Intimate romantic dialogue and tender sexuality permeate the story. And though this label oversimplifies the multifaceted nature of the novel, it is accurate. Some have said that Blankets is, ultimately, a romance story. So, it’s a good thing that Blankets includes one hell of a romance. Comparing the impacts of different traumas is misguided, of course, but Wisconsin is not a war zone. Even with the challenges of strict Evangelical Christianity, a story about growing up in rural Wisconsin does not have the immediate weight of a story about surviving the Holocaust or enduring the Islamic Revolution. Unlike Maus or Persepolis, however, Blankets lacks an instantly poignant narrative backdrop. And like Maus, Blankets attaches meaning to every panel, transitioning from panel to panel like songs on a Radiohead album-smoothly and with close attention to thematic coherence. Like Persepolis, Blankets contains supernatural sequences and visual caricatures of relatable archetypes, both of which make otherwise banal moments seem Brobdingnagian. Though notably personal, the narrative is not small. The pacing and artwork of Blankets acknowledge this, and that nuance strengthens the intimate connection between reader and story. Our memories don’t play in our minds like movies rather, they exist in our brains as slow-moving tableaux, a series of clips that offer more feeling than detail. Thompson allows particularly profound moments to linger for several pages, like pressing pause on a memory, and this technique works because it reflects how we experience life.

At times, the story moves slowly, but it is never dull because it is never emotionless. Some graphic novels use plot as a driver of emotion, but Blankets allows feeling to drive the story. And threaded throughout that visual fabric is earnest feeling. Larger-than-life panels house thick silhouettes of sympathetic characters that seem to flow from moment to moment like spirits, often propelled by wisps of ink and shadow. In an interview with Vermont PBS that was posted on YouTube, author Craig Thompson admits that, as he wrote the novel, he “didn’t think anybody would see it,” a fact that allowed him to feel comfortable placing more of himself in the novel. What makes Blankets rise above the hoard of artistically rendered tales of growth is the level of vulnerability displayed in the story. Luckily, I have found Craig Thompson’s Blankets. These next few months are the calm before the storm, and I have been gathering supplies to help me weather June’s inevitable emotional typhoon. I have warned my friends and relatives that June 2019 will be a month of tears, nervous laughter, and nonsensical Amazon Prime purchases fueled by deep existential turmoil.

And in less than six months, I will turn 30.

Comic book blankets