Exit Wounds is a comic about a man who meets a woman who was involved with his father. He then gets involved with her in a wild search to discover if an unclaimed body during a subway bombing is the body of his father. We later find out that his father is not dead but alive and dating a couple different women at the same time. Gabriel Franco, the father of Koby Franco is never seen in the comic. He is an estranged father in every sense of the word. He hasn’t really been in Koby’s life since his wife past away and even before then, Koby recounts stories about the times he was there and the relationship was still bad. At the point where the story begins, Koby has not seen his father in two years. He has a lot of hostility and resentment against him and the reader is not entirely sure why. Koby’s sister, Orly, lives in New York and also seems to be very much out of touch with her father as well, but a bit more forgiving for the mistakes that he made in the past.
The story is set in Israel in 2002. Even though we hear about some bombings happening here and there, the larger narrative excludes any mention of tensions between Israel and Palestine. It’s like the reader gets a look into a world where the outside hostilities between people have little to no significance. However, I’m not even sure if that statement is valid. Israel does not seem like a where the people are living in fear. Death seems to have lost its out of the ordinary nature. This observation comes from both Koby’s cold reaction to his father’s death and the reactions of the people at the pathological institute for forensics medicine. The doctors talk about plans for lunch as they are cutting open someone’s intestines, someone indentifying the body of a loved one asks for the video recording, and the front desk hostess seems a bit too cherry especially since she works in a morgue. The overall process or get the body, cleaning up the blood, opening the body’s up to study them, storing them, and putting them into coffins happens without and commentary and moves through from frame to frame. The commonality of death is also evidenced in the initial confusion about which bombing is being refereed to. In December there was a bombing at Hadera, and the next day a larger bombing at Haifa. One seems to over shadow the other, but life still goes on, even if it is in the shadow of death.
The question of whether or not Rutu Modan’s position on death in and the bombings/explosions in Israel is still up in the air for me. I don’t know if there is a larger critique implicit in this comic. She deals with two deaths in the story: the death of Koby’s mother five years ago and the possible death of his father. The first death distanced a father from his son even more. Since the day that Koby’s mother died five years ago, he has only seen his father; he has only seen his father five times in the three subsequent years after her death. Also, the plausible death of his father brings distress only because there was so much that would have gone unsaid between them. For these two reasons I believe that Modan is more concerned with the way death functions in a social context. After all, the comic is entitled Exit Wounds.
Reading “Exit Wounds” was a strange experience because throughout the course of it, I kept being reminded of a lot of the other books in our course. There were so many images that felt déjà vu-ish, like they were repeating graphic novel archetypes.
Kobi has a little bit of Ben Tanaka in him and a little bit of Vampire Dave too – the sequence of panels on page 149 of Kobi in his taxi driving a series of people from all walks of life was especially reminiscent of the early section in “Life Sucks” where we see the morose Dave at the cash register while a string of customers come up to him (it’s the part where the blonde woman asks for adult diapers).
The scene on page 156 where Kobi finds an old snow globe from his childhood, immediately reminded me of Laurie’s snow globe memory on Mars in “Watchmen”, and the panels where Kobi and Numi eat lunch on the beach triggered the image from “Black Hole” where Chris and Rob cut class and camp by the ocean.
There were places in the story where there were arrows and footprint trajectories which were reminiscent of the diagrams and graphs in “Night Fisher”, and also this image:
And the foreign setting but recognizable story arc of a love story creates the same feeling that we experienced with “Aya” – something that is alien yet familiar at the same time.
I think that I read “Exit Wounds” this way – through drawing parallels with other works and patching together associations – because I was trying to put it into some perspective which made it easier to categorize. And I think that this complicated, elusive quality in the book somehow relates to the identity questions of modern Israelis. “Exit Wounds” is many things at once; it’s slippery, subtle, and impossible to pin down, deceptively simple in appearance. It’s about the Israel/Palestine conflict while not being about the Israel/Palestine conflict at all. The interviewer points out the elephant in the room in the afterward: “The Palestinians are never even mentioned”.
The style of illustration had the same effect on me; at first it made me think of the Chris Ware piece from McSweeney’s about the girl with the prosthetic leg, then I thought it was more like “Shortcomings”, then I also thought of Tintin, and finally I just stopped trying to make analogies and considered the visuals on their own terms.
