Men I Trust by Tommi Parrish

It can be difficult to allow someone into your life when you've been badly betrayed – especially when it happens again and again. In Tommi Parrish's graphic novel “Men I Trust” we're introduced to Eliza and Sasha, two women who have been differently used and abused by men. Eliza is a single mother, a recovering alcoholic and a poet who reads her writing aloud at open mic nights in a near-empty bar. Sasha is an occasional sex worker who has recently moved back in with her parents. She struggles with neediness and sometimes dips into her mother's prescription medicine. The two form an unlikely connection discussing their insecurities and the struggle to affect positive change in their lives. It's an intimacy full of all the awkwardness and hesitancy involved with early friendship or potential romance. By following their private moments of conflict and how their daily lives occasionally intersect, we see the challenges of real companionship and how difficult it can be to truly trust someone.

The drawings which accompany Parrish's poignant text develop a real emotional power as the story progresses. The characters' bulky forms contrast with their undersized heads in a way that emphasizes the uneasiness of inhabiting their bodies. Facial expressions are portrayed in minimalist detail in a way which is simple but effective. At times of high emotional tension the environment around them seems to bleed out into solid colours. It adds to the sense of isolation these women experience at different times. Though it feels like they should naturally find solace in their bond with each other, I enjoy how the story teases out whether this is a healthy relationship as boundaries are trodden over. The men these women are closest to may be toxic, but there isn't necessarily any more respite to be found in sisterhood. It's impressive when a story can subvert the reader's expectations to present a conclusion which is so thought-provoking and new.

Acting Class by Nick Drnaso

People who are socially awkward often suffer from a sense of being alienated and not wanted – particularly in environments that are new to them. Most people experience this on some level but it's more acutely felt by certain people. It's difficult to know whether these feelings are self manifested or if this rejection comes from being different and not conforming to common social behaviour. At the start of Drnaso's latest graphic novel, we get snapshots of several such individuals who feel isolated in different ways. They come together in response to a general ad for an acting class which is described as a “unique opportunity” that is seemingly more about building self confidence than training to become a professional actor. The class is lead by John Smith, an affable man with a disturbingly commonplace name. He asks for no payment for the first set of classes and though his motives seem purely altruistic at the beginning his plans for these students become increasingly mysterious. Through a series of scenes which switch between these individuals' outside lives and acting prompts performed in class the line between reality and artifice becomes worryingly blurred. The story raises poignant questions concerning what constitutes an authentic self and the degree to which socialising inhibits or enhances self expression.

Any book that immediately gives short introductions to a wide cast of characters poses a challenge to the reader to remember and keep track of who all these people are while experiencing the story. This difficulty is increased by Drnaso's drawing style where many of the characters appear quite similar to each other. However, this isn't a criticism as this aspect of the book enhances the story's themes which probe the nature of individuality and whether our personalities are innate or self-created. The unsettling anonymous effect is somewhat similar to the film 'Anomalisa' where animated facial features and voices are disturbingly uniform. Naturally, as “Acting Class” continues the identities and personal histories of these characters become clearer as information is revealed through their interactions with each other. We also get a better sense of how these characters variously conceal, evade or manipulate when conversing with others. Equally, their insecurities and earnest desires to be good people spill out as they struggle to connect.

It's visually striking when the characters are acting in a scene and suddenly the background behind them will change from one panel to the next to show an entirely new environment to fit the imaginary space they're inhabiting. This feels like a playful commentary on the way in which we sometimes feel like we create our own reality. As these individuals improvise scenes the characters and situations they invent are naturally inspired by real life and disturbing things sometimes emerge. I enjoyed the ambiguity and discomfort of the moments where the other characters aren't sure if their acting partner is still acting or confessing something true. It explores the degree to which this occurs in real life where constructed social identities break down and real feelings emerge. One of the most poignant relationships in the novel is between a couple who are struggling to maintain their relationship and strategise to reignite the spark by starting over as if they're strangers. It reminds me of the protagonists of Vesna Main's “Good Day?” where a couple write a novel about a couple. Drnaso shows how certain tensions remain even when a long term relationship is reset as if they are meeting for the first time.

