The blue, black and white motif of this book is a giant metaphor for what it is: a quiet, gentle, book where nothing exciting happens.  It’s a very predictable story that wraps itself in a metaphor.  An overdone metaphor about a man who wraps himself in bandages because, otherwise, you wouldn’t know he was there.  Ooooooooooooooh.

Calling this book “poetry” is a huge stretch.  This book isn’t bad, it just treads the familiar waters of indie films, and easy short stories.  The book jacket proclaims “The Nobody takes H.G. Wells’s timeless character of ‘The Invisible Man’ and brings him to a modern small town, using him as a cipher to explore themes of identity, fear and paranoia, and how they can turn a small community in on itself and destroy even the most pure of friendships.”

Explore is the wrong word.  It implies grounds that haven’t already been well-mapped out.  There was not a single turn in the story that didn’t come at exactly at the point in the script where a turn was necessary.  And no character had any revelation that isn’t completely obvious to someone who’s survived their Freshman year of high school.

Art-wise, the faces seemed rush.  The more believable characters had more believable facial structures, while the more two-dimensional, reactionary characters all had some sort of physical trait that you won’t find on any actual himan beings, be it gigantic face-consuming nose, duck foot mustache, or completely uneven jaw.  If this is supposed to be an artistic statement tying people’s appearance to their credibility, then I withdraw my stance on whether or not this graphic novel is poetry, and say that the artwork is poetic, but the writing is pedestrian, and the poetic art is not the kind of poetry or art that I particularly enjoy.