Shadows of Marrakech

Constance Fleuriot and Tim Kindberg have been thinking about how to turn Tim's book Shadows of Marrakech into a graphic novel. The book is visual in its conception, and there is beauty and darkness and goodness, with striking characters from various parts of Africa, plus all the colours and spices of (Cracked) Marrakech. It would fit the form well, and be a good candidate for crowd-sourcing, e.g. via Kickstarter or Unbound, with opportunities to mention contributors or draw them into the story.

Below is a sample script by Tim, plus images that Constance has drawn or has found on the internet, to give an idea of the types of look the novel could have. We're open to other ideas, other illustrators, and even help with the adaptation (Tim is working on another novel at present).

The script remains to be adapted from the book, and all the illustrations created. Are you an illustrator, a graphic novel author, or anyone else who would like to get involved? You can always read the book to see what you think. Please contact Tim Kindberg at shadows AT champignon DOT net.

PAGE 1

The souks. Chemchi goes to Morchid to ask for help to find her cat.

PANEL 1

A long queue snakes obediently from a tall butcher's stall.

CAPTION

She knew who could help her, even though she resisted the thought of turning to him with every bone in her body.

PANEL 2

Closer. Bloodiness. Meats hanging. The sweaty side of a head, curdled lip. Mad hair.

CAPTION

But Chemchi must have her Ibtissam back.

PANEL 3

Full view of Morchid sharpening his cleavers. He's terrifying, mad. Think Colonel Gaddafi. He must have known she was standing right in front of him, but he paid her no attention. His moustache, barely more than stubble, twitched and glistened with sweat as his arms worked like a machine on the blades, sliding them backwards and forwards on a stone. Muscular and wild-haired, he loomed above her inside his raised stall, surrounded by his meats.

CHEMCHI

Morchid

(CONTD.)

Morchid!

PANEL 4

Chemchi in front of the stall, others in queue with pursed lips behind her, intolerant. They have their own problems. He towers over them all. He's still concentrating on his cleavers.

CHEMCHI

I seek your help Morchid!

MORCHID

How is Ali?

CHEMCHI

I'm here about my cat, Ibtissam.

MORCHID

Ibti-who?

CHEMCHI

Ibtissam, my cat.

PANEL 5

Morchid stares at her. Ratchet up the terrifying. A cog whirs in his brain.

PANEL 6

Morchid examines something on his hand.

MORCHID

If I tell you where to look and you find her then you must agree to something.

CHEMCHI

Very well.

MORCHID

But I won't tell you what you must do in return, not until you have found your Ibti-whatever. Do you swear to comply?

PANEL 7

Chemchi thinks about it. Queue murmuring, trying to hear what they're saying.

PANEL 8

Slim shot of hanging carcass

PANEL 9

MORCHID

Next!

PAGE 2

PANEL 1

Chemchi's face screwed up against the odds she faces.

CAPTION

Ali could damn well deal with it

CHEMCHI

No wait! I'll do it. Just tell me where I can find Ibtissam.

PANEL 2

Hand with cleaver not far from her head. Dialogue snakes down people in queue.

MORCHID

If you're sure, little one.

CHEMCHI

You bastard.

MORCHID

Next!

QUEUER (TO COMPANION)

I haven't got all bleedin day!

PANEL 3

Chemchi stops head of queue advancing

CHEMCHI

No, you must tell me!

PANEL 4

Morchid leans down and whispers. She can feel his warm, meaty breath on her ear.

MORCHID

Every cat likes a carpet to sleep on. Go to the Criée Berbère, where a thousand carpets are spread for the tourists. But only one of them is woven with shadows. Take a torch, shine it in the light and you will see what is unseen.

PANEL 5

X-ray side shot showing all their skeletons except Morchid, who stares out over Chemchi's head, bones of carcasses behind him. Chemchi (skeleton) confused, looking down.

CHEMCHI

A torch? Any torch? And in the light? I don't understand. How will this help me find Ibtissam? I've never heard --

MORCHID

Searching is a serious business. What matters most is who it is that searches, who it is that seeks.

PANEL 6

X-ray side shot still, Morchid staring down at her. Ghosts of cleavers in his hands.

MORCHID

You've given up or you wouldn't have come to me. But something tells me you are a serious searcher. True, not everything - or everyone - wants to be found. But all the lost places, all the lost people, and all the lost things are there for the finding. So tell me: what can never be found?

PANEL 7

Top of Chemchi's head. Headscarf. Green eyes. Black braid across her forehead.

CHEMCHI

Only whatever lacks the right person to find it.

PANEL 8

Morchid. Becoming absent again. Touching cleaver to finger.

MORCHID

I couldn't have put it better myself. Next!

[Note to US readers: torch = flashlight]