SOMETHING, NOT NOTHING

A powerfully intimate graphic memoir of a partner's assisted suicide.

“On April 21, 2020, my partner, Donimo, died. She had a medically assisted death beside a rushing river with people she loved holding her tight. She was 54.” So begins Leavitt’s extraordinary record of loss, with a brief handwritten prologue describing Donimo's character, suffering, and diagnosis with a series of debilitating illnesses. The author labels the art that follows "a collection of comics," but that phrase barely begins to describe Leavitt's formally innovative artwork: freehand panels and full-page images that combine poetic text with illustrations and abstract images and textures, realized in watercolor, ink, and colored pencil. She chronicles the couple's progress toward the decision to end Donimo's life, as well as her own deep resistance and terror, taking us literally to a place beyond words. Along the way, there is dark humor (“The 73rd stage of grief generally coincides with March 31”), anguish, tenderness, engaging storytelling, and philosophy. In the final section, Leavitt writes about when she and Donimo learned about the Jewish concept of Olam Habah, the world to come: “The rabbi said, ‘I have learned that there is something—not nothing—out there waiting for us. Something wonderful and loving and peaceful and joyous.’” Leavitt wondered if that could possibly be true, and this incredibly moving and beautiful book documents her journey toward an answer. It is a fitting follow-up to the author's debut, Tangles, a graphic memoir about her family's experience with Alzheimer's, which is being adapted into a film with an all-star cast. “Donimo continues,” writes Leavitt, “whether it’s in an afterlife where she races through the sky or hovers above me to the left….And I continue also in my alive body. I think it’s the continuing that matters.”

A uniquely gorgeous chronicle. Full box of tissues recommended.