As others have mentioned, Modan sometimes uses the technique of using washed out colors, usually in the background, and brighter, solid hues on particular subjects. This brings certain things into focus, and other things fade away. In a parallel sense, the newspaper clippings in the story (on pages 37 and 65) are drawn with the color drained away too. News about bombs and attacks is so commonplace that it is pushed away and becomes background noise; Modan states in the interview at the end that “When the reality around you is so complicated or too frightening, people tend to detach themselves from it”. Could the technique of setting vividly-colored figures against dull ones in the panels be a visual interpretation of this cultural mindset?
Hey there everyone, our long tangent last week on stories as “the dream a culture has” that led into the topic of queer identities in manga reminded me of some stories I think some of you might enjoy, even those of you who generally stay away from manga. I’ve noticed a number of DIY, alternative comics coming out of the lesbian scene in Japan as of the last couple years, a group that has long been pushed into silence in the shadows. The voices expressed in these comics are exiting and unique and might be quite unlike any others you’ve heard from manga before.
One of my favorite series coming out of this scene is the magnificently quirky Plica, a loosely drawn gag strip that follows the lives and loves of a handful of lesbian friends in Tokyo. The strip captures daily life and questions of identity with a combination of a sweet, often weird sense of humor, with a knack for capturing the heartbreak of alienation and loneliness. (Remember, read right to left!)
Another great series is the mostly autobiographic and sweetly goofy Honey & Honey. It’s a frank and open look at life as an adult lesbian couple in Japan, both inside and outside the lesbian community (which includes a number of transmen too).
If you’re interested at all, please step this way to Lilicious, a scanlations website dedicated to spreading stories of Shoujo Ai (Girl’s Love) in all its forms across the world! Keep in mind that quite a lot of the comics on that website (including Plica) can be quite mature and even x-rated, so don’t forget to read the labels! Enjoy.
Plica can be found here: http://www.lililicious.net/projectDet.php?id=94
And Honey & Honey here: http://www.lililicious.net/projectDet.php?id=68
I was struck by Rutu Modan’s quirky, fresh, and bendy artwork from the first time I ran across a scanned page of “Exit Wounds” on the internet about a year ago. Modan’s artwork is quite reminiscent of Herge’s Tintin series, which is known as the Ligne Claire or Clear Lines style, in how she combines meticulously detailed backgrounds with simplified human figures and flat coloring, all in a lovely uniform line that skirts the edge between mechanical and organic.
(A panel of Herge’s Tintin from “Tintin and the Temple of the Sun”. More about Ligne Claire can be found on the wiki: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ligne_claire)
Unlike Herge, however, Modan’s lines have a particular rubbery quality that’s not quite gestural but still subtly slant even her most detailed drawings away from strict realism. Modan also can take advantage of modern computer coloring techniques to further distinguish her scenes settings and moods by tinting her inked lines a variety of different colors. She also alternates panels with detailed background scenes with panels of characters against a single flat color that place a heightened focus on the moment caught within the borders.
A beautiful example of her techniques can be found in the cafeteria scene on pages 72 to 73. Large panels on both pages establish the setting of the cafeteria through carefully but softy rendered drawings of the ceiling, stovetop, countertop, and dining customers. Her expression, however, Her treatment of the objects in the scene like the ketchup bottle and forks and knives, express a distinctly iconic ketchup bottle or knife and fork rather than a realistically drawn one. The waitress manages to break free of this detailed background three times on these two pages, building up to her sudden outburst on page 73. “There is no Yossi! Yossi’s dead!” she shouts at an unseen demanding customer, her word bubble bursting through the panel’s frame. Modan frames the woman with a brilliant primary yellow that’s boldness visually reinforces the fury of her expression, even though her expression is made up of only a few lines. The waitress herself showcases this balance between the more realistically rendered wrinkles on her clothing and the symbolic lines of anger on her face. She, like nearly all of Modan’s characters, also shares Tintin’s simple dot eyes, a highly non-literal and iconic simplification of the face that sometimes jibes with their realistic setting.
