MR. GOODCHILD

by Felix Cheong

What if the voice in your head isn’t yours? Or worse, what if it is?

The first graphic novel by JH Low, a Singapore author/illustrator well known for his children’s picture books, is an unnerving read. I would even go so far as to call it nightmarish.

With its empty streets, long shadows and looming architecture, Mr Goodchild is as much a gallery of Giorgio de Chirico-inspired paintings as a graphic novel. It is divided into five sections: “The Voice”, “The Beast”, “Same Old, Same Old”, “Through the Peephole” and an untitled coda. Each section takes you deeper into the main character’s inner world, where his sense of self seems to be fraying at the seams.

“The Voice” introduces us to the titular character, a ram-like creature who leads the regular, regulated life of the everyman. His name reveals as much—he’s the good child; he’s T. S. Eliot’s J. Alfred Prufrock measuring out his life, not in coffee spoons, but in punch-the-clock routines. But where Prufrock is paralysed by an overwhelming question, Mr Goodchild is overwhelmed by a disembodied voice in his head.

It’s there the moment he wakes up. It follows him everywhere, an omnipresent hum spiralling “like whirling wind”. But he cannot understand what it is saying. At night, it turns into a beast that follows him into his dreams.

In “The Beast”, Mr Goodchild tries to get a handle on this voice, variously portrayed in the illustrations as a Godzilla-sized monster, a lurking troll and, at times, a creature with more than a hint of mischief. The split between his everyman life and this unruly beast continues into the next section, “Same Old, Same Old”, as he learns to endure its daily presence.

The turning point arrives in the wordless sequence, “Through the Peephole”. One sleepless night, Mr Goodchild takes a peek inside his head, in a Being John Malkovich moment, and what he sees is disturbing, to say the least. It involves a ball of red yarn that unfurls into a little devil and four gnome-like creatures being given bodysuits sewn by an invisible man (Mr Goodchild, incidentally, works in a factory as a tailor).

I won’t spoil the ending in the coda. Suffice to say, there is plenty more to unpack and psychoanalyse.

As graphic medicine, Mr Goodchild is interesting because it never quite tells us what, if anything, its protagonist suffers from. The voice and his belief that an “omniscient presence” is watching could perhaps suggest psychosis. His sleeplessness, dread and sense that he has lost control might indicate anxiety, depression or even dissociation. It could be a combination of these. Or it could simply be a metaphor for his ennui.

What’s startling is how Low’s artwork immerses you in that confusion. For instance, in the first few pages, the illustrations are slightly tilted, as if his world is not on the level. But when Mr Goodchild finally confronts the beast, the artwork finds its level again.

Low’s use of colour is arresting. The gloomy blues, greys and sickly greens of the first three sections give way to the hyper-saturated pink hues of the here’s-what-the-inside-of-your-head-looks-like section. His palette is evocative, even provocative.

Though its word count barely reaches a thousand words, Mr Goodchild is not an easy read. A picture may be worth a thousand words, but Low’s pictures simply refuse to give up all of theirs. This is one book you have to read on its own unsettling terms.

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Felix Cheong is a Singapore-based author who has published 33 books across different genres, including eleven graphic novels. Editor’s note: Felix’s In the Year of the Virus – A Poignant Look Back at the Time When the World Was Affected by the Coronavirus is awaiting review.