When reading The Grand Abyss Hotel, it’s worth remembering that this comic has existed for almost three years, just not in English. Writer Marcos Prior and artist David Rubín first published their original graphic novel in Spain in 2016, before three staggering years of history occurred. 2016 was the year of a presidential election and Brexit and the rise of new fascist movements across Europe. Yet it was also a time of great uncertainty; the votes hadn’t been tallied and many now-prominent movements looked like they could tumble as quickly as they had risen. Much of the dystopian future projected in The Grand Abyss Hotel might feel par for the course in a culture flooded with other dystopian visions, but it appears that Prior and Rubín might have been a little bit ahead of the curve, simply in another language.
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The comic is divided into four chapters and a prologue, with each functioning as an individual unit. Taken as a whole (it is tempting to read the entire volume in one sitting) they form a larger arc about one very bad day or, perhaps, week in a society on the brink. Excluding the prologue, it opens with the start of a riot and ends when the streets regain some semblance of peace. Individual chapters hold up to scrutiny and analysis better than any overriding examination. The prologue comments on the inundation of media as talking heads crowd one man’s small room; the first chapter examines the contrast between the individual and the collective as tensions rise; the second chapter presents a nightmare scenario designed for an amoral bureaucrat; and so on. Each of them offers some take on a world that feels a bit more familiar now than it would have in 2016, but the pieces are stronger than the whole.
It’s the presentation of these pieces that is the real strength of The Grand Abyss Hotel and what will likely land it on many end-of-year lists. Any comic drawn by David Rubín is worth reading ,and these pages present his clearest vision to date. Designed to be read left-to-right and eschewing traditional American comics’ dimensions, each new setting sprawls out before the eye and offers abundant detail. Layouts, character designs, and action are all patently Rubín, stuff that will thrill fans of Rumble or Beowulf. Yet there’s an added layer of homage to many of these chapters. Many artists have taken on Frank Miller’s use of pundit heads, but few capture the claustrophobia and false conflict as well as Rubín. Readers are also likely to see references and motifs borrowed from Alan Moore, David Lloyd, and even the Saw franchise.
The humor, violence, and sense of humanity displayed in The Grand Abyss Hotel is pure Rubín, though. His figures rely on an exaggeration of reality. For a masked protagonist ready to battle the government, that is revealed in excessive bulk. Others have been transformed by their environment in different, but no less visceral fashion; a writer appears to have been slowly molded toward to keyboard and desk like a tree pulled into shape by steel cables. These shapes help to push the essence of each moment with violence, despair, and cold calculation all given human form.
In this fashion the narrative captures the feeling of our current political moment perfectly, whether that is applied to Spain, the United States, Brazil, or a dozen other countries encountering similar conflicts. It is the fear and oppressive mood of the moment that connects so many disparate trends into this presentation that has finally leapt over the language barrier. However, the specifics are not quite as generally appealing. Mentions of Lacan and other references to literature suggest bigger ideas that are never fleshed out, and it might be for the best that specifics are avoided. Many pages toward the end gesture at a grand message, but a man painting over “THE END OF HISTORY” is more memeable than insightful.
The Grand Abyss Hotel doesn’t appear terribly interested in providing answers. Instead, it holds up a devilishly delightful mirror and encourages its readers to gaze into the abyss. What conclusions can be drawn from this series of vignettes are more likely to be drawn from how we imagine the abyss to be staring back. It offers a surprisingly prescient field for projection and summarizes so much tension, strife, and violence in extraordinarily detailed pages. This is a vision of the world and, much like the world we live in, there’s a lot to be said about it and very little consensus to be found.
Rating: 4 out of 5
Published by Archaia
On May 29, 2019
Written by Marcos Prior
Art by David Rubín
Letters by Deron Bennett
Translation by Andrea Rosenberg
Cover by David Rubín
