Along the road of looking for pleasant graphic novels at my local library, I came across the simple yet profound gem tucked inside in a Little Free Library. I had never before heard of singer and actress Stéphanie Lapointe or artist Rogé—and I don’t even think I could properly pronounce their French-Canadian names—though after reading this story, I can appreciate their artistry and might look them up elsewhere.

Though a graphic novel, I wouldn’t necessarily say that this book is for children. In fact, with themes like grandfather’s subsequent depression following his wife Lucille’s drawn-out death by lung cancer, this book is more fitting for teens and adults, and might actually find a more sensitive audience in nursing home libraries.

I admittedly read through this story twice, and after the first read, I wasn’t convinced that the author had gotten her point across. It almost seemed like she had thrown two wildly different storylines together—her grandfather’s depression and her own trip to the moon—just to see if she could make them mesh. I didn’t get it at first, and when I read the last page the first time, I literally said aloud, “That’s it!?”

Upon my second read-through, however, things began to click. What I thought was a wildly misguided attempt at sophisticated storytelling actually turned out to be a delicately handled allegory of a very difficult topic.

Initially, the main character’s journey to Outer Space seemed too fantastic, even for what’s essentially a cartoon, and I found it hard to pinpoint just what the author was intending. But then it hit me. The granddaughter’s once-in-a-lifetime experience in the silence among the stars is what her grandfather experiences every day in his heart. Memere’s long, lonely, seemingly unending journey through darkness to the moon became a clear allegory of depression. When finally approaching the moon, that Thing about which the watching world cared so much, Memere herself couldn’t have cared less. The world wanted the moon, but she closed her eyes. All she wanted was home.

The world with all its glitter and hype was passing Grandfather by, and he couldn’t have cared less either. He slept all day, remaining quiet and disengaged. All he wanted was to be with Lucille once more. An impossible hope, he knew, yet nothing else mattered.

The more I dwell on it, the more I like this story. It’s a hard one, to be sure, and it doesn’t end with sunflowers and butterflies, but it carries an empathy that I hadn’t expected and hadn’t even caught at first glance. For an insider’s look at depression, this book has a great deal to offer.

I really enjoyed Rogé’s style of art as well, especially the mixed-dimensions as his background patterns which sometimes bled through his foreground characters and images. I also like how he used this same blending technique even on his characters who at first appear layered, but then end up mixed up within their patters, virtually see-through in some instances. His coloration is soft, as if most of the book were at -80% saturation. It’s not quite full-blown sepia but almost.

It’s no wonder that this book has won some awards. It’s a clean and careful telling of one of life’s great mysteries. This is an excellent exploration of loss and heartache, and its empathy has great potential as a teaching tool.

©2021 E.T.