The Comics Journal

That this story was told as a graphic novel makes sense, though. Rapp’s last novel, 33 snowfish, used illustrations in a way that enhanced and reflected the narrative, giving depth to an otherwise one-dimensional character through glimpses into his sketchbook diary. Here, he has found an apt collaborator in O’Connor, whose style is sparse and rough enough around the edges to capture the script’s bleak tone, along with the hopeless, hang-dog expressions of the protagonists. His figures bend and squish beyond normal anatomy, particularly the hulking Collector, injecting energy or often a subtle touch of the surreal. Although the setting owes much to theater, given the two isolated locations and minimalist props, the unfettered camera of O’Connor’s pen adds a dynamism that would be otherwise lost on stage. This allows for some subtly poignant framing, like that of the blood that trickles down Exley’s thigh after a violent encounter. It not only gives an unsettling pay-off, but also mirrors Welton’s septic crotch from an earlier scene, foreshadowing the ultimate connection between the two characters.

The violence is certainly one of the most affecting elements at play in Ball Peen Hammer — it is visceral, psychological, yet never gratuitous. Although the prospect in one scene of a character being bludgeoned with bolt cutters would prompt many artists to go for the money shot, O’Connor instead opts for an abstract, solid-red panel, and keeps the aftermath firmly in the gutter. The cruelty always serves a higher purpose. It underlines the madness of unquestioning obedience as, in spite of their brutality, the characters grow ever-more passive and subservient to the whims of the authorities. The situation is clearly designed to parallel the atrocities of WWII, underpinned by the iconography of the jackbooted military, the gasmasks and the Auschwitz-type tattoos “buzzgunned” onto the civilians: “Draggers get two digits. Sackers get three.” Even Exley finds herself succumbing to the prevailing mindset in the book’s climactic and most harrowing scene.

What makes Ball Peen Hammer distinctive from Rapp’s young adult (YA) novels is the unrelenting misery. There is no salvation or karmic justice in the end — the only dusting of sugar in his other work — merely a despondent groan. It is a profound examination of the human condition when we are at our most vulnerable. In that respect, it owes as much to Rapp’s forebears, Sartre and Beckett, as it does to O’Connor’s in the Vertigo roster and as a result emerges as a bold, literate example of graphic fiction.

art [text ©2009 Adam Rapp, images ©2009 George O'Connor ]