“Almost”

Everyone has days that they remember, and days that they would like to forget.  For Manu Larcenet in “Almost” the day from his military service he would most like to forget is still one he will always remember, no matter how hard he tries his best to forget.

(Please note that this is an 18+ book with adult themes and strong language throughout.)

Cover by Manu Larcenet

Written and Illustrated by Manu Larcenet

An autobiographical story in which Manu Larcenet, with raw sincerity, describes a day in the army. But not just any day… Page after page, Larcenet’s spare storytelling combines deep introspection with graphical and narrative audacity.

Manu Larcenet’s “Almost” opens up with this quote from French psychoanalyst Jacques Lacan: “Truth has the structure of a fiction.” It’s a apropos sentiment on which to open Larcenet’s “Almost,” a story of one day during his military service that seems almost too real to have actually happened, but did in fact happen.  And while he would like to forget that day, along with perhaps his entire military service, he finds he cannot forget it no matter how hard he tries. Or as he puts it, “I made peace with all the rest … almost.”

We are taken back to 1991 (June 4th, in fact), when the young Manu begins his conscription in northeastern France at Nancy – Ochey Air Base. (It should be noted that this book was originally published in 1998, when mandatory military service in France was in the process of being phased out.  However, President Emmanuel Macron has brought back the concept of national service, albeit in a very different form than what Manu experienced.)

After a very quick introduction to the life of basic training that also gives the reader a sense of the effect of the transition from civilian to military life had on Larcenet, the events that he has still not made peace with, that will take up the rest of this work, is introduced: the culmination of basic training in simulated military exercises on a decommissioned American base in Lorraine. With the exception of the bullets in their guns (blanks), the six days of these maneuvers replicated combat conditions down to the last detail: sleep-deprived guard duty, time alone with your thoughts, quick responses to action, draconian punishments for being late to assembly, dreams (or in Larcenet’s case, worries) of upcoming leave.  When gunfire erupts on the north side of the base, Larcenet and his partner (Marco, a “gruff, hot-tempered” Breton who had served prison time before the army) are ordered to protect the southern end of the base and not let anyone in. It’s when “Baudelaire,” one of the lieutenants wants to get in, and manages to do so, that things go horribly wrong for everyone.

There’s only one perspective in this work, and that is Larcenet’s, giving this entire work the feel of a peek inside someone’s very personal journals. The solicit describes Larcenet’s storytelling as “sparse,” and I cannot think of a better word than that. There is minimal text on these pages, some completely devoid of text completely.  “Sparse” is also the perfect word to describe Larcenet’s artwork. He renders the human form in only the most basic of shapes, broad strokes with deliberate application of shadow and light that provide enough for the eye to discern that these are human beings on the page. They almost have the appearance of corpses or skeletons, for “at night, we all look cadaverous.” Where Larcenet does not use sketchbook shadow to depict characters, he opts for shapeless blobs, with just eyes and a mouth. The closest shape I can use to describe these is that they look like chocolate bonbons, perhaps too joyous a comparison in consideration of the subject matter. It forces the focus for the reader on the words rather than the pictures, and he wisely places this shift in style at key moments: his imagined conversation with his mother about not wanting to return to the military, Baudelaire’s break in into the base and Larcenet’s confrontation with him after he injures Marco.  Here, the exact vision doesn’t matter. Like a memory, it is fleeting.  It is the words and actions that remain impressed upon his mind.

“Almost” does not shy away from the stark reality of the experiences of basic training and its effect on the civilian mind. Neither script nor art keep these themes subtle, they’re in front, in your face. This is more, though, than just the descriptions of punishments Larcenet and his fellow cadets endured at the hands of their superiors. There’s a keen look inside the mind of the cadet, both in script and artwork. Larcenet recounts conversations with his mother where it’s clear that his mother is hearing what her son is saying but not really listening to his words. At moments where he feels almost out of his body, such as upon sight of an eagle in Lorraine (not common to that area), or as the climatic actions after Baudelaire slips in to the base, Larcenet is depicted in the background of black and white abstract shapes, ancient in nature, reminiscent of cave drawings.  It’s also these panels where his depiction of character is also the most human to the eye, a fully formed shape as opposed to shapeless blob or sketchy shadow seen elsewhere.  It’s a sign of his desperate attempts to hold on to his humanity as the chaos encircles him.

If there is any fault with this work, it’s the final fourteen pages, billed as “an approximate note for the benefit of young readers.” It appears that this was included in reprints (and presumably the English translation).  I read this over several times to endeavor to figure out its thesis, but it seems to be both author acknowledgments and philosophical explanation of the story and his state of mind while writing/drawing it. Presented as a conversation between a reader of “Almost” and its author, it’s word vomit, and doesn’t bring anything to the story in the slightest. The work clearly speaks for itself, and this coda dilutes its impact.

In writing “Almost,” Larcenet attempts to bring sense to his time in the military and events he experienced, as well as how they affect him today. It’s a powerful mediation on the concept of PTSD, and while it was a form of therapy for him, he knows “it wouldn’t resolve anything.” He seems to be shocked at the breadth and depth of anguish retelling this story brought to him, but is he grateful that he was able to work out this complicated, painful, period of his life on the page?

Almost.