Best Served Chilled

There's calm, and then there's muted. The first describes an inner peace being reflected outward. But something or someone that can be described as "muted" gives the outward appearance of calm only by stifling a churning agitation inside. While not so desirable in a personality, "muted" artworks have a long history. Brass horns with dampers stuffed inside are the most obvious example, but there are muted works in the visual arts as well. The comix work of Carol Swain, for instance, has a cool exterior that muffles an agitated, jangly inner life.

After an eight-year gap since her last major work, Swain has finally come out with a new, short graphic novel, "FoodBoy" (Fantagraphics; 72 pages; $9.95). A native of England, Swain creates characters that could be called "Trainspotting" types: mostly working class, they are school outcasts, unemployed and unemployable. Bored but never boring, they discover mysteries about the world or else make up their own.

Gareth, the foodboy, works in a hotel kitchen in Llanparc, Wales. As the story begins he walks along a lonely mountain road carrying a sack filled with a souvenir snow globe and a steak of raw Welsh lamb. He's going to meet his friend Ross, and feed him. Ross hasn't been himself lately, as we see through a series of flashbacks. We first meet Ross, a big guy with a shaved head, at a tent revival in the middle of the town. Ross interrupts the sermon to proselytize his own beliefs — a system he characterizes by saying nothing.

Gareth and Ross check out the shrinking lake in Carol Swain's "Foodboy"

From there Ross takes his mission higher — into the mountains. He builds a "reliquary," as he calls it, of postcards and liquor store stand-up displays of bikini-clad women. He blasts Hank Williams to attract converts. A magnetic personality, by degrees Ross's behavior becomes more peculiar. He and his troop stop using words and don't appear in daylight too often. Eventually their teeth turn sharp and canine-like and they spend time digging up bones from an old graveyard. Hence the steak Gareth is bringing for Ross. The snowglobe seems to be an attempt to amuse him.

Gareth, a typical Swain surrogate, finds it all a bit odd, but what the hell. The whole place is weird anyway. For instance, a reservoir created by a dam has been drying out, revealing a once-sunken village. Swain shows us the fish that have formed a churning mass, forced ever closer by the waning pool. The mystery of Ross — whether he's turned feral by choice or by circumstance or ill luck — remains unanswered. The reasons don't matter. For Swain the mystery of the world is what makes it interesting. You have to give in to her ambiguities and learn to enjoy the atmosphere of quiet uncertainty.

This mood of "Foodboy" develops chiefly from Swain's remarkable comix pacing. She uses slam cuts to jump from one time and place to another, in mid-page with no visual cues, keeping you guessing about where and when a scene takes place. It's the kind of pleasant discombobulation you get from a midway hall of mirrors. You feel your way through. Swain also frequently inserts mute sequences that feel like poetic interludes. The narrative breathes. Her "camera" swirls around its subjects while they do nothing more than walk and light a cigarette. Each frame of a Carol Swain comic seems perfectly composed. The action comes almost completely out of the visual language of the panels. Adding to the complexity, Swain uniquely draws her comics in charcoal, giving them a sooty, fuzzy look. It's a gorgeous grey palate for a grey world.

Carol Swain has one of the most unique and compelling styles in comix. "Foodboy" will give you the chills. Even the cover features a depopulated, snowy landscape with a trail of footprints leading off into the distance. Cool and natural, it perfectly represents the book: a muted pastoral that holds within it an unquiet human heart.