The central question of this novel revolves around the choice between fully inhabiting reality or committing to an imagined narrative. This is dramatically represented in a dilemma as the participants engage in a final immersive exercise. Naturally, the line between experience and the imagination is much more blurred in our day to day existence and Drnaso's amplifies the crisis to create an impactful and eerie effect. I found it very moving how the story plays out as the characters become lost in hostile landscapes of their own creations. As in his previous graphic novel “Sabrina”, Drnaso skilfully interjects small visual elements into certain panels such as tiny colourful stars or a frame around the panel which suggest there are deeper emotional changes occurring beneath the surface of certain scenes. It's also impressive how the themes of the novel build to such a degree where panels which show barely anything can become so emotionally charged. This novel is a striking and impressive meditation on the tension between being and becoming.

In. by Will McPhail

I don't often read graphic novels so it's a delight whenever I stumble upon one which is not only a pleasure to read but also moving, funny and insightful. “In.” depicts the life of an illustrator named Nick who longs for the kind of blissful solitude he once achieved in childhood within the funnel of a waterpark slide. Now that he's an adult he's crafted a life of independence where he works on his own writing projects while occasionally freelancing for ad agencies (a meeting with one is brilliantly spoofed). He frequents trendy coffee shops and bars (with hilarious names such as 'just give us your money at this point' and 'Your Friends Have Kids') while drifting through the city. The trouble is that this independence is also suffused with loneliness and he longs for meaningful moments.

Nick assists his mother with her renovation of a building and babysits his nephew, but even these encounters are often filled with small talk, superficial chatter or blank silence. However, one day he finds that speaking about something close to his heart breaks through the white noise and establishes a real connection. The black and white illustrations of his daily life suddenly flip to a colour-filled phantasmagorical landscape for a brief time. This is alternately a space of dream and nightmare as we sense the tenor of his innermost being. It's a highly effective technique as we follow his journey establishing a new romance with a charismatic doctor named Wren and facing the facts of a family member's terminal illness. As is often the case with literary graphic novels such as “Sabrina” by Nick Drnaso, blank dialogue-less space and minimalist drawings express much more than what words can say.

This is a story which fully embodies what is termed the millennial problem of “adulting”, but in essence it expresses much more universal issues to do with disconnection and loneliness. Certainly, it's not necessary or at all alluring to have a deep soulful exchange in every encounter we have with every person we meet. This is acknowledged in Nick's fumbling attempts to break through the veneer of everyday life with a neighbour and his mother. But it's true that our daily lives can slowly become filled with meaningless exchanges and that we ourselves can become like automatons voicing what's expected rather than what we really feel. McPhail creatively grapples with these issues in this graphic novel in a way which is refreshing and poignant.

Sabrina by Nick Drnaso

I’m surprised that some people have found it so controversial that a graphic novel has been longlisted for the Man Booker Prize. I don't believe there's ever been any rules in the prize's guidelines saying a graphic novel can't be submitted and if none have been listed for the prize before I can only assume that publishers haven't submitted many in the past since they are only allowed to submit a very limited number of books. It feels like there's been an elitism and snobbery expressed by some who don't believe graphic novels are as great an art form as pure prose fiction. I get the point if people feel that reading a graphic novel is a totally different experience from reading a novel composed entirely in prose, but I think it's great that the prize is challenging people to read different forms of story telling and it might introduce some to an entirely new genre. I've certainly not read that many graphic novels before, but have really appreciated ones by Art Spiegelman, Alan Moore/Melinda Gebbie, Howard Hardiman and Chris Ware. So I'm glad the prize has introduced me to Nick Drnaso's work because I found “Sabrina” to be quite a powerful and bracingly melancholy read about current American society. 

