Fictional worlds are more than just escapism. As Sojourners’ Catherine Woodiwiss recently put it, in her essay “How Sci-Fi and Fantasy Help Us Understand the Divine,” fictional worlds are tools “for better understanding the world we’re in now.” Through the use of allegory, metaphor, and characterization, fantasy worlds — whether it’s Narnia, Westeros, or Hogwarts — serve as profound ruminations on human history, behavior, and culture.
Marjorie Liu and Sana Takeda’s new fantasy comic series Monstress approaches the topics of oppression and survival through one such richly imagined fantasy world. Inspired in part by Liu’s grandparents, survivors of the Japanese invasion of China during World War II, Monstress is a story about the difficulty of overcoming the pain of systemic oppression without losing yourself in rage, pain, and revenge.
Monstress takes place in an alternate world, just after a war between two races — the human Federation (and their allies, a coven of witch-nuns called the Cumea), and the human-animal hybrid Arcanics. The humans won the war, and now capture and sell the Arcanics as slaves. The Cumea are even worse, treating the slaves they buy as subjects for brutal experiments reminiscent of the real-world atrocities practiced in WWII by Japan’s Unit 731.
We’re introduced to this world through Maika Halfwolf, an Arcanic teenager who battles with an inner monster she refers to as “the hunger,” which causes Maika to black out and go on violent rampages. Monstress follows Maika as she searches for answers about her condition, from infiltrating the Cumea as a slave in the first issue, to escaping with part of a powerful, potentially cursed artifact in issue two.
The world of Monstress is at once gorgeous and grotesque, influenced by art deco, steampunk, and Japanese manga. The clothing design and interior settings are impressively detailed. But it’s a beautiful facade with a rotten core — Monstress details the truly awful experiments the Cumea carry out, and the casual violence of this world’s post-war society.
Also commendable is the way Liu and Takeda turn the patriarchy on its head, by creating a world run almost exclusively by women. This opens the door to female characters and relationships that are typically portrayed as male elsewhere — whether it’s the cold calculation of the Cumea or the deep friendship between Maika and her best friend, Tuya. It creates a much-needed opportunity to reconsider what we think of as “women’s roles” in genres like fantasy epics.
The problem with Liu and Takeda’s comic is that, while the world it creates is thoroughly thought out, it’s also very complex. Liu introduces it with no context, requiring the reader to pick up the clues. This means near-constant confusion, and it distracts from Monstress’ more important themes.
At the very least, Monstress is an incredibly ambitious comic, with noble goals and a clear idea of how to communicate its message — even if that message sometimes gets lost in translation. Strong-willed readers up to a challenge will find plenty to keep them engaged, and a story that introduces new ways to consider and converse about race, gender, and popular culture.
Abby Olcese is a freelance film critic and writer based in Missouri. You can find her on Twitter @abbyolcese.
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