By any reasonable standard, John Smith is one of the greatest and yet most undersung writing talents 2000AD has ever produced. Best known for his florid prose style and his ability to invoke the sort of hallucinogenic nightmares man was not meant to experience, for a time in the 90s Smith was pretty much keeping 2000AD going, a last bastion of genius screaming out disturbed fantasies across the fetid, crumbling wasteland the prog was becoming. `Tyranny Rex', `Revere', `Firekind', `Slaughterbowl', `Indigo Prime' - even Smith's legendary take on `Rogue Trooper' channelled the obscene and the otherworldly to memorable effect.
Flash-forward. After over twenty years of writing for 2000AD, Smith might just have disgorged his masterpiece. For this time, he's bringing his grasp of the supernaturally sordid to a contemporary English council estate, where rather than an invasion from the outside, something twisted has spawned and festered within the confines of the modern urban landscape. Known officially as Ravenglade, but nicknamed Cradlegrave for its inescapability, this estate is a claustrophobic, wretched environment into which our protagonist, Shane Holt, returns after 8 months in a young offender's institute for arson. But during a sweaty summer, Shane soon discovers how sick Ravenglade has become, a sickness made most manifest in the council house of an old couple, where something is growing... something so foul it may soon engulf the estate...
It is probably safe to say that this is the most disturbing story 2000AD has ever printed, all the more so for its proximity to reality. In this collection's introduction, horror author Ramsey Campbell very astutely compares it to the work of film-maker David Cronenberg, a reference point that hits the nail on the proverbial head. Many will have sat through films such as `Shivers', `Rabid', `The Brood' or even `The Fly' and afterward found themselves unable to shake the skin-crawling, wonderfully disgusted sensation that Cronenberg's movies engender. Well, that's precisely the impact `Cradlegrave' will have, seeping out into the world beyond the page and making the sunlight seem dirty.
In achieving this, Smith's script is controlled and perfectly paced: where once he reared and flailed, he now expertly bides his time, suddenly striking with a flurry of grotesque images, before sliding unobtrusively back into the shadows to watch and wait. He is greatly aided by the artwork of the talented Edmund Bagwell, who handles the slow-burn of the story superbly, his roving perspective filling the most mundane of conversations with a sense of sweltering unease. The authenticity he brings to Ravenglade and its inhabitants means that when abhuman foulness is finally made manifest in hideous displays of body-horror, it seems even more stomach-churning and plausible as a result. Bagwell's colour palette is also extremely well chosen, dirty browns, greys and ochres reflecting the squalid nature of the story. The story has few comparisons in the comic realm - the only thing that comes to mind are those sections of Grant Morrison's `The Filth' that deal with Greg Feely's grimy existence.
In short, you'll want to wash your hands or have a shower after you've read this book. It will likely live with you for some time. But trust me - that's as strong a recommendation as you can get. `Cradlegrave' lays bare the stullifying, asphyxiating nature of inner-city existence, without pretention, and is in the process absolutely unmissable.