The Crows by Andres Fager and Peter Bergting.
Title: The Crows.
Author: Anders Fager and Bergting.
Artist: Peter Bergting.
Genre: Graphic novels, fiction.
Country: Sweden.
Language: English.
Publication Date: 2020.
Summary: What lurks in the corners of the house originates in the corners of the mind. When Kim inherits an old family house in rural Sweden, there are notes posted everywhere. On the walls, the doors, even the ceiling. Reminders. And drawings. Of the monsters that still haunt this house and the land on which it sits. But the monsters aren't just outside; they're in Kim's head, in the traumatic memories of an upbringing as different, other, alone.
My rating: 7.5/10
My review:
♥
I come upon the wrecked car after a couple hundred meters. It's the first thing I see that I actually remember. A rusty old car, slowly eaten by nature. I know that I used to look at it when I was little. At the grass growing on the wheels. Now you can hardly see them. It's as if the car is slowly sinking into the moss. I stand there for a while and just look at it.
I was never allowed to just stand there wen I was little.
♥ I remember the clouds of crows that used to sit on the barn. I threw sticks at them and laughed as they flew away. Grandma told me not to be mean to the animals. At least not the birds. They could get mad.
I could never imagine what angry birds were capable of. I truly had no idea.
It's as if someone is standing up there, by the barn. Hidden in the shadows. Under the roof. Cawing and laughing.
Here comes the whore's kid
Long time no see
I thought we would be rid of those two
We'll be rid of it soon
It doesn't belong here
It's not welcome here
It's not one of us
♥ The window next to the door is cracked. I have a whole lifetime of fixing here if I want it.
I unlock the door. It creaks and crackles.
Behind me a bird calls out a last warning.
I am not welcome here.
I threw sticks at the crows.
♥
I hated the privy. I had just learned to go on the toilet by myself, just before we moved from the village to Teg. I could do it myself. And was praised for it. I could do it myself and suddenly I had to go to privy in the darkness. I hated it, especially as it got colder. Having to wade through the snow.
I think about Grandma and Grandpa. Did they go to the privy in the darkness and cold? Until the end?
Just imagine going out there. When you're a bit senile and it's way below zero. With a nightgown underneath your coat. I wonder if the beasts watched them at night as well?
What if the beasts are still here?
Or did they die with Grandma?
♥ I sit for a long time and look out over the yard. I remember how I, at first, was terrified by everything here. Of what I could sense up by the barn.
They really didn't like us. They hated Mom from the beginning. Not because of anything she said or did. But because of what she was.
Tomorrow I'm going home.
Stay away
This isn't your fault
I didn't say that
Stay away
It's yours
It has your eyes
♥ I lie down in the bed that Mom and Dad once shared. The one Dad should have shared with some blonde girl from around there. The kind Grandma would've liked better.
Though Dad wouldn't have been able to provide for her either.
People aren't ironic here. They have no sense of humor whatsoever.
♥
Someone's standing outside the window.
It's not a moose.
Scribblings on the walls.
Someone's standing there, looking down at me.
I recognize it.
The one standing outside the window.
I don't know if I'm afraid.
♥
♥
If it hadn't been for Olle, Mom would've prbably never told me she was getting married. She would probably just "forget" to tell me. She'd done that before.
When Dad died.
Took his own life.
Hung himself.
Somewhere out here.
To this day I don't know how long it took before she realized she ought to tell me about it. She was not interested. She had moved on. Had escaped becoming a toothless crone in shit country. Escaped dying from childbirth or working the streets.
♥ I remember that Mom and Dad argued a lot, in that mess of Swedish and English. I can't remember them doing anything else together. I have no memories of them being happy.
I had managed on my own. Played with Dad's dog. Threw sticks at crows.
Mom never cared to teach me her language.
It wasn't important.
It was just another thing from shit country that she wanted to forget. Like not being able to take showers or shitting in a hole in the floor.
♥
Behind the barn. I pretend not to see them. They look like the ones Grandma and Grandpa drew on the walls. I didn't think they would come out during the day.
They look at me.
Have no sense of humor.
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..
♥ Don't forget, it says in a lot of notes. Don't forget, and then a list of things to be done. Or bought. There are a lot of notes bout her having to buy sugar and butter. There are a lot of notes that just read don't forget. Don't forget. Don't forget. Don't forget. Don't forget. Don't forget. Don't forget.
Grandma, who had cleaned out the refrigerator before going to the hospital to die. She had been alone out here for a year. Alone with the things that hang around the barn.
♥
I'm taking a walk. Ignoring the angry birds. I hear the chatter from the notes in my head.
This place created me.
Is it better if I see it that way?
Does it make more sense?
♥ I don't remember when I first saw the monsters. It feels like they've always been there. I got used to them quickly back then. And I'll get used to them quickly again.
That little one walks by itself.
but I shouldn't say monster, right?
♥
Those belong together. Though the big one rejects the little one.
♥
I remember it now. Six years old. How I got so angry that I wasn't afraid anymore.
I remember the three of them looking stupid.
I can't recall how it ended. I just remember that moment. The feeling of throwing myself off a ledge. Eyes full of tears.
I was shaking so much.
I think I threw up.
My crow was born then.
Since then I've always been angry or sad.
♥
We know you're here.
We know who you are!
You belong here!
♥
It's got a bit of me in its eyes.
This place created me.
I do belong here.
This is home.
♥
