“Panther”

Nothing in Brecht Evens’s “Panther” is as it seems. Even the structure and format of the book itself reflects the story’s shifting, chameleonic, and ambuscading themes. At first it seems like a story about a young girl trying to understand and deal with her grief, but as the narrative unravels, the whole world becomes far more sinister and unsettling. This is not a comfortable read by any stretch of the imagination and if I were the kind of person who believed in trigger warnings, I would post them all over the cover of this book. It is, however, a power and even necessary read, poking at these horrific elements in order to try to find a way to cope with them.

Written and Illustrated by Brecht Evens
Brecht Evens, the award-winning author of “The Wrong Place” and “The Making Of. . .”, returns with an unsettling graphic novel about a little girl and her imaginary feline companion. Iconoclastic in his cartooning and page layouts, subtle in his plotting, and deft in his capturing of the human experience, Brecht Evens has crafted a tangled, dark masterwork.

Originally released by Flemish publisher Oogachtend in 2014, “Panther” was brought to English audience by Drawn & Quarterly in early 2016. Considering something like “The Eternaut” was finally released in English around the same time — only about half a century after its serial completion — this seems like a quick turnaround. Of course, cartoonist Brecht Evens had already established himself with works like “Wrong Place” and “The Making Of…”. Evens tends to take the format and form of his work into serious consideration, where the presentation of a piece contributes as much as the art or characters to understanding the story. “Panther” is no different. The book is presented in landscape and illustrated with bright watercolors. It looks like a children’s storybook, and that only adds to its effectiveness and unease.

“Panther” introduces us to this young girl named Christine. She lives alone with her father and beloved cat, Lucy. But Lucy’s getting old and it’s taking her a lot of effort to even make it to her food bowl. One day, while Christine’s at school, her father takes Lucy to the vet to put her to sleep.

Christine is devastated.

“Well, you know, Lucy was in a lot of pain. . .,” her father says weakly as Christine runs off.

For it’s not just the sudden removal of her beloved pet, but also, we quickly learn, the sudden removal of her beloved pet on top of the death of her mother. Furthermore, Evens strongly implies that it was through suicide.

And then, late at night, Octavianus Abracadalouphus Pantherius, the Crown Prince of Pantherland, pops out from the bottom drawer of Christine’s bureau. He claims he sensed her grief and has come to cheer her up. Desperate for a friend and for comfort, Christine doesn’t immediately notice Panther’s not being completely honest with her. He knows her name, his story is constantly changing, he forbids her to look into the bottom bureau drawer, and hse contradicts himself. He’s cuddly, touchy, and presses her to push up against him.

Evens does several clever things with his page whenever Panther appears. For one, he never draws the character the same way. Panther’s shapeshifting abilities rival Pennywise, though he’s less a demonic evil than an insidious, treacherous force. He also never lets you forget that Panther’s a giant jungle cat, constantly looming over and stalking Christine. Yet even with that, Evens makes sure to bring in a ton of color whenever Panther arrives. He’s distinct and expressionistic, in a way that the adults — especially the father — in Christine’s world are not. The moment he pops out of the drawer, the world is vibrant and full of life. Everything is more open and playful and you even find yourself susceptible to his charms.

I think there’s some parallels between Panther and Bagheera, the black panther from Kipling’s Jungle Books. Both characters, for instance, are wise and knowing, and both have something to teach their young wards. They assume a figure of trust. They seem to know a little bit about everything. Yet where Bagheera is pragmatic and wild, Panther is far more conniving.

Cracks start to appear even to Christine when her teddy bear, Bonzo, disappears. Well, when he tries to warn her about Panther and Panther devours him. Not too long later, a new Bonzo, a different Bonzo, a slightly unhinged, aggressive, and violent Bonzo appears. A Bonzo who yells out, “Let’s fool around!” at playtime and advises Christine to suck out the eyeballs of a classmate who’s bullying her. The more and more time he spends with her, the stranger and more intimidating he becomes.

The book itself is presented in a longer, horizontal format. It bears a lot of resemblance to a children’s storybook. You could even argue that the use of storybook characters are a way for Christine to quantify what’s happening around her. Evens doesn’t use traditional paneling, either. At times, this device breaks up the rhythm and pace of certain sequences, but it mostly allows for “Panther” to have this odd flow. This especially works well for the double-paged spreads, bursting with designs, shapes, and colors, as if Christine’s brain was attempting to expunge all the wickedness and discomfort.

But there really is no way for Christine to get away from this. She’s trusting, she feels she genuinely knows Panther. There’s a part of her that’s aware of everything he’s doing and putting her through, a part of her that’s aware that it isn’t right. Yet Panther is so important to her that she’s willing to put up with his advances. His treatment of Christine, his taking advantage of that trust, our awareness of what she’s going through makes “Panther “ all the more intense and horrifying. By the third act, it’s almost unbearable to experience.

And that’s exactly the way this kind of abuse happens. “Panther” challenges you to look at all that stuff buried underneath the surface. Like the best fairy tales, it uses its space in order to address and confront horrible elements. Maybe it doesn’t offer any solutions (and I’m sure some would argue it doesn’t offer much in terms of resolution either), but by acknowledging the terror, it can be something to help explain it and to deal with it.