“Fraternity” is a thoughtful and stunningly-rendered commentary on the problem of building a utopia wrapped inside a monster fable, and Juan Diaz Canales, the co-creater of the highly-acclaimed “Blacksad” series, gives readers some familiar milestones in a story that winds through some of the darkest corridors in American history.
Written by Juan Diaz CanalesCover by Jose-Luis Munuera
Illustrated by Jose-Luis Munuera
Colored by Sedyas
Translated by Jeremy Melloul1863: during the American Civil War, the inhabitants of New Fraternity, Indiana, find themselves far from the front lines of the conflict embroiling the United States but still constantly under threat from it; food is scarce, deserters come to seek asylum, and a mysterious feral beast that walks on two legs prowls the forest around the town. The beast seems to have some connection to Emile, a feral child found a few years earlier who had been taken in by the townsfolk during simpler times. As their fear and paranoia grows, the townsfolk start to hunt the beast and turn on each other, with tragic results that threaten to undo all that they have been working toward.
“Fraternity” is a beautiful book, rendered with assuredness by Jose-Luis Munuera. Munuera’s style is undeniably Franco-influenced (his bio in the book’s back matter confirms this). He exaggerates features both for dramatic effect and to aid the Canales’s storytelling that organically introduces readers to the denizens of New Fraternity. There are no lengthy introductions, and even with the distinctive visages, readers may find themselves flipping back to earlier pages to confirm character identities until near the end of the story. Additionally, there is a comically grotesqueness to almost all the characters in the story, save for the child Emile and the writer and teacher Fanny Zoetrope, the story’s only prominent female. These characters and the prodigal Lafitte look like they stepped out of a Euro-Disney version of Beauty and the Beast. In fact, there is an animated look to all the character and background renderings, as if the panels are capturing cinematic production cels.
As for the story, it turns out that there is trouble brewing in this fledgling would-be utopian society. Battle lines are being drawn by the city fathers to control the future of the village, and the dream of Robert McCormon’s socialist society hangs by a thread. Meanwhile the Civil War rages beyond the town’s borders, casting the New Fraternity in literal and figurative darkness. Munuera’s atmospheric artwork reflects this and Sedyas’s color palette is restrained to sepia-infused earth tones and gunmetal blues that cast dreadful shadows over the Munuera’s otherwise cartoonish faces. The only exceptions are the swaths of blood and flames that punctuate Canales’s critical storytelling junctures. It’s a fragile balancing act that the creators expertly navigate.
Canales’ story features much proselytizing and posturing. Everyone has something to say about how things should be run and how people should conduct themselves, and having a giant creature captured and tethered in an abandoned barn does little to assuage these tendencies in the self-important citizenry of New Fraternity. In an expansive and fascinating text piece that serves as a foreword text to the story, Alex Romero puts this notion front and center. A utopian society is too grand in practice for something as base as humanity. While this may seem to make for a dry sequential reading experience, it doesn’t, but it may try the patience of some readers expecting a supernatural horror story in a historical setting. The story methodically takes its time to show how these ideals falter in the wake of even the best intentions. There are no heroes here, and in fact no villains. Things are undone simply by the pettiest aspects of human nature.
Toward the conclusion of the story there was a moment that the proceedings felt like a more socially relevant and darker Pete’s Dragon cast against a Southern gothic backdrop. In this case, the story’s monster is not present just to protect the once-feral child, Emile, but to remind him that violence is part of life. It is a part of the natural order. It is only when men and women use it to further their own maliciously spiteful, hateful, and selfish ends that the violence inherent in nature is perverted. Violence, as represented by the story’s creature, will always be on the periphery of even the most peaceful societies. Emile takes comfort in knowing that this creature lives. He is not fearful of its existence. He embraces the need for violence and abhors its trivialization. Underneath it all, Canales seems to be saying that these rival factions within this community, for all their dissension, have completely missed the mark. We are all just animals unless we try to take care of one another. In the end, is there even such a thing as a monster when a monster can act like the best of men and men can be the most monstrous?
“Fraternity” could be taken as a screed against the dangers of socialism—that it flies in the face of human nature, but that’s not a hill I want to die on with this book. While it may have been Canales’s intent, I believe the book is making more of a statement about the dangers of control. Perhaps humans were not meant to be governed by more than the laws of nature. Anything else is folly. Then again, the book is not kind to the anarchist Josiah either, but that’s likely because he was willing to destroy anything to preserve his own skin. Ultimately, the book stands up to multiple critical readings, and luckily each actual reading will be a joy with a book this dark and lovely.