Modan’s choices in streamlining her human figures this way demonstrate Scott McCloud’s theory of how iconic styles of drawing affect closure for the reader. McCloud argues that:
Since cartoons already exist as concepts for the reader, they tend to flow easily through the conceptual territory between panels. Ideas flowing into one another seamlessly. But realistic images have a bumpier ride. Theirs is a primarily visual existence which doesn’t pass easily into the realm of ideas… (Understanding Comics, 90)
Seen through McCloud’s theory, Modan’s uniquely cartoonish approach to her characters, particularly their facial features, works to overcome the boundaries that her realistic scenes and settings might through up for the reader. Unlike Herge’s characters inTintin, Modan’s character’s don’t have a very rigid “model” that their appearance adheres to; their forms bend and stretch in slight and unexpected ways, sometimes resembling photos that have been drawn over in felt-tip pen. For an example of this rubbery-ness, look at how Modan drawns Numi talking on the phone on page 105. In the six pink and uniform panels the young woman herself is never drawn quite the same way once: her hair moves and changes, her hands move and distort cartoonishly, and most importantly, the simplified features of her face adjust to the angle of her head as if they were drawn photorealistically. The iconographic qualities of Modan’s artwork here make these little variations understandable to us by enhancing our sense of closure between panels. Her balancing of realism with cartoonish line transforms the sequence from what could have been “a series of still pictures,” as McCloud puts it, into a fluid and energetic depiction of Numi’s restlessness and excitement throughout her phone conversation.
Rutu Modan’s Exit Wounds is a story in which two strangers unite in their quest to locate a missing third party. The graphic novel’s young protagonist, Koby Franco, is contacted by the girl he later learns is his father’s lover when she fears him to be dead. Although Koby’s dad, Gabriel, is a central character in the story, there’s no point in time where he is physically present – it’s almost as if he’s a phantom. Even when we learn that he is in fact alive, there’s no tangible proof of his existence, other than the word of his latest paramour. After all the effort that Koby and his father’s former lover, Numi, go through to locate Gabriel, neither ever actually find him. Their search isn’t entirely fruitless, however, because both make certain unexpected discoveries about Gabriel that provide them with some sense of closure, even if it wasn’t what they were hoping for when they set out on their journey.
The first time Numi gets insight into Gabriel’s true character is when she and Koby visit a woman named Atara Dayan, who was present during the suicide bombing in Hadera, which is the last place where Gabriel was thought to be alive. What Numi thinks is her last chance at finding the man she loves turns out to be the turning point in which she realizes that Gabriel isn’t the man she thought he was. Upon meeting Atara, Numi finds out that the other woman was romantically involved with Gabriel at the same time she was; both women believed themselves to be important to Gabriel, yet he abandons both of them without any explanation. To rub salt in Numi’s wound, Atara reveals that the scarf Numi brought with her – the one Numi made for Gabriel and the one she saw on television after the bombing, causing her to think Gabriel was dead – belongs to her. In the fourth panel on page 127, Atara holds the scarf up to her face, clutching it close, which signifies that it means a great deal to her. A tear escapes her eye, showing that even though he left her, she still has strong feelings for Gabriel. In the next panel, Atara says that Gabriel gave her the scarf, although she has no idea that its maker is standing right in front of her. Gabriel’s gesture makes it clear that Numi’s gift wasn’t special to him or else he wouldn’t have given it to his other mistress, who he didn’t respect enough to give a reason as to why he left without saying goodbye.
While Numi discovers that the man she loves was unfaithful to her during a significant portion of their relationship, Koby also learns that his father is more likely to run from his problems than confront them straight-on. After a long, unsuccessful search for his father, Koby gets a clue to Gabriel’s whereabouts and decides to follow up on his lead alone. When he goes to look for his dad, Koby instead meets his new step-mother, whose description of Gabriel makes it seem as if he’s a changed man. When his father is over two hours late coming home for dinner, it is apparent that some things never change. Just when Koby thought he finally found his father after two years of not speaking to him, Gabriel once again manages to evade him. It’s almost as if Gabriel has a sixth sense that lets him know when his son is getting close to finding him so he knows when to stay away. What Koby soon realizes is that his unfinished business isn’t with his father, but rather with Numi. Koby and Numi spent the majority of their time together searching for Gabriel, but in the end, they found each other.
I found these two interviews of Rutu Modan on youtube after I finished reading Exit Wounds. The novel itself is much like Aya in that the main plot line focuses on something we can all relate to: relationship conflict. Just like Aya, it’s set in a sort of unfamiliar setting–in this case, a tumultuous Israel Tel Aviv where suicide bombings are referred to as simply “another bombing.” In her words, the plot goes like this: there exists a taxi driver (Koby), he meets a girl who has just returned from service, a bomb went off, there are five dead bodies, she thinks its his father and her boyfriend who he hasn’t seen for years, he doesn’t believe her, they go on journey to find truth, truth is the father has run off and married another woman. Exit Wounds is about the relational anxieties we all have.
