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There
are comic books about self-sacrificing and noble superheroes.
There are comics about the everyday life of average citizens
all over the world. And then there are books like Black
Hole: a beautifully artistic and emotionally moving comic
book about teenage sex, drug use (and the ensuing hallucinogenic
romps), and mutant sexually transmitted diseases that turn
people into gruesome freaks. It's a bit of a niche genre,
to be certain.
Charles
Burns' Black Hole is the tale of a group of Pacific
Northwest high schoolers in that glorious musical heyday of
the 1970's pre-disco era. As this collection of teenagers
navigate the trials and travails of teenage life—bio
class frog dissection, parties, and puberty—they also
have to cope with the threat of "The Bug" being thrust upon
them. "The Bug" is an STD that causes its host to undergo
bizarre physical deformations. Some students grow small, second
mouths on their neck. Some shed their skins every menstrual
cycle. Some have tails. There are horns, boils, growths, and
a collection of things that are far less pleasant to see.
Some
of these deformations are far more concealable. The students,
despite their illness, can continue their lives in a fairly
"normal" manner. Their parents are never the wiser, and their
stigma as an STD victim is hidden from all peers. As some
struggle with minor deformations, others are not so lucky.
Burns'
writing captures the struggle of teenage life and awkwardness
perfectly. The confusion and uncertainly inherent in that
period of one's life is stripped diary-bare and intimate on
the stark black and white pages of Black Hole. The
fear in this era of rapid life change is ably symbolized by
the possibly social life-ending disease, which is last on
their lists of desires—the yen for sex wrapped up in
this possibly horrifying debilitation. Their teenager instincts
are pushing them directly towards that which can so easily
end the social life they seek to broaden and experience.
The more
visibly grotesque run away from their homes to hide themselves
from parents and peers, taking refuge in the woods. The dark
woods. The dark woods where socially outcast, confused and
freakish teenagers struggle with their desires and predicaments.
At this point, Burns smears together the "coming of age" story
with the dark and foreboding atmosphere of the 1970's slasher
film with absolutely none of the cheese and camp embodied
by either genre. This is when the art of this graphic novel
exerts its influence.
Burns
artwork is probably familiar to many readers, even if they
don't know the name. He is the resident artist for The
Believer magazine, contributed to the old Sub Pop fanzine,
has done CD cover art for the likes of Iggy Pop, and has had
work commissioned by Coca-Cola (three out of four indie-cred
points ain't bad). For Black Hole, Burns works in strictly
black and white, but mostly black. Gallons of ink must have
been poured into Burns' twelve-issue, decade-long opus. The
intense darkness of Burns' art allows for ominous and menacing
atmospheres. Conversely, when the characters find happiness
at the beach—a site of fond childhood memories—the
plain white sky serves as an immense contrast to the pitch-black
night under which they huddled in the forest.
The artistic
technique allows for nuanced and engrossing storytelling.
In a book which focuses on the teenage desire for and fear
of sex, Burns continually works both phallic and yonic symbolism
into every nook and cranny. Images of fields blur into pubic
bushes in hallucinogenic and amorous dazes. There are tunnels,
snakes, guns, coves, gashes, cigarettes, and more. Of course,
then there's the outright nudity. That's a bit of a sexual
symbol, as well.
Black
Hole is an erotically charged graphic novel, which took
Burns a decade to tell. His unique blend of narcotic, hormonal,
and disturbing images allows the book to convey a story rich
in symbolism. The high school fear and intrigue of sex, magnified
by this very real danger (which foreshadows the AIDS boom
a decade later) combined with the concept of high school social
blackballing, made all the more palpable by the "freaks" being
actual freaks. Freaks with horns and tails. Charles Burns
has penned an intimate tale of growing up, and added to it
powerful artwork in a fantastic example of the strength of
graphic novels as a literary form.
(June,
2007)
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