Review: "The Many Deaths of Laila Starr"

By the third issue of The Many Deaths of Laila Starr, I feel like I could have followed Death through whatever life she wanted to show me, if only to see the kinds of worlds she hangs around. Inhabiting the body of Laila Starr, and with a few favors to call in, Death is flung wildly into the different lives and times of Mumbai to find a way to restore her role as a god. Written by Ram V, the story is framed in such a way that hooked me every time a new issue began. The familiar stranger at the party, or the friend tagging an old pillow factory wall, sweeps Laila into slices of life (and death) she may have missed in her previous profession. Filipe Andrade, the artist for all currently released issues, makes the city breath with the energy of a large population. At times the details are overwhelming, crowded, and intricate. But in other places they flow in the shaky dance of smoke - or water, or flowers, or the hot city streets - that make the pages feel all consuming. The colors are bright and fluid, which makes even the night feel unique with life.

In the first issue, “Once Upon A Falling Starr,” we are shown the rapidly colliding paths of Death, the goddess who is fired from the corporation of gods and cast to live among the mortals; Laila Starr, who’s orphan body Death now inhabits; and Darius Shah, the baby who would grow to be the inventor of immortality. As Death, now Laila Starr, grapples with living in a mortal body, and whether to kill the baby Darius Shah or not, she dies and is brought back to life again by an old friend: the God of Life, Pranah.

Death and Pranah share quiet moments at the end of each episode and, as coworkers, as old friends, they catch up in the way only people who know each others’ past can - with sympathy and wisdom.

What is striking about The Many Deaths of Laila Starr - as the second issue flies by, and then the third - are these tender moments. Reflections on death and life couch so easily into the different characters’ histories. Whether the focus is on the personhood of a servant, who spends his days harvesting mangoes and jackfruit and sapodilla but is not allowed to eat them, or how new love can sometimes make you contemplate mortality, The Many Deaths… is a delicate look into what surrounds a person’s life, and what makes up their inner worth. There are mistakes and fleeting moments; there are heavy realizations. There is death. But when the issue ends, and Laila Starr returns to Pranah (to Life) from another death, there is often the calm sea - or the view from the balcony, or a room with a bed and a chair by the window - that acts as a re-centering of perspective. The finality of death becomes the end of a day from which you can start again to realign with the cosmic reality of a person’s journey.

This comic is a gift to the audience, not only because it’s an insight into a world and culture we may not be familiar with (especially in this medium, especially this widely distributed in the US), but also because the story builds beautiful empathy for life (and in many ways death). By forcing the God of Death into a mortal form, even if that form is repeatedly resurrected by the God of Life, the story becomes about the human elements she may have missed in her previous existence. It becomes about us.

The Many Deaths of Laila Starr is written by Ram V and illustrated by Filipe Andrade, and issue #4 is out this week from Boom! Studios.

Review: Chris Gooch's Graphic Novel "Under-Earth"

Chris Gooch’s “Under-Earth” (Top Shelf Productions, 2020)

Under-Earth is a story about human capital. In a world seemingly deep inside our own, there is a super prison shanty town made out of consumer waste and blood. Literally thrown in, on the first few pages we meet a new arrival – Reese Dixon – who has been charged with assault and witness tampering. Pushed from a moving helicopter by a faceless, masked guard, Dixon descends into darkness and falls deeper into a soft slime-mountain of waste. Delforge. A brutalist tower stands in the distance, but below, all around, men in striped jumpsuits cart bags of debris.

Chris Gooch’s “Under-Earth” (Top Shelf Productions, 2020)

Under-Earth is split into two competing, but deeply connected narratives. We follow Reese Dixon, who works in an even deeper pit collecting valuable waste, which he then exchanges for tokens to eat and sleep inside a building; and Ele, who is part of a two-person thief team, earning a living through small time heists. Ele’s world is toned yellow, which is an easy device to tell the two storylines apart but also an effective way to show character outlook and add another layer to a disgusting looking world. The art style is crudely intentional; heavy blacks and screentone shadows give the environment a sick feeling that does a lot of work to push the narrative along. You can feel the world is crowded and impoverished. You can feel the people walking around are at once a part of a large machine but also have their own despair. Bodies are hunched. Stall-sellers sit on the ground and negotiate high rates for nearly-broken, above-ground relics. The world is filled with collapsing things.

Chris Gooch’s “Under-Earth” (Top Shelf Productions, 2020)

While the social questions raised by how these characters are forced to exist and work set the backdrop, it’s also a narrative about people; about human connection and relationships. Reese makes a connection with another worker, Malcolm, who shows him how to survive in their environment. He buys him a meal, he shows him where to get a cheap room. Their relationship is slow and their friendship is tested, but most importantly their language is subtle. The deep feelings you interpret – in the silences and the time away from each other – adds emotional weight to their story. You can feel the choices being made. In an interview with Australian Broadcasting Company, Gooch said the characters speak to “what we want from each other and how we don’t often communicate it properly,” which I think is very clear in this relationship between Reese and Malcolm.

The story and the environment were interesting, but for me the book came together at page 117 (out of 560), when Malcolm is back in his room, with sheets for walls, and begins to read a discarded journal he found hidden in a wall of the pit where they collect valuable waste. “To whoever finds this – even if it’s just the maggots,” it begins. “I’ve started to recognize people out of the corner of my eye - people from above, people who have no business being down here. I yell at them – chase them down – but when I get there they’ve changed. It’s not them anymore. It’s just some guy I’ve never seen before.” This additional narrative - this anonymous journal entry - externalizes the quiet nature of personhood. The author begins to list the things they can remember from before they were sent to Delforge – “I remember the trees. I remember the sky. I remember how quiet it could be.” – and it’s devastating. Suddenly this fun crime and heist story has an emotional screw, and it’s turning deeper in.

Chris Gooch’s “Under-Earth” (Top Shelf Productions, 2020)

There’s a lot to say about the depth and viewpoint of the narrators. About nostalgia and being stuck in a place by force. Under-Earth is a quick and fascinating read at 560 pages. It sank into me and I had to finish it in two sittings. I dreamed about it. I woke up and made notes on its themes. I focused this review on one side of the narrative (and barely scratched the surface of what happens) because I want you to read it and be sucked in like I was. I connected more with Ele’s story, which should tell you a lot about why I chose to talk about Reese Dixon instead. There’s so much and Gooch’s style is so effective at delivering.

Under-Earth by Chris Gooch is published in the US by Top Shelf Productions and is out now.