She reveals the meaning behind the title Exit Wounds, noting that when one is shot, the bullet can come out anywhere which means for her that we all carry wounds that shape us in unpredictable places with pains. In the other interview with BBC Collective, her comments suggest that her writing is extremely personal. She takes elements from her life and puts them into her work. She sees her work as a very narrow vision of life in Israel. Interestingly, she admits that in the past she was dating a guy who didn’t call her and instead of thinking that he wasn’t interested, she thought maybe he was dead.
Around 2:50 in the Pretty Cool People interview, we catch a glimpse of the simplistic style of her art, which adds a subtle tone of lightness to the novel. Such lightness is crucial to a story set in such a dangerous area, dealing with such poignant and painfully real relational issues. At 4:52, she notes that humor is something that can be added anywhere. Her response is voiced-over pictures of a dissection of a human body. As the guts are being pulled out, one asks the other about lunch plans. The next panel finds a man cutting a human brain in half with a motion that now reminds us of preparing food. We’ve seen this type of lightness in every novel so far this semester. Because the topics at hand are so grave, humor allows us to get through it and face our anxieties that are reflected on the page.
Somewhat hard to accept were her comments at the end of the BBC Collective interview. She says describes Koby as someone that holds overwhelming rage (at his father) such that he can’t live his life and that in order to live, he needs to stop looking for closure and to instead simply move on. If anything, she notes, this could be the political comment in the novel. The novel itself is certainly not transparent enough to make comments on the Israel / Palestine conflict, and I think she does a wonderful job of focusing less on the backdrop and more on the issues of being human versus the issues of being an Israeli, but such a political comment is fruitless. What does she hope to accomplish? The conflict is not such that it can just be let go and moved on from. A fitting end to the story as it is, but I think she may be grasping at straws if she hopes to say something substantive about the political climate in Israel.
“Exit Wounds” is an easy read, similar in many respects to “Aya”. Rutu Modan takes heavy, realistic situations, yet instead of focusing directly on these issues, the situations serve as the backdrop for a story revolving around relationships. Modan is thus able to humanize each character utilizing the negative occurrences as a facilitator to do so.
As in “Aya”, the colors in “Exit Wounds” are disarming as opposed to oppressive. Modan’s use of neutral colors in some pages can be directly juxtaposed with her use of vibrant reds and other colors; rather than startle the reader, this seemingly eclectic grouping of colors serves to create a calming and refreshing feel.
Set in Tel Aviv, Modan is able to accurately depict some of the chaos that grips the region. Despite the fact that she discusses harrowing affairs (i.e. suicide bombings), the reader does not feel as though the book is too much too bear. That being said, Modan renders these terrible and real occurrences in a way that allows the reader to simply “read on”, in part due to the fact that the characters do not seem disillusioned by them. As we are connected with Koby, we share his feelings; thus, as he treats another bombing as simply, “another bombing”, the reader shares this conception of the event. In creating this sense, Modan effectively alludes to the fact that these travesties have become a part of daily life in many places, and the local population has accepted them as such. Upon further contemplation, this fact is an awful realization for the reader, an aspect of “Exit Wounds” that makes it all the more compelling.
Modan’s use of the bombing as the facilitator for Koby and Numi’s budding relationship is an interesting, if not telling use of a terrible situation manifesting something worthwhile. Out of death, Modan creates new life for both Numi and Koby. Koby, who hates his father with a deep passion, is finally able to admit to himself that he has fallen for Numi. He portrays his newfound trust in the final frame, as he jumps into “the giraffe’s” arms, believing she will catch him, both literally and metaphorically. It almost seems as if he is reborn himself through all of these struggles to discover whether his father is truly dead or not. In doing so, Koby struggles with his own demons, and conquers them.
One aspect of the novel which I found somewhat challenging was the title. “Exit Wounds” could hold a variety of meanings, and possibly this is what Modan was trying to accomplish. I felt as though it referred to the fact that ultimately, it was only after great pain that both Koby and Numi were able to obtain a new sense of freedom, or at least clarity of mind. Numi’s pain caused by Gabriel, and Koby’s pain caused by his father as well, was a limiting element in each of their lives; thus, despite the pain persisting for some time, inevitably, both were able to obtain a happiness in each other that grew out of the pain caused by one person.
