Guillaume Singelin’s “PTSD” from First Second is an auteur-driven tour de force, a bullet-riddled sour gum ball machine that’s as sure-handed in its execution as it is provocative.
Written and Illustrated by Guillaume SingelinCover by Guillaume SingelinIn this uniquely imagined work of speculative fiction, a veteran finds herself marooned in her own city and haunted by her memories. After returning home from an unpopular war, Jun becomes an outsider in an indifferent world. Alone, desperate, and suffering from wounds both mental and physical, she seeks relief in the illicit drugs she manages to purchase or steal. Jun’s tough exterior served her well in combat, but she’ll need to nurture her vulnerability and humanity to survive at home. With the support of her fellow vets, the kindness of a stranger who refuses to turn away, and the companionship of a dog named Red, Jun learns to navigate the psychological trauma that she experienced in the war.
“PTSD” begins with a series of pages that might lull readers into the misconception that the book will be a quiet meditation on the physical and psychological casualties of war, but this no parable or allegory. It’s the story of Jun and her very solitary existence in a culturally diverse and sprawling Eastern metropolis. Jun is a former sharpshooter and the veteran of a war that has resulted in a growing community of men and woman who scratch out drug-addicted experiences in the dark corners of a city run by a government that has disavowed their existence and refused to help them. Singelin’s restraint in telling a very personal story that resists the urge to present one-sided and far-flung sociopolitical commentary is commendable. There are conclusions to be drawn that might lead to a blueprint for real communities at large but they are woven into this story of this particular community and its unique denizens. Not grounding the narrative in a real place (or giving the referenced war a real name) could have run counter to Singelin’s goal to avoid any particular commentary, turning the book’s setting and characters into ciphers for the ills of modern society. Instead, Singelin’s cinematic screenplay construction, namely leaning on the tropes of the classic hero’s journey, serves to give the story the feel of a modern myth, a way to make sense of why the world is the way it is, not necessarily a call to action. The story casts an equally sympathetic eye on every character, but it’s in the complicated and nuanced depiction of Jun that “PTSD” really shines.
Jun is both inscrutable and relatable, finding her way through the narrative in the same way that the reader does. Her journey to a life of meaning keeps readers off-balance, hoping a story will have a happy ending but leaving us unsure if her self-destructive habits will allow it. Singelin does a nice job eking out details of Jun’s history, slowly revealing through flashbacks why she seems unable to function as a part of society, and the slow burn storytelling is heartbreaking. As a reader, Jun’s alienation—that at first seemed like the result of stubborn life choices or an inability to adapt—becomes a foregone conclusion for someone with her life experiences. Singelin also seems to go out of his way to mete out the unsympathetic aspects of Jun’s behavior in heaping helpings, making the pathos that he is able to cultivate even more astounding.
Singelin’s scripting is so impressive that it’s almost easy to overlook the masterclass he is leading in sequential storytelling. The book’s art is a feast for the eyes, and Singelin doesn’t leave any spots on the color wheel untouched in presenting his bustling metropolis and scenes of jungle warfare. It’s a dizzying presentation especially when coupled with the intricate level of detail. It’s as if Singelin has an almost instinctive talent for how to construct a comic book page. There is also a delicate intricacy at work here that straddles the line between technical craftsmanship and impressionistic improvisation. It gives the artwork a pulse, propelling the story forward rather than stalling the narrative to take in all the sights, and there are many to behold, particularly in the vibrant street scenes that dominate the book. The architecture seems alive, and discarded junk practically skitters across every panel.
Singelin’s figure work is decidedly on the cartoonish end of the spectrum. All his characters sport four meaty fingers per hand, and there is a sure-handed simplicity to the unique design of every character’s face. Some lack noses. Some have saucers for eyes will others have mere dots. The astonishing thing is that Singelin is able to convey a wide range of emotion within this simplicity and with the help of body language. Singelin is clearly an animator at heart who understands how to make his creations act with real verve. It’s a good thing too because it only makes the heartrending story even more effective.
Inasmuch as an exploration of PTSD can be enjoyable, Singelin’s “PTSD” is a hypnotically entertaining book that hooks readers early and graciously takes them by the hand through this at times harrowing and unsympathetically brutal landscape. The cast of supporting characters is rich and varied, adding to the Technicolor tapestry and the emotional weight. So confident is Singelin in this supporting cast that he lets a dying character—who would likely be listed as drug dealer #12 in the end credits of the film version—deliver some of the book’s most astute observations about our main protagonist and in fact the book’s central themes. It’s eye opening for Jun and the reader as well, a gut punch that leaves both reeling while also cradling them in the warm embrace of epiphany. If this review waxes poetic it’s because this book does too merely by resisting the urge for sentimentality. In fact, it goes out of its way to undercut its blatant manifestations at every turn. Characters who traffic in its vocabulary are routinely punished or chastised. In the end, Jun’s gospel is that talk is not just cheap, it’s also almost always a contradiction. All we really want to do is give our lives meaning, to make survival a worthwhile endeavor. The visual poetry of “PTSD” defies meter, opting instead for the messier and more meaningful aspects of free verse. It’s a story that is brutally beautiful and unsympathetic in its portrayals. As a result, the closing pages reveal an ending that feels like its been earned instead of given.
