Nicolas, Pascal Girard
Nicolas is a short, nonfiction graphic novel about death, memory, and the passing of time. Pascal Girard’s diminutive 69 pages (each featuring two frames of simple, black and white illustration) are overwhelmingly poignant and enthralling.
Girard’s book recounts the aftermath of his little brother Nicolas’s death when Girard was a boy; this is not to say that the story is purely mournful or overly philosophical. What works so well in Nicolas is its understated, credible dialogue and poignant, small scenes.
The narrative is made up of fragmented memories surrounding Nicolas. Told at different points throughout the author’s life, Girard gives voice to a child’s (or perhaps, the human) experience of mourning. One scene shows a young Pascal slumped on a chair, thinking “I’m bored,” and later being showered with gifts by his godfather. Another portrays Pascal attending a support group, and admitting, simply, “My brother died and I don’t know what of.”
Other characters’ responses to Nicolas’s death are mostly off-stage (off-page?), and reveal family members coping with loss. An unseen parent tells an almost-sleeping Pascal, “I know you would have liked to see him one last time…You’re the one he wanted to see and you’re the one he was thinking of before he died…If we’d known…,” which Pascal responds to by silently sobbing on his pillow. In high school, Pascal is surprised by the variety of reactions he gets when he explains that his brother died: he smiles widely at a girl’s comforting embrace, and is stumped by a shaggy teenager’s exclamation of, “Ha! That’s cool.”
Girard’s stylized illustrations remarkably capture the subtle visual cues that denote emotion: a few of his most beautiful images include a depiction of the very young Nicolas kneeling, hands clasped in delight at his older brother’s jokes; a tiny cat excitedly leaping onto the bed to greet an adult Pascal; a teenaged Pascal’s widened eyes and tight, nervous grip on the blankets the night before high school. Nicolas is an absolute must-read for anyone whose life has been touched by loss—so namely, everyone; I dare you not to finish it in one sitting!