Asterix!

And the first appearance of his world

Asterix the Gaul by Goscinny, illustrated by Uderzo

One might imagine, in reading this book — the first of a long, beloved series — that the author and artist were somewhat finding their style. But not finding their feet, really, because it is very much the finished article. It’s funny where it needs to be and essentially every aspect of the Asterix stories exists and is explained in this one. Except Dogmatix the dog, of course. He will arrive later.

But we have the idea of one small Gaullish village holding out against the Romans, powered by a magical potion which gives them superhuman strength. A potion made by the druid, Getafix. And we know that, while the effects of the potion are temporary, they are not temporary for the immense Obelix, who fell into the cauldron of potion as a baby, and who has had extraordinary strength for life. We know that his friend, Asterix, is not physically big, but he is cunning. And he has a sense of humour. And, powered by the potion, he can beat up any Romans who might harass him or stand in his way. Beat them up with wonderful words, comic book sound effects, like ‘PAF’ and ‘TOK.’

And the basic structure of the village, this Gaullish village, is made clear, too. We have the druid, of course; and we have the chief, Vitalstatistix. And we have the terrible bard, Cacophanix, whose music is so awful that, the moment he claims to wish to begin a song, people start making their excuses and leaving like an old-time reporter exiting a place of impropriety.

And the blacksmith, Fulliautomatix, does the metalwork. And at the end of every story — here as in other volumes — the conclusion of the narrative also comes with a massive, bonfire-lit banquet, in which the heroes tell their friends and neighbours about their adventures, and everyone has a great laugh and eats a good deal of roast boar in triumph.

This is all very comfortable. It’s a world that makes sense, almost as soon as it is offered up to us. We know who people are and that this is funny.

Compare it to other entries in the twentieth century comics tradition. The Adventures of Tintin, for instance, is funny. People are constantly falling over and getting smacked in the face. But it is theoretically serious. It’s drawn in a fairly direct way. Clear lines. And the plots, while adapted for children, are meant to be thrilling and important. A plane crash, a drug trafficking ring, a coup attempt. Things that a detective or a reporter — real ones — might want to stop.

The stories of Asterix are more or less nothing like that. They are mainly historical comedy, and farcical. Everyone is dressed funnily. The Gauls, of course, are absurd, especially so in this book: with their thick hair and their immense moustaches. The Romans look weird. They are all kinds of cartoonish shapes. Their uniforms are not as they’re historically understood. Instead, the Roman leaders attach all kinds of fripperies to their outfits; they wear all kinds of silly extra colours, gold trimmings. Some of the Romans are clearly antique versions of men like Hermann Göring. Larger than life; intentionally absurd. We know this is meant to be a joke.

The premise of this story is a very simple one and there’s no risk, no jeopardy, for a moment.

A Roman camp surround the Gallic village and the leader of the Roman detachment decides to send a spy into the Gauls’ midst to discover the secret of their immense strength. That spy is selected by absurd means, is sent off (bewigged and with a fake moustache to spare his modesty) arrives, is given a single dose of potion by his Gallic hosts. He then hares off, the moment his moustache is removed (apparently it is customary in a Gaullish dance to shake your dance partner by the moustache and not the hand) and his secret is discovered.

The Gauls laugh. He’s really learnt nothing about them, and they have no more to fear. Even his potion will wear off soon (and it does, when the diminutive Roman spy is later holding a large boulder aloft to prove his superior strength).

When Getafix the druid heads off into the surrounding forest to gather more mistletoe, Asterix suggests he might want a guard, what with the Romans being especially aggressive of late. But Getafix doesn’t think one is necessary. They can do nothing to him.

And so, when the druid is caught by the Romans in a trap, and carried back to their camp in a sack, he does not mind. When they attempt to torture him (by tickling the soles of his feet with a feather), Getafix’s magic keeps him immune.

Meanwhile, Asterix has himself been smuggled into the camp, hidden inside a rather dim oxen-seller’s cart of hay. It’s a joke, he tells the oxen-seller. It’s a practical joke and very funny. So while the man giggles his way into the midst of the Romans, Asterix hides and hopes his driver’s laughter does not ruin the surprise.

When Asterix and Getafix are reunited in the Roman camp, there is no threat, no danger, whatever. Getafix is magical and more or less impervious to harm. Asterix is periodically strong with potion, and also has his tremendous courage to fall back on, if in a tight spot.

Really, the only thing that matters is how much they can humiliate the Romans, how much trouble the two chortling Gauls can make for them.