Dogs & Water

The span of time that passes between the months of April and September will always hold a strange significance for me. Beginning in April 2004, just after my first year of university, I started going up north to spend my summers in Iqaluit, Nunavut. I'd arrive in mid-April to visit my family and work during the summer to pay off the past year's tuition fees. Then, when the school season began again in September, I'd return home to British Columbia. The end of each summer was like coming out of a strange, lucid dream that was already too steeped in memory to seem real anymore. Which brings me to Anders Nilsen's Ignatz award-winning graphic novel, "Dogs & Water."

The story, told in sparse detail with very minimal illustrations accompanying the text, is one of humanity, loneliness, and losing oneself in a search for meaning. A nameless man wanders down a lonely northern road with only a teddy bear strapped to his back to keep him company. Befriended by a pack of hungry dogs, the man and his teddy travel across a desolate northern landscape in a search for meaning. The only other characters the man comes across are either dead, dying, antagonistic, or ambivalent. They never speak a word of English, only unintelligible scribbles. There is no beginning to his journey, and no clear end in sight. The plot of the story itself, seems to be written in spite of clear beginnings and endings. As the main character says to his bear:

"You know...We're really not getting anywhere. Not that I'm complaining, I'm just...You know...Pointing it out as a fact. We haven't seen a car for about two weeks. Let alone flowers or trees or houses. It's getting colder every day. There's less and less plant life. My feet are sore. I guess. I guess. I mean, LOOK we could go on FOREVER and get NOWHERE."

This declaration is the first thing said in the book, and it clearly outlines that Dogs & Water is not going to be your typical story. There is no moral lesson. The main character doesn't learn anything about truth or the human experience. He is utterly alone. Aside from a single, solitary swimmer passing by, no one he meets speaks English. There is not a woman in sight, other than a mysterious seductress who comes to him in a dream, only to transform into a dog. It actually seems to me that his experiences themselves might entirely be the product of a dream. The man character might even be drowning, adrift at sea and experiencing the book's plot while struggling back to consciousness underneath cold Arctic waters. None of this is clearly stated, and Nilsen leaves it open to the reader to make their own interpretation. 

Nilsen perfectly captures to stark beauty and isolation of the Arctic , and for me, this is one of the book's most appealing aspects of the book. When I was in Iqaluit, I experienced some of the most realistic and intense dreams of my entire life; dreams that this book vividly reminds me of. Many authors I've read that tend to use the logic of dreams to propel a narrative forward, but take for granted that anything can happen in dream, losing any sense of seriousness in the process. Nilsen, on the other hand, uses the logic of dreams to form his narrative, and accentuate his story's themes. With art this good though, it's easy to just forget the narrative altogether and lose yourself in Nilsen's simple, evocative linework. 

If you're looking for a book to warm up to as the weather gets colder this November, Dogs & Water might not be what you need. However, if you'd like to wander into a wintry dream, then look no further than these pages. 

In case you're interested, check out my Flickr photostream here for some photos of Iqaluit, Nunavut taken in the summer of 2007.