The Enfield Gang Massacre #5: ‘For never was a story of more woe than this of Enfield and Gang’

A hallmark of tragedy is a certain knowledge of a work’s outcome. The ending is telegraphed by the genre label, indicating great suffering is set to close out the story. Shakespeare’s tragedies go out of their way to spell this out to the audience, usually featuring a prologue that establishes the entire arc of the story. It’s refreshing to go in without the worry of being spoiled since the author does it on page one. Doing so doesn’t operate as a net narrative loss, and oftentimes, the overall satisfaction from the story is a positive thanks to the delivery. 

In the place of shock and surprise comes grounded character work and universal themes, playing up the important moments of the proceedings. A book like The Enfield Gang Massacre operates in this similar realm, capitalizing on its status as both a tragic tale and prequel to enrich its storytelling capabilities. The audience knows (from the title alone) that death awaits the outlaw Enfield and his posse, but that information in no one undercuts the beats of the series. If anything, that knowledge is weaponized by the creative team to deliver a story straddling the line between objective history and subjective mythology. 

Written by Chris Condon with art, colors, and letters by Jacob Phillips and color assists from Pip Martin, this issue delves into the penultimate installment of the titular Enfield’s descent into infamy. Enfield and the last survivors of the gang have holed up in a dilapidated barn while the Ranger and his Union soldier reinforcements continue to press on. A shocking revelation comes in that barn that sets the record straight on who framed Enfield for killing the banker from issue one and showcases the cracks in the outlaw’s way of life. Meanwhile, former Sheriff Hardesty continues his investigation and comes to similar conclusions about the framing of Enfield. 

A tight, tense script lies at the heart of this issue, as Enfield’s suffering comes into front and center. He’s bloodied and running out of options, facing slaughter from the outside of the barn and betrayal from the inside. It’s a testament to Condon’s writing and control of the pace that this issue feels claustrophobic even as it opens to the world outside of the barn. The desperation in Enfield’s lines of dialogue and nonverbal actions scream, and there’s a weight to this issue that lets the events of the first four issues sink in. Condon breaks up the resting plot beats with a few bouts of quick action that serve less as spectacle and more as a reinforcement of the hopelessness of the situation. There’s no way out, and everyone involved knows it deep down, even if Enfield is unwilling to express it. 

A vital component to this issue, and an overwhelming influence on this story, is the backmatter, which continues the historical exploration of the Enfield Gang Massacre in a fictitious Texas journal. The entry makes a key reveal about the final outcome of the next issue, indicating a specific character makes it out of the massacre alive. Knowing that fact only makes this issue a more bitter pill to swallow, and makes for a clear set-up to some of the last trauma that will result from the final chapter in this story. Condon’s inclusion of it plays right into the Shakespeare notion of leaning into the dramatic irony of the situation and sets the tension to new levels going into issue 6. 

Condon infuses the real sense of tragedy once Amy makes her appearance, her presence stripping Enfield of any options but surrender. It’s a moment that is not her fault, but the drama of an outlaw giving himself up for the person he loves is such a juicy bit of storytelling. Some would call it a trope or cliche, but instead, Condon’s tight scripting turns it into a moment of necessity and makes evident to the audience that it’s the only possible decision, full stop. 

That humanity is only fully realized thanks to the jaw-dropping linework on display from Phillips in this issue, taking every bit that Condon lays out and elevating it to a whole other level. The constraints of three and four-panel pages allow for the book to thrive in the use of dynamic medium shots and intense close-ups. These compositions maximize the tragic actions and haunted faces of characters beyond Enfield, making clear every bit of emotion and nuance. Phillips’s style of linework fits neatly into these simple panels and makes the best of both stylized cartooning and realistic edge to sell the respective beats. 

Phillips breaks from the typical layouts for one stunning set of establishing panels at the start of the issue, using a double-page splash to create a scope to Enfield’s suffering. The page is a sprawling example of those who have survived the Ranger’s assault on the barn and illustrates just how small these criminals are in opposition to the ‘law’ of the land. An endless pit of despair starts to form with extended looks at the page, Phillips delivering just the right level of detail to the death and carnage to move from romanticizing it. In Phillips’s depiction of the scene, there is no heroic standoff or rallying to hope, instead trading in misery and viscera to create the shocking image on the page. 

The other key element of this issue in creating that weighted atmosphere is Phillips’s coloring, which oftentimes reflects the marred nature of this point in the larger story. Many of the backgrounds in the barn, especially after the shootout and reveal of betrayal, incorporate the blood splatter of a point-blank shot into the background colors, hinting at the depth of corruption in this once picturesque setting. Much like the larger notion of violence infecting the earth beneath a person’s feet, Phillips’s coloring shades the world in hues of splotchy red and brown, making clear the irreparable stains that continue toward a final tragedy. 

In the other sequences of the book, Phillips plays with more open and bright colors, even as the story unfolds the reveal of false accusations and corruption in the county. There’s a beat towards the end of the issue that’s set in a chapel of mission, and it’s rendered with the vast blue of a clear Texas sky, and the sandy tones of the limestone used to construct the spaces. It’s a very stark, and very specific look that plays off of one another, and Phillips captures the utility and majesty of the in just a few pages. A place such as that is a fitting end to a tragedy, feeling almost Shakespearean in nature as Enfield is thrust into a final trial at the hands of fate.