Comic Book Review - Hawkmoon: The Black Jewel
There are stories that feel like they were made for comics, and Hawkmoon: The Black Jewel (adapted from Michael Moorcock’s original Runestaff novels), is one of those stories. Full of strange science, dark sorcery, and bleak, imaginative landscapes, Hawkmoon plunges readers into a post-apocalyptic Europe that has more in common with the myth’s of old than with the modern day. It’s violent, romantic, philosophical, and sometimes absurd, but above all it always remains captivating.
For those unfamiliar with the source material, Hawkmoon belongs to Moorcock’s sprawling “Eternal Champion” multiverse. Where Elric of Melniboné dealt with personal doom and metaphysical warfare, Hawkmoon is closer to a political rebel. The setting is a shattered Europe ruled by the tyrannical Granbretan Empire, whose rulers don grotesque animal masks and wield a terrifying mix of magic and science. Into this comes Dorian Hawkmoon, a brooding, reluctant hero from the occupied land of Köln, who is captured by the Empire and fitted with a black jewel in his forehead. This device allows his captors to monitor and potentially control his mind. It’s a signature Moorcock image and is one that straddles the line between metaphor and pulp spectacle.
The graphic novel adaptation captures the tone and aesthetics of Moorcock’s world with vivid clarity. The art, by Julian Tedesco and Valentin Sécher, is lush and moody, with a striking a balance between the grotesque and the beautiful. Characters are drawn with great precision, cities are towering monoliths of steel and stone, and battles feel both epic and brutal. There’s a superb quality to many of the panels, with the standouts being when it comes to the depiction of landscapes and dreamlike sequences. It would have been easy for an artist to go overboard with the weirdness of the world, but the team keeps it grounded just enough to make it feel real without losing the fantastical edge.
While the art is sublime, the colouring does a lot of the heavy lifting. Murky reds, dull golds, and sickly greens dominate the palette, giving the pages a grim, otherworldly texture. Hawkmoon’s Europe is not a world in balance. It is a place teetering on the edge of collapse, violence is a daily reality and hope is a rare luxury. The visual storytelling supports this without ever becoming overwhelming. There’s always enough space to breathe with moments of contrast that steam from a splash of blue sky or the gleam of a sword in the light.
As for the writing, this adaptation sticks close to Moorcock’s narrative but it does make some changes for the graphic novels pacing. There is a briskness to the storytelling that helps move things along, but this doesn’t sacrifice the depth of the epic tale unfolding on the pages. Dialogue tends toward the formal and the theatrical, which fits the baroque tone of the world. Characters often speak in proclamations rather than casual conversation, but it works because this isn’t a grounded, realistic tale. It’s ultimately a myth by way of science fiction - if that makes sense?
As protagonists go, Dorian Hawkmoon is an intriguing. He’s not quite a blank slate, but he is someone who’s defined more by his actions rather than introspection. His motivations are clear and come in the way of freedom, revenge, and love, but he carries himself with a kind of exhausted nobility. He’s essentially an extremely competent warrior, yet it’s a role he would rather not live. It’s this inner conflict which gives him some emotional weight. Thai comes to a crux when he meets Yisselda, daughter of the Duke of Kamarg, here we do get the slithers of a budding romance, but it never overwhelms the narrative. Instead the duo’s bond is forged in war, which makes it feel earned rather than forced.
The villains are what make Hawkmoon such a compelling read, and it’s only natural that they are portrayed with a nightmarish creativity that makes them linger long after the final page. The Lords of Granbretan wear animal masks in to battle not just for intimidation, but as a twisted form of cultural expression. These are people who have surrendered their individual identities to their order, and their cruelty reflects their reality. Baron Meliadus, who’s one of the more prominent antagonists, is the kind of villain who’s both despicable and fascinating. He’s theatrical, brutal, and utterly convinced of his own superiority. Yet his obsession with domination in both a political and personal sense makes him a brilliant juxtaposition for Hawkmoon’s reluctant heroism.
Naturally this graphic novel doesn’t flinch away from the violence of the story. Battles are bloody and personal, and the emotional stakes are just as raw. At times, this veers close to grimdark territory, but there’s always a thread of defiance running through the tale. The oppressed don’t just cower - they fight, even when the odds are impossible. It’s this spirit that keeps the story from becoming a hopeless battle for survival, and again grounds it from becoming to fantastical.
The quick pacing is one of the few issues that might give some reader pause. The narrative does move quick, and sometimes can feel a little too quickly. Some key character moments feel rushed, especially for those unfamiliar with the source material. Supporting characters like Count Brass and Yisselda could use a little more page time to flesh out their roles. There’s a sense that the story is trying to cover a lot of ground in a limited number of pages, and while it mostly succeeds, there are moments where a bit more quiet or introspection would have helped - and a larger page count.
That being said, the pacing of the story also works to its benefit. The whole narrative feels like a classic adventure, one that’s filled with strange machines, lost cities, and plenty of betrayal. There’s an energy to Hawkmoon that keeps you turning the pages, and you’re never quite sure what’s coming next. One moment there might be a duel on a moonlit bridge, the next a battle with cybernetic beasts in a ruined cathedral. The unpredictability is part of the charm.
For fans of Moorcock, Hawkmoon: The Black Jewel is a respectful and visually striking take on a lesser-known but deeply compelling chapter of the Eternal Champion saga. For newcomers, it also offers an accessible entry point into the wider world that makes up the mythos. The book doesn’t technically explain every detail, neither does it linger on exposition, instead it gives you just enough to follow the story and feel the stakes. If anything you’ll probably come away from Hawkmoon: The Black Jewel with a spark in reading the original novels. And you don’t need me to tell you that it’s a bonus.
The combination of sharp artwork, faithful adaptation, and a strong emotional throughline makes The Black Jewel a standout among fantasy graphic novels. It doesn’t just retell the story, it reimagines it for a new medium while preserving the intensity that made the original books so memorable.
In a landscape crowded with fantasy, Hawkmoon brings something different. It’s surreal, brutal, and romantic in equal measure. It’s a world where science and magic have become indistinguishable, where tyrants wear masks and heroes carry the weight of a crumbling civilisation. Yet for most of all, it’s a reminder that even in the darkest corners of our imagination, there is room for defiance and honour.
Overall, whether you’re drawn to its dark fantasy, steampunk aesthetics, or classic storytelling, Hawkmoon: The Black Jewel offers a journey that’s worth taking. It’s not a perfect adaptation, but it captures the soul of the source material and adds something new in the process. For that alone, it’s one graphic novel that deserves a place on anyone’s bookshelf.
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