Reviews 

“Waves”

By | May 21st, 2019
Posted in Reviews | % Comments

Ingrid Chabbert and her wife were briefly elated to learn that she was finally pregnant, but it slowly turns into a private horror as her pregnancy ends in a stillbirth. This comic is about the loss and mourning of a child that never drew breath, and Chabbert coming to terms with this awful experience by rebuilding her life through journaling and storytelling.

Cover by Carole Maurel
Written by Ingrid Chabbert
Illustrated by Carole Maurel

After years of difficulty trying to have children, a young couple finally announces their pregnancy, only to have the most joyous day of their lives replaced with one of unexpected heartbreak. Their relationship is put to the test as they forge ahead, working together to rebuild themselves amidst the churning tumult of devastating loss, and ultimately facing the soul-crushing reality that they may never conceive a child of their own.

Based on author Ingrid Chabbert’s own experience, coupled with soft, sometimes dreamlike illustrations by Carole Maurel, Waves is a deeply moving story that poignantly captures a woman’s exploration of her pain in order to rediscover hope.

This is only Carole Maurel’s third comic, and she uses her usual subdued, neutral palette and simple paneling, which makes it easy to fall into Ingrid’s personal story. But I wish Maurel had “drawn outside the lines” more, especially to reflect the heartbreak these two woman live through. I’ve seen pages from her upcoming contribution to “Collaboration Horizontale,” and I can see she’s becoming adept at communicating with the type of unconventional pages I wish I’d seen here.

The comic is from Ingrid’s point of view, and most scenes open with her literal view in that moment (like looking down her hospital bed and seeing her feet), which is a brilliant way to set a mood. On the other hand, there were a few montage sequences that were more distant and workmanlike, and I wish they had the tight and unique point of view of the rest of the comic.

The strong point of view is important in this comic because it’s more than a comic, it’s an act of journaling and rebuilding her own personal narrative. There’s a great field of psychology that’s devoted to how we build narratives in order to make sense of cold events that overcome us. We, as humans, build stories, and it heals us.

I went through a similar experience as Chabbert when my partner had a miscarriage. Unlike Chabbert, within six months we had broken up, and I was living on my friend’s couch, jobless, spending all day riding a used bicycle around town. I thought very little of myself, when I thought at all, and it wasn’t until years later that a therapist told me, “you shouldn’t think that, you had a traumatic experience, and you temporarily reverted to a childhood lifestyle. It’s a normal and sane thing to do.” Suddenly, with his simple response, those two times in my life formed a new connection, and I had a better understanding of what actually happened to me. I had a new personal narrative, and it was curative to my psyche.

That’s the power of our ability to tell stories. We strip our memories until we have a few points that form a direct story, one that points to a better future, one that gives us agency. It’s invigorating and powerful, but that style of simplification doesn’t always make for a great story for others to read.

And that’s the problem I have with Chabbert’s story. I know from the back of the comic that it took her some years to write this story, long after she had published dozens and dozens of other books, but the comic leads you to believe that she found peace in far less time than that. She slowly turns her tragedy into the impetuous to build a new career as a writer, and then she and her wife reads her first book to the spirit of their child at the ocean. It’s a nice story, but one that doesn’t resonate with me, and I think because it’s simplifies so much of the malaise and hardship that I know comes from miscarriage and too many IVF cycles. At some point they must have decided not to try another IVF cycle, but we never learn why, we never hear that conversation.

Instead, it’s a steady journey to acceptance with no bumps. Maurel pulls an interesting trick; after the miscarriage the comic becomes black and white. Slowly, color pops back into her world as Ingrid comes to accept what happened. It’s a trick that clearly shows Ingrid’s mental state, but it’s more cute than effective. The colors that do come back seem arbitrary, and are never explained. Sometimes it’s beautiful, like the dull orange peaking on her lips as she tells her wife, “I love you.” But it mostly reads like an unexamined choice of Maurel’s. Why do people’s clothing get colored early? Why an awning in Crete? Why is her wife’s clothing less colored than other people in the therapy group? Was there a neglected struggle between them?

I dreaded reading this comic for very personal reasons, but I looked forward to the catharsis a great piece of tragedy can provide. I didn’t get it here. I’d like to respect that Chabbert is writing the story in a way that helps her harmonize her life’s journey, but reducing the terrible complexity of life to this smooth climb didn’t ring true to me. I didn’t get the relief I needed.


Justin McGuire

The most important comics in my life were, in order: assorted Archies bought from yard sales, Wolverine #43 - Under The Skin, various DP7, Death of Superman, Dark Knight Returns, Kingdom Come, Sandman volume 1, Animal Man #5 - The Coyote Gospel, Spent.

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