Schrauwen's father Armand turns up in the book: He uses something called a Bomann Kühlbox T5000 to beam his face and voice to the future. A team of explorers wend their way through outer space in a shimmering cubical ship. One woman communicates with a hologrammatic friend and lives in a coffin-sized pod. Most of its characters live at some time in the future, and all make use of rarified technologies. Parallel Lines is loosely a work of sci-fi. As in 2014's Ars ène Schrauwen, in Parallel Lines he experiments with all sorts of oppositions: realism and surrealism, rigor and fluidity, narrative and randomness. Schrauwen is one of the most provocative creators in the world of comics today, so it's not surprising that he would produce such a multidimensional work. You could even say this book is expected, in a way. You could say all these things about Parallel Lives, Olivier Schrauwen's mischievous and mystifying new graphic novel, and you'd still only be telling part of the story. It bubbles with images of sexuality, procreation and growth. It's schematic, with a mass-produced feel. It's giddy and uncontrolled, with blobby figures engaging wantonly in random acts of pleasure. It's cold and rejecting, with rigid compositions like some sort of third-world safety manual. Your purchase helps support NPR programming. Close overlay Buy Featured Book Title Parallel Lives Author O.
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