Habibi by Craig Thompson

Posted on: May 03, 2012

Habibi by Craig Thompson

Previously published in the Herald magazine. 

Craig Thompson’s Habibi is a decidedly strange mix of things. It’s a graphic novel and that in itself dictates a large part of its nature, but it also attempts to examine a myriad of subjects, from sexual abuse and childhood trauma, to religion, lust, love and even capitalism. There are times when this feels like simply too much to have taken on for a single narrative, but Habibi’s strength lies in its illustrations holding its reader in complete awe. It is essentially a story of a young girl caught in a misogynistic society where her body is her only commerce, where her greatest desire for a ‘normal’ family life is thwarted constantly by men with power and money. In a fictional country called Wanatolia, Dodola is sold off once as a child bride, sold again as a slave, sells herself for nine years to ensure her and her adopted brother/child Zam’s survival and even lands up in the Sultan’s harem. Of course, her journey is not quite so linear: Habibi moves back and forth along its narrative, forcing its reader to step back and readjust to the new surroundings, albeit with either Dodola or Zam always acting as tether.

 

Habibi, which took six years to write and draw by hand, is heavily influenced by the Arabian folk tales collected in 1001 Nights. Thompson appears aware of traditional Orientalist tropes and so most of Habibi’s characters, from Dodola and Zam to the lusty, capricious Sultan and the mean palace manager midget are standard archetypes. Using them is no great feat, but Thompson’s greatest strength lies in his drawings of these characters and their world. Whether Thompson is playing whimsically with Orientalism or is indulging in it is uncertain, although from his own admissions he seems entirely well intentioned. That doesn’t, of course, mean that he has not exoticised everyone and everything in Habibi – he has, but it is a validation of his artistic abilities that the experience is still attractive.

However, Habibi is not for the conservative reader: Thompson has drawn on similarities between the Abrahamic religions and explored Quranic stories of the prophets with great sensitivity but he far less subtle in his exploration of sex. There is a great deal of nudity and graphic sexual violence in Habibi, all inflicted upon Dodoloa. It must be said though, that there are many moments where she holds a great deal of agency, even though it is all sexual. Even as a child Dodola is aware of the power of her body just as she is aware of the power of her stories. In the harem, Dodola is Sheherezade, who used both her body and her stories to survive Shehryar’s murderous intentions. Thompson is clear on the idea that the human body itself tells a story: there are some beautiful images in Habibi that lead repeatedly to this conclusion. When Dodola is sick, a healer writes out ‘magic squares and sacred texts’ on paper, only to wash the ink away into water for Dodola to ‘drink each of the letters/the closest one can get to the text/The body can absorb the message/the word becomes flesh’. Eventually it is her storytelling that saves her: ‘a feverish sweat/a torrent of stories/swept my spirit back to reality’.

Thompson’s primary ‘visual fuel’ for Habibi is the flowing cursive of Arabic calligraphy, which he claims is ‘music for the eyes’. While he may have been drawn to the imagery of the words without knowing their meaning, Thompson clearly spent time researching the geometry of Islamic art and calligraphy. In Habibi, there are magic squares and meaningful numbers, perfectly balanced shapes that change and evolve: Thompson describes the formation of a pattern by the evolution of the square from 4 sides to a cruciform, to an eight pointed star: ‘The square is self-contained, but it breathes like lungs/inhaling/exhaling’.

Habibi isn’t perfect. Aside from the obvious cultural appropriation and possible indulgence in Orientalism, even within the dialogue alone there are strange accents in the speech of the characters that result in some confused stereotypes (most markedly, Hyacinth the eunuch protector of the harem strangely favours Black Power slogans), but eventually none of this matters. There is so much movement and fluidity in Thompson’s graphic line that it unequivocally makes up for any weakness in the narrative: the action sequences, for example, almost fly off the page in their exuberance. In scenes of violence and despair the line is often heavy and brooding, with large dense areas of pitch, stifling black that envelopes the reader. The drawings in Habibi are joyous: each line is an explosion of skill, of talent; is overflowing with rich, lush imagery that unveils itself slowly and dexterously over multiple interactions.