“The Sea” from Fantagraphics starts with a well-worn premise – a sailor full of stories – and then goes some strange places indeed. With Scandinavian flair as well as charm all its own, this is a story that keeps you guessing.
Cover by
Rikke VilladsenWritten and illustrated by Rikke Villadsen
A fisherman traversing the ocean is used to danger and surprise, but what happens when he pulls up his net and catches a newborn baby and a talking fish? Thus begins a story full of provocative symbolism and a madness that doesn’t just bubble beneath the surface of the water, but drenches the sailor—and reader—like a tidal wave. Danish cartoonist Rikke Villadsen makes her English-language debut with this seafaring tale soaked in surrealism that is ultimately about the end of one life, the beginning of another, and a man, literally and figuratively, lost at sea.
A fisherman soliloquizes about the old days, showing you his tattoos. It sounds like something out of Hemingway, and it could be – insofar as I think Hemingway had a soft, intuitive side that people don’t talk about enough. We’re led into the narrative by a salty dog, but this is fundamentally the story of a woman making a wish, and that’s where things get interesting.
I hope that was oblique enough, because this book – clocking in at a speedy 100 pages – is all about the journey, and getting befuddled up in it on your own. I know I’ve said it in other reviews, but feeling perfectly oriented within the world of a story is overrated, and “The Sea” is packed with just the kind of confusion that does a body good.
(A side note: it’s probably reductive to describe a tale this odd, bleak and wonderful as typical to its country of origin, but it does have a Danish quality, somewhere between its stark visuals and unconventional sense of humour. It made me want to get a little Isak Dinesen back in my life.)
To get back to the plot, our fisherman doesn’t delve too deep into his stories before he’s interrupted by a pair of strangers – a talking flounder, and an equally opinionated infant. They’re critical of the whole situation, but wary of articulating where they came from or what they are. They’d rather lecture the fisherman on what kind of swears to use; “fartgarlic” and “poltroon” are in the mix.
You can hardly blame the fisherman when he gets lost in the fog – “You seem like an AMATEUR,” sasses the flounder, “and your gums are BLEEDING” – but just when you think the banter is falling into a pattern, a hallucinogenic image of a woman floats to the surface. Naturally, she’s boning down on a mooring post, and maybe I’ve said too much already
From here the fisherman descends into madness, making flights into his past along the way, and this is where his characterization shines. He’s a cloud-like mass of scribbles and big pores, coalescing into frowns and screams and even a spout of projectile vomit. By contrast, the flounder is dark and definite, the baby all heft and solidity. But maybe they’re not so solid after all.
From the eraser smear on the cover to the smudged hand-lettering within, the world of “The Sea” has a roughed-up, lived-in quality perfectly suited to its grizzled protagonist. The pencil work is so loose that it’s flamboyant, pulling maximum drama from the heaving sea, which sometimes curves into fingers and right over the fisherman’s head. The pencil work gets jagged and harsh when we delve into the fisherman’s childhood, lending a nightmare tinge to his story. And the minimal shoreline is sandblasted down to its cleanest edges – a bookend to this story’s weirdness.
All through, the hand-lettering is a source of energy unto itself, crawling all over the place and skewing bold at odd moments. The already wonderful dialogue between the fisherman, flounder and baby seems to gain a little more sizzle through the fluid placement of the speech bubbles.
The climax of the fisherman’s madness is palpable, with the sea overwhelming the page and pitching everything into confusion. Is this a real storm, though, or a storm of the mind? And does it matter?
In the end, this is a deeply metaphorical tale, and with its concision and layers of meaning, I’d normally call it puzzling. Except I feel I grokked the central metaphor in no uncertain terms? Maybe the message is clear after all, or is clear to the right person at the right time. In any case, you’ll have to step into the madness yourself and report back.
All told, “The Sea” is a unique and immersive book that switches back on you, pulling surprises and delights from the ocean’s depths. It’s not for everybody, but it’s charismatic, and unfathomable in the best possible way.
