Everywhere Antennas by Julie Delporte
Translated from the French by Helge Dascher
Published by Drawn & Quarterly, 2014
Rating: ⭐ ⭐ ⭐ ⭐
This unique graphic novel follows a young woman suffering from a rare hypersensitivity to electromagnetic radiation – generated by power lines, phones, the internet, and suchlike. Plagued by illness and frustrated by a lack of understanding and belief in her condition, she feels increasingly compelled to seek out ever-rarer “white zones” (remote areas undisturbed by radio waves). But in a society typified by a need for constant connectivity, this isolation will inevitably impact her relationships and career.
In terms of the prose and visuals, the book reads very much like a diary. The loose, fragmented style is sparse on detail and structure, with large jumps of time between certain entries, but it feels raw and unguarded in its expression. This informal, choppy, yet vibrant approach says a lot about our narrator’s mindset despite the book’s brevity.
Offering insight into a rare condition and an excellent depiction of the anxiety and fatigue that can come with modern life, this is at once a window into a specific viewpoint and a sweeping look at the consequences of irreversible urbanisation. It asks us to consider those who, for whatever reason, may be pushed aside in our quest for unchecked technological advancement, and at what cost we should prioritise our own health.
This is a gentle and ruminative look at how much our mood/mental health can be affected by the changing seasons. The text itself is relatively simple, though it does have an air of prose poetry to it. So while it may not discuss any particularly unique experiences or offer up any ground-breaking insights, it is likely to resonate widely.
I’ve been an admirer of Giordano’s work ever since I took up embroidery myself. Specialising in characterful, hyper-realistic woodland animals, her pieces are brought to life in her own distinct style of thread painting. In this book, she breaks down her creative process – in general terms, and on a piece-by-piece basis. It’s definitely easy to draw inspiration from her work, and though most of us will never come close to her standard, it is a joy to pore over such high-quality reproductions of her designs – the book itself having been produced to a wonderful standard.
This collection, curated by the author himself, brings together 9 of Ito’s best stories and 1 new addition. A master of the macabre, these graphic works boast truly haunting imagery and strikingly original ideas, guaranteed to get under your skin and stay with you.
This novella is written in the form of a letter from a teenage boy to his mother. It’s clear from the off that he has been involved in some kind of incident, with the letter being his means of explaining how this came about. It’s a short, sharp look at the problem of gang culture, with Evaristo cleverly refusing to demonise or glorify those who fall into its clutches. Instead, the characters are presented as victims of a flawed system, under which who you are (young, Black, and poor) can greatly limit your opportunities. With society’s judgements leaving people with little option but to embrace certain labels, a life of violence and criminality exists as a toxic, self-fulfilling prophecy – ensnaring even the nicest, most normal kids.
I’m not generally a re-reader, but something seems to compel me to keep returning to this collection of graphic short stories at this time of year. This is the third or fourth time I’ve picked it up now, and my appreciation for it has grown each time. I always explain that as individual pieces, the majority of the stories fizzle out somewhat from a narrative perspective, but the concepts and atmosphere are so consistently creepy that the collection as a whole leaves a very strong lasting impression. If I were to pick a standout piece, however, it would definitely be The Nesting Place.
When he is badly injured in a car crash that kills his wife, Oghi is taken into the care of his mother-in-law. What follows in an understated though unnerving look at grief, isolation, painful truths, and bitter revenge. It does a great job of capturing an atmosphere of claustrophobia and mounting unease, and it certainly taps into our fear of losing autonomy and feeling like a prisoner within our own bodies (Oghi is left paralyzed and largely unable to communicate). I don’t want to say much else, as the core plot follows a very predictable trajectory, but there is more going on beneath the surface than first meets the eye.
Some of Poe’s most iconic short stories and poems (including The Tell-Tale Heart, The Pit and the Pendulum, and The Raven) are given new life by artist Gareth Hinds. When it comes to Poe, I tend to enjoy his creepy atmosphere, striking concepts, and strong visuals (all of which are emphasised here by Hinds’s artwork), but I find his prose and narrative arcs do little for me, often fizzling out after a lot of excellent promise.
Frankenstein is one of my favourite novels of all time, so it was fun to revisit it with the added bonus of some deliciously gothic artwork. The team that worked on this did a fantastic job. Though the text is slightly abridged to allow the art to supplement the story (a couple of my favourite lines got the chop, hence the docking of a star), the core prose, themes, and narrative that made Shelley’s work so iconic still feel largely intact.
Waves is a graphic novel inspired by the author’s own experiences. We follow two women whose journey to have a child ends in tragedy, and the difficulties they face when trying to navigate their shared grief. As such, there are obvious trigger warnings here for infant death and bereavement.
This tale of secrets and wilful ignorance simmers with a quietly menacing tension. Set in rural Ireland, it chronicles the unravelling of long-guarded lies within a family, and the unique brand of loneliness that comes with sacrificing desire in favour of keeping up appearances. The climax feels tragically inevitable, and though the whole thing is full of supressed pathos, the ending delivers an unexpected sliver of hope that comes with new beginnings. Couple this with the straight-forward yet assured prose, and the story takes on a fable-esque quality that I really enjoyed.
When her mother dies, Elizabeth returns to her home in rural Ireland to sort out her belongings. Uncovering a box of hidden love letters, she delves into a past she knew nothing about, finally coming to understand her own origins, and the woman her mother truly was. Using a dual narrative structure, Norton explores the depth of parental love, the pressure to adhere to societal norms, the pain of keeping secrets, and the cyclical nature of family drama across different generations. Twists are eked out at a good pace, and I remained intrigued throughout. The separate time periods and the general tone of pathos are evoked well, but I felt things became a little convoluted towards the end. Still, Norton can weave a good yarn, and I would be open to trying more of his fiction.
I picked this graphic novel up on a whim after seeing some of the art online a while ago and thinking it looked gorgeous. Very fable-esque in tone, it centres around an owl helping a ghost to make peace with her life and death, and struggling with the rule that forbids animals from interfering with human lives. Story-wise, it was fine. Things felt a bit rushed and there were a couple of plot holes (even within the context of such a whimsical story), but I did like the allegorical message about overcoming difference so we can stand together against injustice. The highlight was definitely Sara Richard’s art, however. She forgoes traditional panels entirely, the whole thing blending together into one continuously flowing visual narrative. The attention to detail is stunning, and I would certainly seek out more of her work.
This fantastically dark spin on a classic tale poses the following questions: What if Snow White was a liar? What if everything we’ve been led to believe about the so called ‘wicked Queen’ was a means of covering up her own evil? What if her stepmother was only ever trying to protect people from an unspeakable horror?
Self-conscious teenager Anya is desperate to fit in. When she falls down an abandoned well (I kid you not), she unwittingly befriends the ghost that has been stuck in its depths for a century. At first, the ghost seems to offer the perfect solutions to all of Anya’s problems, but as its motives are revealed, its intentions become more sinister. Even putting the supernatural element aside, the whole setup of this story is a little silly, so you definitely have to suspend your disbelief somewhat. That said, it’s a fun read that becomes pleasingly creepy towards the end.
In this deeply personal yet outwardly ambitious graphic memoir, Thi Bui recounts her family’s experience of displacement following the collapse of South Vietnam in the wake of the war, and their attempts to resettle in the US.
Callum McLaughlin 