Without coming across as too high-minded there are probably two factors that decide whether you think Daniel Merlin Goodbrey’s compilation of his webcomic Brainfist works: Firstly there is the argument of how well comics translate from e-formats to print; and secondly whether you believe philosophy is a consoling or irrelevant persuit.
To tackle the first point lets look at the form of the compilation. Each entry is composed of six uniform rectangular panels filling a single page. The first panel is always black with white text on which there is a title (some examples: Honour, In Dreams, Family), with the additional frames building to a punchline. The reasons for this structure is deliberately related to Brainfist’s intended form of distribution, the iPod. On this level Brainfist certainly holds up. Using little movement, identical formatting and generic pastel backgrounds, Merlin Goodbrey creates a space for each individual comic to breathe and for the reader to engage with the (limited) action.
On the basis of this sparse presentation one can see how easy it would be to take in each piece quickly and easily, enjoying a directness of expression that doesn’t build to a joke so much as a general observation or confession. It’s tightly written and the move away from quick yuks in favour of an epiphany-driven approach is refreshing in an age of novelty comics using similar shorthand.
Now for the hard part: does it work as a narrative as well as a structural experiment? In this respect the ‘action’ is broken down to seven characters: a femme fatale, a girl with no eyes, a cowboy, a religious zealot, a stoner, a demonness and a cat. Each of these archtypical actors come from different backgrounds of abuse, discrimination, violence and copious indulgence. In turn we get a musing in five panels recounting either a traumatic event or random musing based on their own condition or how they see others. These perspectives reveal a lot more about the dramatis personae than convention would have you expect.
Some of the characters, a rather lovely serial killer and Jesus freak respectively, give fairly typical accounts of lives riddled with anguish manifesting themselves in acts of torture and brutality delivered with disturbing clarity. Comic relief is provided by the stoner and the cat, the latter showing a particularly nasty rapacious streak. The cowboy comes across as a grizzled veteran of “the plain” though one wouldn’t be too surprised if his experiences stretched no further than the M1 than Dodge City.
The most interesting characters would have to be the demoness (a remarkably humane creation) and the eyeless girl, whose ruminations on her act as a reversal, throwing the focus not on her disability but how society reacts to it.
The uniting factor of these elements is a coolness flat affect. Each observation has the delicacy of a confession, bereft of passion and delivered with the kind of curiosity found in children dissecting frogs in biology class. Each comic demands the reader pause to make sense of each observation, agree/disagree then move on. It is this forced discourse with the reader that introduces the concept of philosophy as a comfort – or as is often the case here – a source of discontent.
Finally, the question has to be asked, does the whole reflect the sum of its parts? Making the move from a free online presence to a paid anthology has become something of a holy grail for creators, a final acid test of their talent. Brainfist just about carries it off thanks to a series of endings that provide some measure of closure, and relieving the prospect of subsequent collections.
Unapologetic, cryptic and conflicted, Brainfist is a challening, occasionally harrowing read – in any format.
€tbc; colour, 130 pages, UK, W/A Daniel Merlin Goodbrey www.e-merl.com
