By Harry Kassen — Welcome back to another year of Comics Anatomy. I want to thank everyone for making the first year so great and for coming back this year. We’ve got some exciting new things coming up in 2020 that I think are pretty cool, but we’re going to kick things off with an article about one of my favorite books to come out since I’ve been reading comics — A Walk Through Hell.

When the first issue was announced, I was a little apprehensive. I’ve genuinely enjoyed a lot of Garth Ennis titles, but I haven’t always enjoyed his work. The pitch on this one sounded interesting enough, though, so I snagged the first issue. Floored doesn’t begin to cover it. I was hooked right from the beginning. The story, the art, the pacing, the way it all came together — it was all flawless. The series seemed to be everything I wanted in a horror comic. So I did what anyone would do, and I waited diligently for the paperback. When I got it, I tore through it and was blown away once again. The first volume lived up to the promise of the first issue and then some.

It was only later, after thinking about it a lot more, that I began to realize exactly what I found so compelling about the book. It approached horror from an interesting and relatively unique angle. It contained the same sorts of images that could be found in most horror comics, but the way it presented them was very different. The way these images get framed can only be described as distant or clinical.

Before I go any further, I want to say that I’ve only read the first volume so far, so my analysis here is going to be confined to the first five issues of the series. Maybe when I read the rest there’ll be enough to add that it’ll make sense to write a follow-up article. Don’t hold me to that.

Back to the approach the series takes. Before even starting the book, you can feel this distance. The story is told at a remove from the people it’s happening to and the experiences they have.

The cover to the first issue, which is also the cover of the first paperback, sets this all up before you ever read a single page of the book. The far-off bird’s eye view perspective is unusual, but very effective in establishing the scope of the series. The pieces are all there on this cover, but the main characters are reduced to tiny little figures, less than an inch high. It emphasizes our position as outside observers and puts us a step away from the story. If you get a chance, check out the paperback. It enhances this effect by adding spot gloss to the vehicles, the people, and the door of the warehouse, essentially saying “These are the things you need to care about,” but not showing them to you in any more detail or focus.

The content of the first issue continues this trend.

Written by Garth Ennis. Art by Goran Sudžuka. Colors by Ive Svorcina. Letters by Rob Steen.

The first page shows a couple with a child walking through a mall. They’re just chatting. The narration mentions something happening and how it’s not the worst thing. It explains that Shaw and McGregor were debating what the worst thing was, and they casually rattle off a few examples. We don’t know what these are yet, but they’re being very cavalier about it all. Right at the point when they’re about to reach a conclusion, there’s a page turn. You don’t know what they’re talking about or what they decide, but it seems like they’re going to agree that this was the least bad thing, whatever it is.

And then the page turn happens and you see that yes, they did agree it was the least bad thing.

But you also see what the thing is, and it’s awful. I don’t think I need to describe what’s going on but this is not something that should be spoken about as casually as it was either. The narration on these pages is a layer removed from the events, making them able to casually speculate about this. Beyond the narration though, the art on this page operates in an interesting way. The actual subject of the page is terrifying. This is an event that would horrify any of us if we saw it in the news, let alone in person, but it isn’t drawn that way. The page itself is very technical and clean. It’s shown from a straight-on angle, and there’s no blood or gore or anything. Just a single, awful moment, frozen in time.

This is an interesting move for a horror book. There’s an element of surprise in that page turn, but I wouldn’t really look at it as a jump scare. It’s not a gross-out either. Unlike a lot of horror comics, the horror isn’t derived, even a little, from the visuals themselves. What’s scary about this is what’s being depicted, and not how. The art shows you, clearly, what’s going on and then steps aside so you can process it yourself. It’s a brilliant move really. It reminds me of something my girlfriend’s mom said about The Rise of Skywalker. She was bothered by the way the score seemed to tell you how to feel at every point. She said she would’ve preferred some space to figure out how she felt on her own. And this comic does exactly that. It clears a space for the reader to interpret and experience the events on their own, which makes any reaction they have feel much more personal and genuine.

There’s another moment from this issue that works in a very similar way. Towards the end, Shaw and McGregor head into the warehouse, leaving behind the police officers and the SWAT team that went in earlier.

The SWAT team starts vaguely talking about something bad happening, in a way that mirrors the vagueness of the opening. Once again, the language is casual, almost speculative. There’s a little more emotion here, but it’s all still pretty abstract.

Once again, just a page later, all that speculation becomes crushingly real.

This page, which is just really well executed, shows us exactly what they were talking about, without showing anything at all. Once again, the art just tells you what happens in no uncertain terms and steps to the side to allow you to process it. That second panel, while showing nothing, is so clear that you can almost hear the gunshots, but there’s no emotion dictated by the art. Any emotional response is created entirely by the reader.

