Review by Ian Keogh
Flo and travel writer Sander are in Sicily. Flo’s been commissioned to take photographs accompanying an article, and a pleasing aspect of Dancing on the Volcano is chapters separated by them. Those photographs, though, come at a price. Flo isn’t a good travel companion, missing partner Bas too much to relax and enjoy himself, and frustrated at what he views as Sander’s lack of discipline and professionalism. The key difference, though, is that Sander is enjoying himself.
When Dancing on the Volcano was first published in the Netherlands, Floor de Goede was known for a humorous autobiographical webstrip detailing his home life with Bas, later collected as books. Dancing on the Volcano was prompted by a desire to do something more substantial. The result is in effect two books. The opening travelogue portion is largely played for the laughs of a mismatched couple having to get along, while also establishing the strength of feeling Flo has for Bas, and providing the title imagery.
When he returns home, however, there’s only dull routine until their lives are upended by an extremely upset friend turning up one night. Tom lays claim to the couch, and the longer he’s there, the more Flo finds himself attracted. De Groede has a gorgeously simple cartoon style capable of making dead guinea pigs look attractive, and he’s great with human emotion via posture and expression while also managing a fine turn with visual metaphor. There are also places, though, where far longer than required is spent establishing a scene, which can occur in autobiographical comics where elements are more important to the creator than to the audience.
It plays into a decompressed method of storytelling where the illustration is lovely, but events move forward at a glacial pace before sudden leaps. It’s obviously deliberate as it doesn’t apply to the scenes set in Sicily, but do readers want five pages occupied by Flo waking up, discovering a note on the pillow and then reading it? The travelogue section forms its own neatly contained engagement over eighty pages, and is given greater depth by an epilogue reflecting the remainder by taking too long to say too little. The art is gorgeous, but you’re going to have to love it soooo much to drag your way through Dancing on the Volcano.
