“920London,” much like its characters themselves, is a story in search of something.
Written and Illustrated by Remy BoydellCover by Remy Boydell2005, north of London. A doomed romance between two emo kids. More than friends, less than lovers, they’re trying to grow shrooms before the world ends. Send help.
Solo graphic novel debut by REMY BOYDELL (THE PERVERT), fully painted in watercolor.
My birthday is this week, and as one is wont to do when the march of time starkly confronts you, one reflects on where they have been in life and where they are going. And when I look back on where I was 15 years ago, the time period of “920London” I remember how similar I was to protagonists Kiki and Hana: young, with the world seemingly at my beck and call (or what society and capitalism want you to believe) but unsure what to do with all of it. I may not have been the emo kid with skinny jeans and My Chemical Romance on the iPod shuffle, but I had one thing in common with those traditional emo kids: that search for Something.
I approached “920London” with that in mind: a story about a search for Something, whatever it was. That same idea that made the film Garden State, released one year before this graphic novel takes place: waiting for Something to start. That’s what “920London” captures beautifully: that sense of floating through life on a raft of ambivalence. Unfortunately, it sacrifices plot structure and story in the pursuit of this tone. Even the film Garden State, released one year before when “920London” takes place and exploring similar themes, had a framework to it: a character, their development, a conflict, a resolution.
Without these things in “920London” I found it hard to connect to the story, even with these universal themes of the pursuit of what life means are front and center. Just like Kiki and Hana, it floats from moment to moment, scene to scene (in a very short 136 pages), without something to hold it all together. We know a little bit about Kiki and Hana: one’s a scenester, one’s more quiet. We know that they have (or had?) some sort of relationship. We also find out in a fleeting comment that they are trans. All of these aspects of character are wonderful narrative avenues to explore, but that lack of follow-through that would help the reader care more about their world.
And truth be told, there isn’t much else to that world besides the two of them. They talk of going to clubs, house parties – but we also don’t see either of them interacting with anyone else but each other, at least on a meaningful level that would give us that insight into self that we the reader crave. There’s talk of the “end of the world,” but what kind of world is ending: their relationship, their way of life, a way of life? There’s something about Hana’s clandestine mushroom farm operation the bathroom that wants to lend itself as glue to bring these vignettes together, but the glue doesn’t stick. Too much is left for the reader to fill in for themselves, too many concepts only presented in the abstract with cursory nuance that readers, if not careful or familiar with Boydell’s style, will miss on first pass. We’re left with less of a story and more of a character sketch from chapter to chapter – – again, capturing the search for life well, but lacking direction that makes us want to join them on that journey.
Artwork makes up for the major script failings. Boydell takes great care to capture an era without being too stuck in it with subtle cultural touchpoints: an early iPod on speakers, a digital camera for a selfie (complete with lens facing the mirror), a flip phone. But where this art really excels is color. Boydell paints this entire book in watercolor, a fine choice for exploring the fleeting, dreamlike nature of this life. Lines are simple, focusing on broader pencil and ink work to lay a foundation of shape. And while he does use lighter lines in places to build texture, it mostly comes in the form of the color: depth and dimension to hair, age and worry to a face, shape to a background scene, all with the use of broad brush strokes and layers of color, and even absence of color.
Continued belowWisely, Boydell also knows how to dial up and dial down intensity of color, and when done right, does provide us character insight that the script lacks. An evening out for the girls opens at home in black and white, save for Kiki’s beauty prep in bright color. Throughout the evening, Kiki remains shrouded in pastel candy colors, whereas Hana remains in muted tones. The eye naturally gravitates to Kiki. In this moment of makeup, hair, and selfies, you find out the importance of image, of seeing and being seen is to her. Color also serves well as accent, such as Kiki’s dream in a pumpkin patch all in black and white, save for the bright orange pumpkins, establishing the out-of-this-world scene.
Of course, we must note that Kiki and Hana – – along with the rest of their world – – are not human. They are cartoon anthropomorphic animals, perhaps foxes or cats of some sort. Is it commentary on the flat cartoon nature on their lives, or a lost innocence? Is it contrast to the adult themes of sex, drugs, and rock and roll? Perhaps it’s a mixture of both, subtle commentary on the ridiculousness of the standard pursuits of happiness mixed with a desire to go back to a simpler time and simpler pleasures. Ultimately, it ends up proving more distraction than anything. And in a book where the onus is on the reader to deduce themes and characters, it just gets in the way.
What “920London” does right just what Garden State also did right: capture that feel of aimlessness in life, moments both cultural and personal. But what Garden State did better was give us a reason to root for Andrew Largeman. Much like the final scene, where Kiki and Hana muse on the idea of the night’s gig without a care to the larger events of the world (in this case, the Buncefield oil explosion and fire), we reach the end of their story and are left without a care for them either.
