Reviewed by Marcus Wicker
In the graphic novel Sentences: The Life of M.F. Grimm, underground rap artist Percy Carey recreates the gripping story of his life. Carey’s “blow by blow” storytelling joined with Ronald Wimberly’s artwork results in a high speed joy ride, even if the joy is not always obvious. This joint-production is filled to the brim with urban superheroes, struggle, pain, and triumph over deadly circumstances.
The book opens with a bit of dark humor as young Percy, a reoccurring extra on
The characterization of Percy as a conflicted person often yields serendipitous encounters. For instance, both his moral backbone and grandiose ego trigger a house party altercation where the young man takes on a pack of thugs to defend the women attendees’ collective honor. The hellish beating Percy endures motivates him to lay low and focus on his aspirations to be an emcee. This turning point spawns likeminded friendships and razor-sharp rap rhymes: “Yo, my rhymes filled with protein / addicting like ice cream or morphine or caffeine / but choke you like chlorine.”
Throughout the book, M.F. Grimm (A.KA. Percy Carey, the narrator) strings together unlikely comparisons, like the ones above, in cadences reminiscent of his 2006 triple disc release, American Hunger. His multisyllabic word play requires jumbo-sized speech bubbles so that, spatially, Grimm’s rhymes are often at the forefront of each panel. Wimberly’s life-like graphic treatment of studio recording sessions, packed concerts, and emcee battles add layers to Carey’s narration. The effect is a world where lyricism and life-experience work in concert with one another—a combination which illuminates the reality of Carey’s mind-boggling story.
Percy’s lyrical prowess then takes him on a journey to the West Coast to work with companies like Geffen and Epic records as a ghostwriter. It is in
Gritty shading, dark shadows, and exaggerated facial expressions consume the quickly portrayed but dramatic “back alley” moments of this book in a way that speaks volumes when Carey does not. Ronald Wimberly’s panels are as compelling as the work of a world class jazz drummer: they remain ever present without overpowering but create distinctive, enriching layers when necessary.
At its best, Sentences is a story of hope, a story of promise. Carey’s compelling tale chronicles the emcee’s pinnacles and plateaus without falling victim to the stereotypical tropes that plague mainstream hip hop, that is, rented rides, video vixens, and pricey jewelry. His precious jewel is a unique brand of diction—a sort of asphalt talk that feels as swaggering and street as the world he inhabits, embodies, and critiques.