Written and Directed by Jeff Lemire
Published by Dark Horse Comics
When I think of Jeff Lemire, I often think of horror.
But it’s not simply the horrors of monsters, zombies, a killer among us. It’s the horror that reaches into our psyches, our fears of existence, of our times and society.
My entry point on Lemire was his run on Animal Man when DC launched the infamous New 52 continuity in 2011. Even if a lot of stuff from that time wasn’t well regarded, Animal Man was my favorite title from that time. (Yes, even more than Scott Snyder and Greg Capullo’s Batman which brought us the iconic Court of Owls.)
Lemire’s Animal Man was a dark and frightening depiction of the hero caught in a war between animal life (the Red), plant life (the Green) and death (the Rot).
But the horror didn’t come only from those bits.
The true horror lived in his depiction of parenthood, and how for some being a parent is a state of fear. Fear of failing: to develop a healthy, happy human being; to provide food, clothing and shelter; of keeping them alive; of the many dangers that could claim their unsuspecting lives.
Lemire continues those themes in his new work, Mazebook, which he both writes and illustrates. And so far, so good.
We meet Will Warren, a 50-year-old man consumed by grief and loneliness connected to the loss of his 10-year-old daughter, Wendy. He’s so locked in grief that many of his memories of his former life – including of his wife, Elena – are locked away and growing fuzzier by the day.
He can’t even remember Wendy’s face anymore, only the old sweater she insisted on wearing despite it being oversized, smelly and ratty. And the threads coming off it.
Will has sunk into the routines of his everyday life to keep going, until one day he receives a phone call in the middle of the night.
“I’m in the center,” the voice says. “I’m in the center and you need to find me, Daddy.”
Lemire draws the book in black and white, with washes of gray and sepia. The only true color that appears is red – of the sweater, and of the threads unraveling.
In his dreams, Will sees a thread from the sweater leading to Wendy amid a maze. In a memory, he sees Wendy on the floor of her bedroom with maze books, a black space where her face should be. It’s a compelling image of grief, of the vain attempts to hold on to a mental picture of a loved one’s face after they have died, and feeling the details fade over the years.
But Will has the chance to find his daughter again? In a world beneath the surface of our everyday world?
Perhaps this book will become Lemire’s own meditation on grief and reclaiming one’s own life amid great loss. For now, I’m intrigued.
