Review by Ian Keogh

Rikke Villardsen’s cover shows a rather ethereal cowboy fading into the background, and it initially seems indicative of what’s within being an impressionistic aggregation of Western stereotypes and stock situations. The opening page defining the cast by professions and circumstances adds to a certainty later confounded when Villardsen takes a glorious turn into left field as she shreds genre expectations.

In order to appreciate that, though, you’ll have to buy into her art. It’s distinctive and stylised, sometimes winningly as with the cowering bystander seen on the sample art, and sometimes puzzlingly unfinished. Villardsen’s ethos seems to be that everything should be on display, so lines later corrected are evident beneath the corrections, but more often the illustrations are planned to lack perspective. It’s intriguing in places and off-putting in others.

In the first chapter a villain comes to town, observed by a young woman through a window who’s aroused by his presence and considers what she could do were she a man. Villardsen toys with sexuality via deliberately provocative poses, which may distract from a swerving narrative where the timeframe is frequently uncertain. Is she acquiring new clothing before, after or during the Sheriff availing himself of the whore’s temptations? That sequence is the standard sexual power dynamic with additional hilarity.

Absurdism is a constant companion. Just when you figure you know what Villardsen is up to she’ll throw in something ridiculous, and those familiar with the Westerns of Sergio Leone may recognise some of the dialogue. The notes at the end reveal it’s all sampled from Leone for the male characters. Cowboy is playful, funny and surreal, and not at all what you’re expecting.