"Do it," is what Riana Moller told herself as she fantasized and planned about the day she would kill her classmates to free herself from their bullying. She wrote a manifesto. She drew maps of the school. But before she ever acted on her violent ambitions, she found an exit from the cycle of pain and delusion that had consumed her. "Do It," her debut graphic novel, chronicles her journey from grief and fear to freedom in hopes that other suffering young people will find the peace that she did.
America's cultural superiority tends to go out of its way to fold in on itself, to find the time to wreak havoc on its youth and forget every lesson it learns along the way. Indeed, nobody listens to anybody anymore.
In narrative terms, DO IT is as straightforward as it gets: a queer young woman sees the dark clutch of violence as her only means of escape. She must make her persecutors pay for their actions. She must meet violence with violence. To teach everyone a lesson. Because if she doesn't, then nobody will. Right?
Wrong. School shootings, domestic terrorism, and all other forms of home-grown affectations for self-indulgent revolutions-of-a-kind may well transmit the angst of a minority to the masses, but such petty acts only mirror the arrogance and listlessness of too many people shouting and not enough people listening: a flashpoint never really burns hotter, only brighter. Until it blinds.
The queer kid at the heart of DO IT has been pushed to the edge. Bullying has cracked her, and she's finally had enough. It's time to react. Murder is her last option. It's her only option. She plans to toy with her torturers, dance around the politics of not-so-well-meaning adults, and dutifully carve her name into the annals of whatever rotten learning institution would dare step in her way. And why not? What is left for her in this world, if not more torment?
Moller's art style samples a tradition of inspired cartooning that channels the deliberate superficiality of editorial work (simple shapes and simple features) and effectively merges it with the brisk timing akin to a more modern generation of indie or even webcomics (colorful, metaphorical abstractions collude and intrude upon the character's daily life).
The best example of which is whenever the main character's inner hatred crescendos out of control. The artist visualizes this anxiety by way of dazzling, spiraling serrations -- not unlike the armored tail of a scorpion, or the imbricated scales of snake. The character's many fits of anxiety routinely bleed through and envelop her, envelop the room, envelop the page, and eventually, envelop the reader as well.
"I wish to bite back," she says.
But in the end, DO IT concludes with purpose: biting back isn't always the answer. Sometimes, biting back hurts you more than it hurts them. Sometimes, you can do more -- a lot more -- than simply bite back . . . you can outlive.
I get what the artist/author is trying to do, but I just don't agree with the style of moral building that elicits violence to even start with. The drawing is intense, with chaos circling when things get out of hand. That visual is strong. This story is not new, as youth has felt pressured beyond imagine throughout time to make it or break it, however the times have become so fraught with reactionary violence that it is indeed a dark time. The beginning of the story, to me, blatantly taunts the chaos to come, and I feel that is not a good reckoning. Why even go there?
This book was super intense and disturbing. The artwork is beautiful in its portrayals of extreme violence, whether imagined or real. I think a lot of people who have been bullied for seeming different will relate strongly with this story. As dark as the content is, I appreciated the few rays of hope it presented by the end. Highly recommend this one.
I remember this having some visually interesting stuff but being ultimately unsatisfying in resolution...though I remember it captured a young woman's anger and frustration as violent in a way you don't see too often, so, cool.