So much of comic-reviewing has to do with looking at the text and the art, and watching the two compete and combine as they (hopefully) evoke a story that does justice to the flexibility of the medium. So it’s a bit perplexing to be faced with a book like Ojingogo – a comic without any words.
Actually, that’s not exactly true. Matthew Forsythe’s tale about a little girl, her lost camera, and the loopy world they inhabit is punctuated by all kinds of sound effects. Sometimes they’re English onomatopoeia, and sometimes they’re in Hangul, but you don’t need to speak Korean – or even English, really – to get what this story is about. The pictures and their organization on the page take over 99% of storytelling duty, and they do so in such a charming way that reading Ojingogo feels like a completely unique experience.
Essentially, the book encompasses the little girl’s quest to get her (sentient) camera back from a monstrous fisherman and his tentacled cronies. Along the way she encounters all kinds of unusual allies, and together, they use their smarts and their (sometimes ferocious) spirit to resolve the matter at hand.
Of course, half the fun here is in interpretation, and while the machinations of the plot hold up very well under close scrutiny, there’s plenty of room for imagination also. In that respect, kids who are just getting into reading might be the best audience for Ojingogo – but adults will likely find the exercise rewarding as well. There’s something oddly energizing about focusing entirely on the visual, puzzling out the sequence of events and making a narrative of your own.
But if you really are intent on figuring out Forsythe’s particular vision, there are plenty of little details to help you along. Some of the most interesting nuances are the most subtle, and only jump to the forefront after multiple rereadings. In that respect, this is a deeply complex book – but depending on you level of engagement, it can be as simple or complex as you want it to be. Meanwhile, the sound effects add some spice to the action, and if you can read a bit of Korean, being able to hear the particular noises makes things even more fun.
The art is a delight: Forsythe’s characters are both cute and grounded, moving and reacting according to consistent rules. The black and white ink drawings are crystal clear, easy to scan but with plenty of capacity for telling detail. And, most importantly, the world that Forsythe portrays feels unified, like all the creatures and the houses and plants are relatives, and grew from the same seed. It’s a cozy little universe for your imagination to wander through, and visit again and again.
Forsythe also has a lot of fun with scale, shrinking and growing the characters at several different points in the narrative – to hilarious and touching effect. If there’s one solid thematic current to this story, it’s this elasticity, this constant playing around with what it means to be little, or big – or to be put into a context that turns you into something you didn’t think you were. It’s a point that hits home for both children and adults, and applies pretty strongly to the complex (and often quite political) relationships between them.
But whether you intend to share Ojingogo with somebody significantly smaller than yourself or not, it’s got plenty to offer, and plenty to give – so long as you’re willing to give a little something in return.
Originally serialized as a webcomic, Ojingogo is now available in gorgeous paperback from Drawn & Quarterly. And if it leaves you hungry for more, be sure to check out its companion volume, Jinchalo!
