Review by Frank Plowright

Bolero is a romantic fantasy coming with some heavyweight recommendations on the back cover. Kurt Busiek and Greg Rucka are writers who’ve thrilled readers over decades on a variety of projects, and they’re very enthusiastic. Just flicking through Bolero and looking at Luana Vecchio’s gorgeous art explains some of that enthusiasm, but begin reading and you’ll wonder whether the recommendations were favours. Keep reading.

Devyn and Nat have been a couple since high school, but largely due to Devyn’s self-destructive behaviour, it’s ended. She’s distraught, but Nat has taken up with a new partner, a man. How can Devyn put things right?

Wyatt Kennedy is writing his first graphic novel and there are teething problems at the start. Matters that are obvious to him aren’t clearly conveyed to the audience, in a way beyond the needs of perpetuating mystery and intrigue. Much of the opening chapter has dangling conversations, and readers will be asking why Devyn would behave that way. Although we come to know her far better, it’s never a question entirely answered despite the involvement of family trauma and possible mental illness.

However, Bolero is about the opportunity for redemption, which for Devyn comes in unusual fashion. She’s introduced to a magical cat, and it turns out there’s a method of switching her consciousness into the bodies of her alternate universe counterparts, who may have more satisfying lives. Once a few wilder examples have been crossed off, Kennedy settles down, and Bolero gradually becomes far more interesting.

It’s Vecchio’s art that gets us to that stage, expansive, decorative and imaginative. It’s a complete fantasy, so everyone, male or female is drop-dead gorgeous, but Vecchio’s skill extends well beyond that to the way people are seen, always different and often unconventional, and to the locations in which they’re embedded, always fully realised.

With a first third never as clear as readers might want, Kennedy has a fair amount to clarify in the remainder, and he broadly does so, although not without questions hanging over what plays out. For instance, can Devyn change, or is she doomed to play out slight variations on the same circumstances because she’s the constant factor? Another consideration is how much of Bolero is essential story and how much is voyeurism. The women spend a lot of time naked with no great reason, indicating a project aimed at teenage boys rather than a serious contemplation of fate and redemption.

Clever revelations about characters other than Devyn occur in the closing stages, but the ending itself is wispy and elusive. Read into it what you will. Often self-indulgent bonus pages offer a little more insight into events, but that shouldn’t be necessary. They also include an extremely violent and distasteful look into one of the alternate universes Devyn visits, for some reason soundtracked by Kate Bush’s ‘Cloudbusting’. One imagines she’d not be comfortable with the use, nor that the title is wrongly spelled throughout.

There’s considerable ambition to Bolero, which is beautifully drawn, but features unintended communication problems, and it’s certainly not for the prudish.