Let's start simple: This is not a novel, despite what it says on the cover and in the description. It could be called a "graphic novel", but it's quite pretentious and misleading to call it a novel, when its not. I suppose that should have been my first clue that I wasn't going to like this book, but hey, it's not like I don't have my own bouts of pretentious weirdness--I was willing to give it somewhat of a pass.
I regret doing so.
I didn't know who this author was--still don't, except for the overly glowing inside flap description of a "celebrated New Yorker cartoonist and acclaimed author of Cancer Vixen", which is apparently a memoir of her treatment for cancer. I'm sure it's powerful and compelling.
Unfortunately, this fiction novel is not--despite that flap telling me that it's a "wildly imaginative first novel", "the newest, much-anticipated adventure from a supremely gifted artist at the height of her powers" with "spot on dialogue".
First, let's get one thing out of the way: The art is bad. It's particularly bad. This is coming from someone who can't draw at all, and who tries very hard not to be too judgemental about the art of others. But this art doesn't show any skill, proportion, anatomy, or eye to composition. I could draw this. That is an insult.
Second, let's get something else out of the way: This story is trite. There's nothing particularly imaginative about "character has near-death experience, meets afterlife/true soul, is tasked with mission". Which is not to say that I'm bagging on it for being hackneyed necessarily, but when the publisher (or, I suspect, the author herself) is blowing smoke up my butt with "wildly imaginative", I usually hope for something other than "shamelessly derivative".
Third, this story is just not good. This one takes a few details and examples to explain properly.
I'll start with the point at which I said "Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I'm done". It was when the mystical being had to explain why she had to go away briefly when one of the limited cast of non-white folks showed up. You see, it had been established that nobody could see this being. And this non-white character had already shown up once when the being was round. But this second time, the being had to go away because, and I quote: "She can sense me....Lorna is Peruvian, descended from ancient Incan mystics. Her dormant skills for working with energy haven't fully awakened..." Barf. I guess that's the "spot-on dialogue"? Right up there with "Invite me to a Korean barbecue and I get grilled?"
There's the plotpoint of the "super" version of our main character, who's supposed to be the "pure" version--who was split from the "regular" version millenia ago in a way that's described poorly and nonsensically--who is essentially her "angelic self" lying to her, occupying her body, and then using it to have sex with someone.
And there's the very end--which I'm going to spoil for you, so that you, unlike me, don't waste your time. Our Hero, who was a gossip magnate, finds out in the last 5 pages--of a graphic novel, remember, so we're talking short span--that in fact the rich folkd who run the media companies of the world, explains their suddenly evil plan. "Most of the media is now under our dominion. No sane person would risk their credibility to reveal our goal: To control the world and the minds and souls in it". Is this foreshadowed? Nope! Does it make sense? Nope!
This book reads like the tail end of the fever dream of someone who thought They Live was a documentary. Not the beginning of the fever dream, but the end, when your brain's too tired to even try.
I think what might have angered me the most was the very very end, where the author has the temerity to put "A note on the type"--those little notes they put at the end of what are actual prose novels, that explain a particular font. That works there, because novels are typeset--the font is a real font. It doesn't work here because "all type was hand lettered". Basically, she handwrote it using narrow sans serif letter, and then calls the use of changing two of those letters--the A into almost a pentagram, and the O into a satellite, the "Superann Font". It's not a font. Nor did you invent the idea of puttint a ring around Os or connecting the line across the A with one of the legs.
This book is as proud of itself as when I walk into the house and my dog's pooped on the floor, grinning and wagging his tail as if to say "See what I made? Isn't it GREAT?!?!" Well, like I tell Roux, Marisa Acocella Marchetto: No, it's not great. And now I'm annoyed.