Cenit is an incredible work. After just one reading, I know that this is a book I will be returning to over and over again in the years to come.
Two people meet in a surreal landscape and share a meal during which they tell each other their dreams, anxieties, and fears. As they eat and talk, the objects and their surroundings—and even their own bodies—mutate into the stuff of their stories and back again. I cannot say yet what this book is “about,” but I am confident that with further readings, I will continue to take much from it. But on this first reading, I’m absolutely and wonderfully overwhelmed by its strange beauty. In story and tone, Cenit is part Samuel Beckett, part Leonora Carrington, part Abstract Expressionism, and part Ukiyo-e print.
Cenit captures the haziness, violence, and otherworldliness of people and cultures and languages meeting one another for the first time. I can’t imagine reading this in my native language (English; I read it in Spanish) because so much of my experience of this book lies in its sense of distance and the fickleness of translation (of words, images, ideas, dreams, and so on). Is this an expression of Hegel’s master-slave dialectic? Is this an expression of Sartre’s dictum that “hell is other people”? Or is it something simpler, more familiar, and more mundane? Is the effort of trying to know another person, another culture, or another’s thoughts always so aggressive and violent? Is this the inevitable fallout of all human contact and communication? I’m stunned.
This is a work by an up-and-coming artist, designer, and cartoonist who I imagine will very soon be known worldwide (her recent appearance in Fantagraphics’ Now anthology hints at how quickly her star is rising). Even if you do not know the language, the book is worth reading for the visuals alone. I can’t help but believe that that is perhaps the most ideal way to read it: as a foreign object whose meanings and violence remain inexplicable, yet hauntingly familiar.