix Révélation respectively! (If you’ve only just learned what an angoulême is, these awards are the Palme d’Or of the comic world, i.e. BIG news and more culturally important than, say, the Oscars. If you have two hands, use them now to applaud.)

LOWLIGHT:

Arriving slightly too late one day and missing out on a dédicace from Juanjo Guarnido, legendary artist of Blacksad. Putaindebordeldemerde…

The lovely Dan Berry (no relation so far as we can work out) interviewed me for his excellent and always entertaining podcast Make It Then Tell Everybody. For 47 minutes of lively chitchat in which I ruin my hopes of maintaining a dark and brooding persona, click here.

For the purposes of gist-getting and appetite-whetting, click the link below to receive a shiny PDF of the first few pages of my graphic novel.

Now you can stop wondering what the hell is Adamtine:

THIS the hell is Adamtine.

DOWNLOAD PDF

I’ve never trusted articles that are written with any authority about entire communities. People are far too unpredictable to be generalising their behaviour into a thousand-odd words.

But that’s by-the-by. Now, let me tell you how the independent comics scene in the UK works.

I’ve had two graphic novels published by Jonathan Cape, which made my mother happy because in the literary world twice published is Respectable. In the UK comics arena, however, twice published – either by a publisher or by self-publishing or by publishing online – is not necessarily the mark of success. Being published is the provisional drivers licence of the comics world: it entitles you to get out there with the other road users, but until you’ve proven your worthiness, proven that you’re not about to turn your car into a twisted metal inferno on a roundabout, you are not Respectable.

A few years ago when I first went to Thought Bubble, the biggest indie comics festival in the UK, it was as a wide-eyed, newly-published author, whose travel costs were suddenly covered. I knew no one (at least not to talk to) and no one really knew me, although a few had read my newly-published book Britten & Brülightly. I was sat at a table with a signing pen, next to another guy with another signing pen. This guy spent the entire weekend stoically and pointedly ignoring me. In spite of my many attempts at conversation (and, for the record, I am pretty fucking charming) I simply did not exist to him.

Now, most people in comics are nowhere near as rude as this pendejo was – most people in comics are actually interested in what other people in comics do – but it was a valuable early lesson in how little being published really means and where I stood in the grand scheme of things. If I was a forgiving person I would look back now with the gift of hindsight and thank him for his twattitidue. If.

Being published is not the endgame in comics. It’s very nice, but there’s much more to being a respected member of the community: essentially, it’s down to what you do for the community.

This is important for two main reasons, the first one being that the community is still quite a small one, relatively speaking. It’s possible to know – or know of – most individuals involved in it one way or another. You meet a lot of people at festivals and other comic events, the same friendly faces a few times a year, or you get to know them through working on certain collective projects together. Often you get to know people via social media first – making 140-character chit-chat or sharing links to new projects. Everyone is connected to everyone else through a complex mesh of friendships and collaborations, and so we are one, big, tightly-knit, faintly incestuous group.

The second reason is that there is no real money in comics. Funding is woefully scarce and the majority of work is done gratis, which guarantees that everyone who works in the field does so because they love the medium. There is literally not one single person who is involved with indie comics just to pay the bills: that is certifiable behaviour.

On top of this, there are no businesses looking to exploit the industry for a fast buck, because the bucks are not fast, my friend, not fast at all. So everyone concerned wants to be here, and wants it enough that they’ll sacrifice pension plans and financial security to do it. The enthusiasm is deafening, you can barely hear yourself think over all that zeal. Everyone believes in the cause of comics, and almost everything that happens in the comics world is driven internally.

Because of this lack of money and external opportunities, creators and comics-related businesses have to be rigorously entrepreneurial. It’s a “Who Dares Wins” scenario, and all avenues are explored and exploited. Every conceivable thing that can be done will be done to get the word and the work out there, and often this means relying on your colleagues in the industry.

And the wonderful, fabulous, horrifically Disney-esqe truth of it is that most people in the comics world are very willing to help each other out for the good of comics. We all know how tough things are, how many obstacles are in the way, and how much of an uphill struggle it is to gain recognition inside and outside of the immediate comics circle, but when one of us does exceptionally well we see it as an individual triumph and a group triumph. Any doors kicked down by one trailblazer will stay open for all of us. It’s the system of mutual advancement favoured by organised crime syndicates, but used in a nicer way. Like a lovely mafia.

Not that everything is gumdrops on kittens, of course. From time to time this protective attitude has been known to backfire into full on defensiveness in response to any criticism (which I suspect is why the recent question of sexism in the British Comic Awards exploded the way it did), and there are almost certainly some long-running feuds lurking under the surface, scowling away. It’s understandable, really. We’re passionate about what we do, and we need to stand up for these things that our lives revolve around: so help me I will push a man under a bus if he bad-mouths my beloved medium.

Perhaps that’s how it is with prose literature? I couldn’t say, but I think having something to prove tends to give you a certain fire, and we know collectively we still have some way to go before the independent UK comics scene is taken as seriously as it should be.

So in the UK comics world, kudos is given to comics creators and professionals who are ambassadors for the medium: the ones who have created things so amazing that they have raised the bar and brought the limelight to the scene, inspiring others; or those who rally us and support us by finding new and ingenious ways to bring us together or showcase our work, organising events or festivals or anthologies that allow people to meet, share ideas and create extraordinary things. Basically, the creators and curators and organisers and comic shops and publishers etc who go above and beyond. They have earned Respectability.

Ask not what comics can do for you – ask what you can do for comics. And then do it. A lot.

Rest assured I’ll be building the site piece at a time when I get a minute and when I can work out how. Probably over Christmas as I’ll have more time, and ’tis the season for blind rage. When did I become such a techno-trog? I don’t understand it, I used to be so good at programming video plus.

So, yes. Watch this space, but don’t watch it too closely just yet…

And with my anguish thus expunged,

The people turned and looked at me,

That busy day, in Sainsburys.