A woman named Sabrina has gone missing. The novel focuses on the lives of Sabrina's sister Sandra and her boyfriend Teddy as they try to deal with her sudden absence and the aftermath when the shocking truth of what happened to her is revealed. The drawings which accompany the dialogue and text are very understated in how they convey the scenes with little detail or facial expressions in the characters. In the context of the story this has the odd effect of imbuing them with even more emotion because its all submerged and the characters are stuck in a state of inaction/confusion. Many of interior and outdoor spaces portrayed are also very muted or stark as if the environment is just as barren and sombre as the characters who are dealing with their grief. The conversations are clipped and awkward as the well meaning people in Sandra and Teddy's lives try to console them. All this evokes a tone of stripped down emotion as the characters are surrounded by a jaded society that's become accustomed to a bombardment of horrific news and a culture rife with conspiracy theories. Ironically, the only colourful and busy images in the book are reproductions of scenes from children's activity books which suggest a world of motion and light that's in stark contrast to the inertness of reality.

The story also involves a man named Calvin who takes his old friend Teddy in and tries to help him deal with his sudden loss. Calvin works in computer security for the US military and is trying to formulate a plan to relocate so he can be closer to his ex-wife and daughter. While his actual job doesn't involve any combat he spends his time out of work playing video games with his colleagues that simulate military battles and he keeps guns locked away in his house so that he's “well-protected if anyone tries anything.” This combined with radio broadcasts and disturbing threatening letters sent to Sandra and Calvin suggest how society has become so consumed with paranoia about intangible threats. But the only threats that are actually portrayed in the stories are the ones which come from within when the characters are under so much anxiety that they appear to contemplate harming themselves or others. As part of his job, Calvin must routinely fill out a medical evaluation survey which is designed to gauge his mental health. While his stress levels fluctuate in his answers portrayed on these forms throughout the book he never admits to thoughts of depression or any personal circumstances which might affect his duties. Why would he when he knows it would risk his employment and possible promotion? So it gives the feeling that there are structures in place to try to support people's emotional health, but in reality little attention is given to the intricacies of their wellbeing.

Small details in the drawings poignantly portray the fraught condition of these character's lives. For instance, Calvin and Teddy basically live off from fast food and its highly suggestive how Calvin often brings home bags with a smiling star on them which could stand in for any generic fast food brand but which you know won't provide them with much nourishment. Also, nighttime or nightmare scenes are drawn in such a way that evocatively invoke a sense of space where the characters are wrestling with the unwieldy complexity of their feelings. While the overall tone of the novel is quite dark and sombre there are some lighter moments as well in the form of a slanket which Calvin has become accustomed to wearing or a vending machine at work which breaks down so much it's become an office gag. There are also many moments of simple kindness shown throughout the story which gives a hopeful sense for our ability to be our best selves in situations where we aren't so physically removed from each other. Running alongside the story of Sabrina's disappearance is that of Calvin's cat who vanishes without the characters noticing. This neglect parallels with the way Calvin has become so estranged from his daughter that his ex-wife tells him not to bother attempting contact anymore. It suggests how we can sometimes be careless about the things and people that matter to us most until we suddenly realise we've lost them for good.

Everything is Teeth by Evie Wyld & Joe Sumner

Much of Evie Wyld's fiction has an unmistakeable feeling of menace as if there is something dangerous lurking unseen in the background just out of sight. This is felt most intensely in her novel “All the Birds, Singing” where someone or something unknown is savagely killing the sheep on a woman’s farm. In this graphic memoir she writes of her family life, growing up in Australia and her enduring fascination with sharks. Using stark pared-down language Wyld creates a mood where reality intersects with mounting feelings of fear, particularly a fear of death. However, sharks are not the monster enemy. They are gradually shown to be more the victims – killed by humans out of fear. They are a presence in the girl's imagination as comforting in their constant attendance as they are horrifying. The exquisite, expressive and haunting drawings imaginatively bring the story to life. Humans are cartoonish figures while images of the sharks or other sea inhabitants are drawn in a hyper-realistic way.

