BEIRUT

This collection of Rima’s three graphic novels from across two decades rambles through the streets of Lebanon’s capital, a city driven by politics, war, and family.

An introduction by the translators frames Rima’s work in the tradition of the flaneur, a wandering and enraptured observer of a city, and contextualizes Rima’s connection to the titular city as a visitor rather than a resident, coming to the bustling metropolis with hungry eyes. The first volume opens with the dialogue of two old intimate acquaintances reuniting after decades of separate lives, reminiscing about a political movement that electrified the moment but has been mostly forgotten as the city weathered decades of war and rapacious commerce, becoming mired in corruption and mountains of literal waste. The opening lines of white text on black give way to rich, expressive patches of ink carved up with stark white forms and fine lines, building a city through its architectural geometry and imperfections and through the body language of a street vendor negotiating his cart against heavy traffic and a young refugee shot dead in the street. The panels click along like a film reel, narrated by a Hakawati, a storyteller who speaks through the entire cast: cab driver, singer, author surrogate, mother and daughter in search of the sea, Greek chorus of trash shovelers questioning the nature of the narrative in which they find themselves. The three volumes grow progressively personal, and the art becomes more representational, stiffening into detailed figures cut out against their backgrounds like a black box stage play, delivering elegiac dialogue that dissects existence. All three volumes favor atmosphere over narrative as they wryly but earnestly ponder the refugee’s wandering out of time, a mother’s long-ago involvement in a movement, the machinery of political change, and historical amnesia.

Opaque but arresting.