Caution: plot elements revealed in this review.
"Lucille" is the first in a series of graphic novels by French artist Ludovic Dubuerme. It's an epic tale of two tragic teens who suffer from family turmoil and feel out of place in the world until they find each other and make a desperate, brave and awkward attempt to escape. Of course they carry their baggage with them and very soon after leaving home have to contend with not only their own demons, but also a cartoonishly evil brother-sister team. But more about this dynamic duo later.
While this book is called Lucille, and Lucille is the character we meet first, in the first chapter (early in the book the chapters alternate between Lucille's and Arthur's stories until the two meet), Arthur is the central character of this first installment. The book seems to me to revolve around exploration of class and masculinity, the passing down of names, occupations and/or terrible fates from father to son, generation after generation, and the impact of this pressure on a boy who is smart, sensitive, ultimately "good", but who has developed some obsessive-compulsive behavior and other debilitating coping mechanisms that make relationships challenging, and cause him to be, at times, sensitive and generous, and at other times, a danger to himself and others.
Arthur's father Vladimir (the name for generations of his family passed down from father to son after the father's death) is a depressed and profound alcoholic. He is not made out to be a villain, but it is clear he isn't a source of stability and providence. Fairly early in the book a series of unfortunate events lead Arthur's father to kill himself, after which Arthur (who is now himself Vladimir, but I will just call him Arthur the whole way though to keep things simple) tries to break out of some cycle of violence or misery or poverty, or patrilineally descending suicide, or perhaps he is mainly wanting to escape the place itself, the location of all this turmoil.
But even as Arthur travels he remains a "salt of the earth" honest worker (a physical laborer) and doesn't try to move into new class-related territory. In fact, when Arthur and Lucille are invited to a party thrown by Arthur's boss at the vineyard, Arthur doesn't want to go, because he doesn't want to wear a fancy suit, and he doesn't want to mingle with the "fancy" people.
Class lines in this book are given over to a lot of literary drama. This is not unusual of course. (Just off the top of my head, I can think of three books I've read in the last three months, "Stoner", "My Antonia", and "Amongst Women," all about people who cross over from generations of farming and other manual labor to a life that is more connected to intellectualism, urbanity and the arts. The transition always brings a sense of loss - of connection with culture and with the soil itself. In all of them, the question of loss or gain is left mysterious and philosophical.) I get the sense the author idealizes Arthur, even with the alcoholism and violence in his family, Arthur is a good and ernest and authentic guy. He's not putting on any airs. And then there is the proprietor of the vineyard, whose son Adolpho is putting on all the airs, trying to move away from the land, from a long line of successful wine-makers, in order to go to school for theater.
So, there is Arthur, the sensitive and hard-working child of a fisherman. And there is Lucille, who I think comes from a wealthier family (maybe middle-class?). Her parents are split up and her mother is overbearing and fails to connect with her withdrawn and self-destructive daughter. Lucille's isolation is to a large degree self-imposed. She struggles to connect with her peers, and has a stressful, alienating relationship with her mother. She sort of longs for an absent father, who we don't know too much about. Apparently she was close to him until she walked in on her parents having sex? (Something that destroyed her whole life? That confused me.) Ludovic presents Lucille's struggle with anorexia with some realism. It is harrowing to see her health decline. The vividness of her emaciation as expressed through sequential art is effectively harrowing. But then, it is also unclear how she survives as she starves herself. How she goes from being so sick she can barely stand, to riding on the back of Arthur's moped, and traveling by train as they try to escape their unhappy lives.
I was disturbed by the sexuality in the book. Arthur and Lucille are unsure of themselves enough to move into sexual relations at a snail's pace, until they finally hook up and Arthur to some degree forces himself on Lucille. He wants to engage in a sexual act, she says no, and he does what he wants to do anyway. This isn't addressed in any meaningful way.
It is also disturbing that the one seriously evil character in the book is a dandy trying to make it in the theater. (There is actually one other villain. The pharmacist who briefly employs Arnold as his delivery boy. He is only in a few panels, but his evil guy forehead is big enough to take over a whole page, maybe even the world.) I know masculinity in Europe is not constructed in the same way as in the U.S., but I still find it worrisome to have the proverbial "effeminate" male villain.
In fact, Adolpho and Clarissa, the brother and sister team, are in some reviews referred to as "predators", and they both have a queer aesthetic (Adolpho the theatrical, citified dandy; Clarissa, pixie-ish, with a short, alternative hair style -- she is also incestuously obsessed with her brother just to complete the cartoonish evil-ness). And that makes me deeply uncomfortable. In a book that is so focused on masculinity, it's hard not to pick up on the the differences between Arthur and Adolpho. Arthur is, as I said, represented as a "salt-of-the-earth" kind of guy. He likes to wear his work clothes. He doesn't like to dress up. He's humble and hard-working. Adolpho is always dressed impeccably, never a hair out of place. He's very urbane and pretty and sophisticated in his plans to manipulate and overtake his prey. It is so sudden and operatic, Adolpho's violent attempt to rape Lucille, and Arthur's downfall. He rescues his dear Lucille, but then proceeds to beat Adolpho savagely, perhaps to death.
As Lucille and Ludovic travel, I wonder, how does Lucille stay alive (she is not eating)? How are her bones not breaking? Is her attitude toward herself and the world significantly changing? Is there any true shifting in her perspective, self-image and self-awareness? Does getting space from her mother give her an opportunity to step out of her self-imposed-prison?
By the end of the book, when she is sitting with Arnold in the ICU (after he's tried to take his own life), I get more of a sense that this is a coming-of-age story, and that Lucille's life is changing.
What will happen next? I don't know. And I'm not sure I'm interested enough to find out. There is a lot of brilliant, nuanced storytelling in here, but it's uneven at best, and some of the attitudes and tropes are ones I've seen enough of and don't feel the need to pursue.