“Everything is Teeth” refers to the surface of a shark's skin which can be like sandpaper so swimmers who simply rub up against a shark feel their skin being cut as if by teeth. The title is given an even more layered complex meaning as the story progresses. When the girl eventually re-enters the water after receiving a jellyfish wound “The salt chews on my stings.” There is a sharp distinction created between the areas of habitation above the water and below. When this line is crossed it can result in injury or death. The savage way in which humans are shown to survive or fight against the threat we face when crossing this boundary between land and sea indicates how we are hampered by fear. This is echoed in relationships between the family members and the girl’s vivid imagination about how they might die. There are important messages here about learning to live with fear as well as maintaining respect for animals and each other.

The atmosphere created by the drawings and poignant text is utterly enthralling. There's an extraordinary drawing of her brother swimming where the water is swirling and the current looks like a mixture of eyes and faces. Oftentimes sharks linger in the background even when she’s on land as if they constantly circle the girl wherever she goes. While snuggled up on the sofa reading this book I felt my toes curl. I was reminded of a great short story in Jackie Kay’s collection “Why Don’t You Stop Talking” called ‘Shark! Shark!’ where a man nearing retirement has a growing fear of sharks despite living inland. Sharks make an easy metaphor for our fear of death, but the co-authors of this graphic memoir transform this into something more subtle and complex. This is a quick read, but it will linger with you.

Angela written by Chrissy Williams and illustrated by Howard Hardiman

There have been countless in-between times I've spent watching ‘Murder, She Wrote’. Whether it was between having breakfast and getting dressed for the day, reading a book and going out for the evening or slouching on the sofa with a hang over, it seems that repeats of the show can always be found playing on some network. The preposterous plots and grandmotherly charm of Angela Lansbury never fail to make me smile and warm my heart. In this new pamphlet 'Angela' with text by Chrissy Williams and illustrations by Howard Hardiman the personality of Angela Lansbury via Jessica Fletcher is explored through a tale of love and obsession. In a confiding deeply-intense monologue stream the narrator speaks directly to Angela in an act which prises free the woman from behind the female super-slueth persona. Through poetic lines and repetition it speaks of a longing for a psychological and sexual connection with her while disentangling the mystery of amorous obsession. “Angela – you draw the dagger out, keep drawing, keep on drawing. This dagger never ends.” Angela is both the instigator and teller of the mystery tales giving her a godlike power which we mortals are enthralled by wanting her stories of small-town murder and intrigue to continue on and on.

Hardiman's illustrations recreate a cast of suspicious characters as might be found in episodes of the show as well as a trail of clues and murder scenes, but each is sharply etched out as if they were woodcuts and coloured in only three vibrant shades of red, white and black. In addition Angela herself is represented as on the hunt for answers, giving a cheeky wink to the camera or staring out at the reader with her face a mask of deep-lined horror. The familiar cartoonish aspect of the genre characters are given a darker edge as if they've been overlaid with the projection of a gothic psychological horror movie. Hardimen says on his website that he was given a brief to imagine Murder, She Wrote as directed by David Lynch. In fact, Lynch appears in the background at one point alongside a cast of characters. Subsequently the pamphlet gives a feeling of deep unease alongside a sense of psychological turmoil mired in absurdity. Shining through all this is Angela’s light-hearted personality making this comic a source of both stark beauty and subversive pleasure. Hardimen’s talent for packing complex emotions into a tenebrous landscape populated by quietly-dignified melancholy figures as was exemplified in his tremendous series ‘The Lengths’ is used to wonderful effect when set against William’s playfully lugubrious poetry. ‘Angela’ emanates with nostalgia tainted with an adult heartache.

Trailer for 'Angela'