Broken Frontier

Proun Nil is a citizen of Nil, where the only thing to believe in is Nothing. Ideology, value, meaning, and belief have all been swept away, replaced by ultra-conspicuous consumption, a never ending war with the shiny happy people of Optima, and mass suicides, because, well, what else are you gonna do? There are also bombs. Lots of bombs - always on sale at Best Bomb, on the national flag and even around the neck of the Hypocripope - because any and every thing emitting even the slight stench of value needs to be blown up toute suite.

No culture has ever been so ruled by the Thanatos Impulse; but in the midst of this death-cult fully mobilized as a nation state, our protagonist Nil trudges along. He is a crew member of the deconstruction ship Derrida, destroying dangerous belief systems before they can inflect the Nileans with such dangerous fantasies as Jeffersonian democracy, and has found true love in Miss Void, who rejects him because love to all Nileans is merely a statement of ownership. But this is only the smallest of Proun Nil’s dilemmas after he is accused of murder, the victim the nephew of the Hypocripope. After being arrested and interrogated by two of Satan’s crafty demons, while Hell itself invades New Jersey and the Hypocripope comes up with a plan by which all of Nil will find freedom in death, Proun becomes a fugitive, and questions everything he’s ever believed while he runs for his life.

True satire - the gut-busting, thought-provoking kind - is all too rare these days. Sadly, it’s been relegated to the sidelines of contemporary culture by over-the-top, in-your-face comedy and a culture war that is more warlike than cultured. But it is precisely during times like ours, when hard ideological stances on both the left and right are conveyed like blunt clubs and the center has no bite at all, that the rapier swipe of satire is most needed. And originality is an even rarer commodity, in culture in general as well as comics in particular. In a clogged marketplace where sales and visibility are often proportional to how much of what we’ve seen before can be rehashed and repackaged as something new, finding something that is truly fresh and original can be a daunting search. Nil is a 232 page gem that satisfies both cravings and rewards the reader with a story that is as funny as it is smart, and as masterful as it is entertaining. 

Never has Nihilism been so funny. Hilarious, in fact, at times the laugh-out-loud kind of funny that makes you drop the book, then pick it up to re-read the funny part for the pure enjoyment of watching another sacred cow slain. James Turner is a natural with many aspects of both language and image, and among his many gifts is a sense of black humor that melds Charlie Chaplin with Samuel Beckett and takes no prisoners when turned on our most cherished beliefs. His timing is pitch-perfect and deadly. His ability to see the possible absurdity in anything is devastating and evidence of both a great deal of knowledge as well as the ability to turn it inside out and on its own head. Take the choice to write about Nihilism, for instance. An ideology that rejects everything - even itself - is the ideal platform from which to satirize every other. From this vantage point nothing is spared, not the aforementioned Jacques Derrida, nor Anne Coulter, nor Noam Chomsky, nor Hitler’s bitch, Neville Chamberlain. Not even the office of the Pope, satirized in Nil as the Hypocripope, the spiritual leader of Nil who curses like a Mafia don and smokes like a sixteen year-old Catholic schoolgirl as he formulates Nil’s take on the final solution, turned on itself.  

But though brilliant for its Gulliver's Travels meets Being and Nothingness sensibility, Nil offers so much more. The land of Nil is a fully realized world that draws the reader in with the best faux ads, billboards, and newspaper articles the reader will find in comics. (Some serious cash could be made merchandising such bitter quips as “Choose Life. Kill A Loser,” and “Happiness Is Just a Purchase Away.”) Proun Nil is a consummate everyman with whom the reader can identify, half believing what his culture believes, half-knowing that there’s something sick about the whole thing. The supporting cast is just as strong, each holding his/her own with well developed characterization. The dialogue - by turns a riot worthy of Monty Python and a head-trip that can compete with Foucault - performs the dual task of fleshing characters out and stating definite philosophies (or lack thereof.) And then there’s the plot itself, which progresses at its own pace from beginning to a curious but satisfying end.

Turner’s artwork can be best described as “digital gothic,” an exquisite and eerie hybrid of Edward Gorey and Aubrey Beardsley’s Victorian sensibilities, the industrial art of the 30’s and 40’s, the simplicity of graphic art’s primary shapes, even the compositional techniques of the Japanese print. These seemingly disparate strains in the history of illustration are honed into a singular vision by a deft eye, a flare for narrative flow, and the creative freedom provided by digital art software. Turner’s cityscapes sweep across panels, evoking the towers and spires found in such classics as “Metropolis.” Deft shading and variation of tone adds depth to the intricately rendered architecture, machines, and backdrops. And Turner is equally capable with panels that capture the emotions of one character mid-thought as with his huge sets. The characters are built out of uncomplicated shapes, with simple features and blocked movements; but once the reader gets past the anti-realism artifice, they take on a life of their own.

However many masterpieces there are to be found in a comics shop, with Nil, that small, exclusive clique has just increased their number by one.

- Dexter K. Flowers