Recently I have been on a journey of rediscovery with comics. Graphic novels, in particular. Despite my love for storytelling through art and all the manga and webcomics I’ve blazed through, Graphic Novels are something I’d hardly thought of since when I frequented the library. (The last time I talked to a librarian I was about a foot shorter and an octave higher.) Then, a few months ago, I was in a bookstore and one jumped off the shelf at me. I managed a narrow miss, but I did buy it and it ended up being a great read, reawakening a forgotten love.

Here’s three great ones I read recently*. not so recently by the time I finally post this…

Spinning (Tillie Walden)

An autobiographical title following Walden’s journey through adolescence and framed within the context of her relationship with ice skating, this is the book that caught my eye and brought back my enthusiasm for the medium. There’s a captivating element in particular to the use of space. Inked lineart, blacks, and a single color convey all that’s needed. Looking at the art awash in a striking white, the sensation of that cold chill of the skating rink rises from the emptiness, as if my breath might fog up the page as I’m turning it.

Walden’s approach to the visual storytelling does feel by-the-books, but that book is top-shelf material. It’s thoughtfully structured, a cleverness to its pacing that feels obvious only because it is executed so well. Full pages, sometimes completely blank ones add impact to a moment. Smaller, almost storyboard-like panels express the momentum of a scene and read quickly. One moment that caught me earlier, was how carefully it transitioned, starting with smaller panels for a mundane morning and gradually growing page after page. There was a clear level of awareness for how the reader would be interacting with the material. Not just on the pacing of page by page, but for a whole chapter’s stretch. It left me with the sense of not simply having experienced a well-told story, but as if I had just got a brief crash-course in the basics of the medium itself.

It’s difficult to review the story in an isolated sense. It is well told, but by the means of how its expression enhances the narrative. A bundle of small experiences from an awkward, troubled youth. Tied together by her struggles sexuality and her fraught relationship to the sport, the tone with which it is conveys captures a reflective tone that I appreciated my time in. While there is some sense of linear narrative and climax, the experience is more akin to wandering through the rooms of a childhood home, feeling the stories and emotions soaked into the space. Dripping with melancholy and retelling some traumatic experiences it is far from a cheery memoir, but hey, it’s a comic artist’s auto-bio, what else did you expect?

It’s Lonely at the Centre of the Earth (Zoe Thorogood)

Speaking of auto-bio, Zoe Thorogood’s second book follows suit, documenting a period of about six months in her life. While I have not (yet) read her acclaimed debut, the pressure of growing fame and expectations as a result of it are a prevalent theme. Seemingly produced concurrently with her living through the period, rather than mellow and reflective it is energetic and immediate, in some ways like reading through the catalogue of a regularly updated comic journal that was somehow produced with an absurd level of artistry. 

From the first page to the last, this comic immediately captured my attention. Filled to the brim with striking imagery and a constantly shifting visual sensibility that plays with its form in all sorts of exciting ways. The manner in which its particular flavor of dark tragicomedy is realized was reminiscent of Oyasumi Punpun, another favorite of mine. The kind of read the puts you in a very distinct headspace. Not necessarily good or bad. Just thoughtful. While self told stories under the “sad artist” category are often labeled repetitive, whiny, and ungrateful, there is such a deep level of incessant self-awareness and insecurity, and genuine humor baked into the work that makes one question the nature of that dismissive state of mind.

To state the blatantly obvious, even emotions from things deemed “insignificant” feel significant, even in cases where one is well aware of the illogical roots behind it. Seeing that displayed on a page is a powerfully cathartic experience. Even if not necessarily relatable, more importantly it is a valuable slice of someone’s bottled humanity and to that effect put my own mind in a state to reflect from a new perspective. Especially with how the artwork translates those murky thoughts into imagery, the differing voices in one’s head represented with their own styles.

Not to spoil too much, especially considering it is a short and well-deserved read, but all the wallowing does eventually manifest itself into a hopeful conclusion. You might write a sad song because you’re sad, but it’s still worth playing when you’re happy.

Asterios Polyp (David Mazzucchelli) 

With this final novel, across these three books I felt a profound sense of how much I’ve been missing. Are they all like this or have I just been absurdly lucky? With no prior knowledge of the comic or artist, it’s bulky size and distinctive aesthetic made it my pick of the selection at the used book store.

Narrated by his stillborn twin, the book tells the story of the one Asterios Polyp. An acclaimed architect in name only with none of his famous designs ever built, when a bolt of lightning strikes his home and destroys his possessions he sets out to find himself. This is paired with a gradually unfolding backstory revealing the romance and growing conflict with the love of his life, Hana. All the relationships are tied together naturally, an authentic stubbornness to the individual quirks and life philosophies on display.

A story rich in life, what it lacks in youthful vigor doubled in mindful wisdom. It strikes me as the kind of book that might be regarded as “pretentious,” with it’s exceptionally intellectual protagonist and heady narration, though I would consider it simply “intelligent in an entertainingly novel way.” Sometimes complicated words or cryptic phrasing send the message better. All in all it’s a good read, changing the setting, period, visual style, and even manner of storytelling itself with such a regularity that it never gets dull.

Another marriage of diverse styles to represent different characters or perspectives, this is an artistic choice I’m growing increasingly fond of with every occurrence and one that seems especially well-suited for the medium of comics. It’s full of lovely artistic decisions, sprawling pages, variations in paneling, color palette, and the many ways in which it uses the page and space therein. On the basis of craftsmanship alone it would be worth a read, but fortunately all that skill is packaged within in a tightly written story with a strong thematic center.

It uses these occasional nonlinear pages to effectively communicate the overwhelming and immediate sense of all the memories rushing in. It captures that feeling of life as a collection of moments rather than some grand journey, while in the same stroke creating one. When I closed the book I was immediately filled with a sense of deep dissatisfaction, with a conclusion I can only describe as difficult. Yet it wouldn’t leave my mind, and the longer it stayed with me the more I grew to love it.

I meant to post this yesterday…whoops!