The last two pages of this first issue bring it back around to the narration from the opening. Once again, we get Shaw and McGregor reflecting on their experiences, speaking about it in a casual, retrospective manner, even while hinting at horrible things.

Alright. I’ve spent a lot of time on the first issue here, so I’m going to be a little bit more brief in covering the rest of the issues. At this point I’m just going to talk about some specific images that follow this pattern.

The second issue features what happened to Hunzikker, clearing up that mystery from the beginning. After Shaw and McGregor wake up inside the warehouse they hear something and go to investigate.

We see what they’re hearing, and as they make their way closer they comment on it getting louder. There are no sound effects, but the bullet casings show up more frequently and are larger in the panels they appear in. It gives this creeping dread effect that leads to another big reveal.

And once again, the big reveal is just a nightmare. This is clearly a horrifying image, but while horror conventions dictate that this would be a moment for a big, bold jump scare, Ennis and Sudžuka take this moment to pull back again. There’s blood all over the wall, sure, and a good chunk of his head is missing, but the overall impression isn’t one of fright or disgust. There’s a sadness to the eyes and an uncomfortable number of bullet casings on the ground, but it’s once again a pretty clear portrayal of the situation that doesn’t tell you how to feel about it. The cover for this issue shows the same thing in almost the same way.

It’s a little less clear about what’s happening, as befits a cover, but it’s just as cold emotionally.

To keep on with the theme of covers, let’s look at the cover for #3. That’s pretty gross to think about, but it’s presented as clinically as possible. It’s literally a medical document. Looking just at the cover it’s entirely possible to assume that it isn’t a literal representation of the events of the comic, but then this happens.

Once again, not a pleasant thought, but shown at a distance letting you be disgusted all on your own steam. Seeing what happened and knowing that this man, an accomplice to the main villain, was forced to do this by the main guy, is way scarier than if this image were to be shown in a grosser way, and all of that fear is yours.

The fourth issue also has a moment that works like that, but it’s also the payoff for something that’s been building across the whole arc. Starting in the first issue, we see Shaw struggling with some sort of dream or flashback.

We’re introduced to McGregor as he goes to work and checks his phone, and our first scene with Shaw is her having a nightmare. Given all of the ominous hinting at this point, one can only assume that this nightmare is part of the awful things that have been happening.

In the second issue, as Shaw and McGregor wake up in the warehouse, Shaw once again has the same nightmare. At this point it’s clear that it stems from a moment that was traumatizing to Shaw and that’s important to the plot. In issue four, we learn what it is. While investigating a series of child abductions, Shaw and McGregor find a house where Carnahan, the villain, had been living. Shaw finds a coat hanging on a birdhouse and goes to check it out.

As she’s reaching for it, arm outstretched, someone tells her “Shaw, don’t.” All of this is enough to remind you of those earlier moments and make you realize that this is the moment she’s been flashing back to. The suspense has been built and you’re expecting something horrific.

When it’s finally revealed, however, the comic once again steps back and goes cold. This might be the most horrific image in the entire book, but it’s shown silently, cleanly, and with a focus on content as opposed to creating an emotional response. The content alone is enough to provoke a strong response and trying to telegraph that in the presentation forces the reader to confront the presentation before the content, ultimately dulling their response to the actual events. The team understands this and tries to let the content speak for itself.

The final example in these first five issues is from the fifth issue. Shaw, after failing to get Carnahan to confess, decides to take matters into her own hands.

She goes to his house, forces him to write a confession, and shoots him in the head. Once again we have an image that depicts something terrible in a very cold way, even exaggeratedly so in this case. What’s important isn’t the size of the exit wound or the amount of blood splattered on the wall, but Shaw’s decision to shoot Carnahan and her following through on it. The content is king, and the presentation makes sure you understand that.

As I wrap up, I want to make sure that I clarify something here. By talking about content and presentation, I don’t mean to associate one with art and the other with writing. When I talk about presentation getting out of the way of content, I don’t mean to say that the art is getting out of the way of the writing. It’s a choice on the part of both Ennis and Sudžuka to clear a space for the content. It’s a part of the agreed upon aesthetic of the series, something created by both writer and artist working together.

And that’s that. Thanks for coming back for another year of Comics Anatomy. We’ve got tons of fun stuff planned this year. I’ve got some articles on some interesting and cool comics, and, starting next month we’ll be bringing you articles by guest writers on some of their favorite examples of excellent craft in comics. On top of that, keep your eye out for more stuff from me and Comics Bookcase.

CLICK HERE to check out past editions of Comics Anatomy.

Harry Kassen is a college student and avid comic book reader. When he’s not doing schoolwork or reading comics, he’s probably sleeping. Catch his thoughts on comics, food, and other things on Twitter @leekassen.