“Gast” from Fantagraphics is an outsider’s tale that quickly evolves into an absorbing – and unconventional – mystery.
Written and illustrated by Carol SwainCover by SwainIn rural Wales, Helen, an amateur bird watcher, investigates the apparent suicide of a ‘rare bird’ named Emrys. Helen’s inner life is slowly revealed through a mixture of naturalistic detail and phantasmagoric occurrences.
Let’s just get it out of the way that I, too, was a weird kid who wandered around with a notebook and over-interpreted everything. Reading comics has made it clear just how many of us there are. (See also: “Ripples.”)
Helen’s new to Wales, and eager to learn about the local bird life. Lately of London, it’s not clear how she developed her interest in wildlife, but she seems at home watching the movements of birds and jotting down her observations. The Welsh language, too, is a fresh challenge, and she’s careful to note every new word she comes across. This gives us the title: “gast” means “bitch”.
Helen’s curious when she hears about the death of her neighbour, and she spends increasingly lengthy afternoons wandering his property. She finds clues, interviews his acquaintances, and has long, revelatory conversations with his animals. As for why she’s able to talk to animals, who offer some of the most valuable pieces of information – that’s just one piece of the weirdness that holds “Gast” together.
From the get-go, it’s clear that Helen’s deductive powers have limitations. As we read her notebook over her shoulder, her casual misinterpretations of some the information she’s been given come to the forefront. All the same, she comes to grasp the general arc of her neighbor’s plight at about the same rate we do. In the end, an ill-advised bus trip into town brings us as close to the truth as we’re going to get.
Carol Swain’s storytelling is contemplative and insightful, guiding us through this often-silent story with grace. An active, even acrobatic, camera takes us through each scene, making every sequence, no matter how mundane the circumstances, engaging. Nine-panel grids structure every page, emphasizing the measured, methodical way Helen goes about her investigation.
It’s a ghostly, charcoal-toned world, full of naturalistic textures – muddy fields, wooden beams, dusty roadsides. Often, through composition, Helen’s apartness come to the forefront – as does, by extension, her vulnerability. In this series of big spaces, Helen’s very much on her own, navigating on instinct as much as anything.
Helen herself is a squinting cipher – quiet, intense, and focused. A slight smile or frown is about as much as we get in terms of facial expression. Her poses, meanwhile, are guarded, loosening only rarely — usually when a conversation takes a revealing turn. Often, framing and composition do the heavy lifting in terms of giving us insight into her world.
A particularly effective wordless sequence takes us through Helen’s thought process as she attempts to eat a meal that’s too big for her. We see her slow, steel herself, take deep breaths, and doggedly do her best before finally giving up. The sheer physical and mental effort of it all is hard to miss, with a plodding camera that constantly juxtaposes Helen’s effort and the dullness of her surroundings.
The secondary characters, as well as the animals, are even more subtly emotive. Sometimes it’s a small detail of character design that makes the difference: a crinkled brow or a little too much blusher.
Seeds of darkness add up over the course of the narrative, evoking a prevailing mood that, while far from sprightly, doesn’t descend into bleakness either. Helen’s youth and inexperience in some ways protect her – she’s able to learn about her neighbour without being caught up in what plagued him.
It was Helen’s observational perspective that took us through this story, and in the end, we’re still deeply immersed in her way of thinking – still alone, still watching birds. While it’s clear she’s gained some insight over the course of the narrative, the magnitude or resonance of that insight somehow feels secondary. More than anything, there’s a sense of finality in Helen having learned as much as she could.
It may not be for everyone, but “Gast” is a rare bird in its own right. It raises points on childhood, otherness, and nature, all without pushing an overarching theme. Through it all, there’s a certain magic in its quietness, making this solitary journey hard to forget.