Modan’s novel deals with some emotionally draining issues, but does so in a positive manner, a fact that makes the reader all the more willing to contemplate what they have just read.
Rutu Modan’s Exit Wounds tackles numerous complex issues (politics, family, death, etc.) exceptionally well. Her engaging style and broad understanding of life bring the characters and events to life in ways that make Exit Wounds a beautiful experience for readers. However, much of the difficulty in the book comes from stereotypes, indulged in not only by the characters but by the author herself. While books like Aya attempt to dispel stereotypes, Exit Wounds (and others we have read) shamelessly buy into stereotyping. In some cases this may be a sacrifice to a greater point (the parents in Shortcomings allow Tomine to create a deeper friendship between the main character and his friend) but in Exit Wounds it comes from the realistic touch that Modan brings to her story. The broad and all-encompassing aspect to daily life she brings to the novel is both a strength and a weakness. By providing such a faithful rendition of life Modan found herself in places that she had little experience in, which left her with little to draw on but societal stereotype.
If one more person mentions how only old people knit/crochet I might scream. By now, with the practice being referenced in at least two novels we should be thinking that youthful yarning is more common than previously thought. Modan’s inclusion of this through Numi’s knitting Gabriel a birthday scarf provides a bit of comedic relief as Numi and Koby discuss the possibility of his father’s death. Koby voices the popular opinion that I’ve so openly eschewed: “You made it? What are you, eighty?” (p.36) Understandably, stereotypes must be used to portray realistic life. However, when we add in the way in which Numi is drawn we find ourselves believing that even the author is buying in here. Numi’s androgynous appearance (which we presume is unattractive to most men) brings in another stereotype: only ugly girls work with yarn. If only old women and ugly girls knit, where do the many men who knit fit in? How about the young women who think themselves attractive?
Later on, we find another issue with Numi’s appearance. “Years of maternal harassment” have left her defensive and openly aggressive towards anyone who makes her feel ugly or anyone who seems to think she’s ugly. (p. 118) If only Numi could be more like her beautiful model mother life could be happy. Thankfully, Numi doesn’t believe this anymore, though her mother still seems to. It seems like every novel with an ugly female goes through this. We all know that people with mommy issues are a little screwed up. We shouldn’t have to have it written out for us. However this scene is the first moment Koby feels sympathy and (perhaps) attraction for Numi. As it is, this scene is important for the readers to understand where the sex scene comes from only ten pages later. I think it could be portrayed differently, with the attraction placed in a different scene. Again, we see where stereotyping is both essential and detrimental to the novel.
Let’s take a look at the last three pages, with Koby stuck up a tree. We finally get to see some kick-ass action from Numi, who seems to be stronger and more comfortable with herself than the Numi of the first 160 pages. Telling Koby off does her good and makes readers (me, at least) stand more on her side. Her line “I’m sick and tired of falling in love with every man who just happens to look in my direction” harkens back to her self-esteem issues, but she’s finally making a decision based on what’s good for herself. SIX PANELS LATER she reverts straight back to old-Numi, falling in love with any man who just happens to look in her direction (and ask for help getting out of a tree.) Others may think this a sweet and romantic moment for the two main characters but even with the very literal leap of faith from Koby I don’t see this being a very happy relationship.
Modan’s use of stereotype seems both purposeful and accidental, and as such is essential and provoking at times. I wish it were possible to have a strong female character who could learn from her mistakes and come out of the book stronger and more capable. I don’t think we’ve found that woman thus far, but this problem exists throughout all genres. I’m positive that graphic novels have a better chance of producing such a character and that many positive examples of this exist… somewhere.
While dealing with harsh political realities unique to this particular region, Exit Wounds speaks of universal issues; a broken relationship between a father and his son, a woman abandoned by her lover. Interspersed with such a personal, affecting story, are touching political overtones, yet they never feel incendiary or obvious, and the message is one of unity and peace – inevitably culminating in a sweet and loving relationship between two people at odds with one another. On page 54, Numi asks “this whole notion of separating Jews and non-Jews is sickening, don’t you think?”. We see the treeless cemetery, where non-Jews are buried. We learn of Israelis killed both in their homeland and fighting wars in other countries. A down-and-out Sigalit laments the intrusion of big businesses at the expense of “the little guys” (70), while speaking to Koby at a kiosk. Class disparities are also dealt with in an intelligent, non-judgmental way; Numi’s wealth leads to some uncomfortable rifts with Koby, and also leads to her being used by men who don’t truly love her. All of these scenes are moving, and it captures scenes from Israeli life with the typical dry Israeli humor, humor that can only be had by people who face such struggles and have no choice but to laugh at them. Suicide bombings and acts of terror are commonplace; at the Pathological Institute for Forensic Medicine, the forensic examiners discuss getting Chinese food for lunch while handling a victim’s brains and intestines (45). The receptionist grins when she states “there’s no shortage of bodies in this country” (48). Ruth Modan deals with death and loss in a sensible way, but she also enables the reader to confront harsh realities in a new manner, by making light of them. She shows how these realities are experienced by people to whom death is commonplace and inescapable, and how they live on. In this story, death is often portrayed without emotion, and many of the characters have dealt with so much violence that they have no other choice but to become desensitized, to joke around while identifying bodies.
This story deals with the sorrow of losing a loved one with whom there is unsettled animosity; Koby always expected to see his father again, Numi wonders if every encounter with someone should be treated like the last time she will ever see them. Koby and Numi’s uncertainty is heart-wrenching, though they struggle in very different ways. When Numi finds out the truth of her relationship with Gabriel, though, it’s easy to feel that she was better off groping around in the dark; the woman deals with so many insecurities, so much bitterness and harassment, only to learn that the one man who ever treated her well was using her. Despite maintaining that she didn’t really want to learn that Gabriel had died (On page 98: “It’s OK. I didn’t want to believe it either”), of course it would have been easier for Numi to face his death than to learn the truth about how little he really loved her. She and Koby can bond over being abandoned by the same man, a man they felt should have loved them forever.The characters in this story are all dealing with isolation – Koby lives like an old man, working long hours and never really befriending anyone. Numi has never really known love before, and jumps at any man who gives her attention because of her deep insecurities. And what could be more isolating than the thought of dying and never being claimed, your body buried in an unmarked grave?
Modan sets the scene well; her characters manage to convey a lot of emotion with very few, subtle, lines (and perhaps the most simply drawn eyes we’ve seen). The colors are generally muted (which makes the bright splashes even powerful), aiding in a story of loss and isolation in such a harsh place. The characters are very real, and it’s easy to identify with their fears and insecurities, even if they are living in a very different world. And while a number of the themes here touch on universal concerns, it is always a story about Israel.
The ending was very powerful; Koby, a highly guarded man whom Numi accused of not feeling anything was finally allowing himself to become completely vulnerable to Numi, a woman jaded by her experiences being wounded by lovers; I never expected this would be such a sweet love story, despite the darkness and dry humor – the story is not about discovering what happened to Gabriel. I was disappointed that we never got to see his character, understanding that he likely moved on to a new life, a new woman – yet learning about his life was clearly never the point of the story, though he did provide a perfect opportunity for an unlikely and beautiful pairing.
Finally: Props to Modan for including what must be, without a shadow of a doubt, the most awkward sex line ever: “like father like son” (139). I cringed reading that.
Faced with stories of death on an almost daily basis, the Israeli citizens of Rutu Modan’s “Exit Wounds” often find themselves emotionally detached from the deaths that occur all around them. The story follows Koby, a young cab driver who is approached by the tall, gangly Numi who believes that his father was killed in a recent bombing at a bus station. One victim of the bombing remains unidentified and Numi’s suspicion is launched by the appearance of a scarf at the scene. When Numi explains her theory to Koby he is initially skeptical, content to distance himself from his estranged father. On p. 37 Numi produces the newspaper article about the attack, and the characters discuss the tragedy in a detached, almost nonchalant manner. Opening the newspaper, Koby merely remarks “look at those poor bastards” as her peruses tragic images of wounded bodies, shocked and confused bystanders, emotionally distraught relatives, and ambulance workers carrying body bags off the street. In the novel Modan uses vibrant colors in her illustrations, such as bright red or yellow to depict Numi’s clothes, or in a strikingly beautiful scene of a rural sunset; however, on p. 37, the scene of the attack is depicted in the gray tones of a newspaper. This sudden and distinct lack of color depreciates the violence of the scene, as the gruesome, bloodied bodies in gray color appear underwhelming in comparison to the rest of the novel’s vivid color scheme.
A few pages later death is once again rendered mundane in a scene at the morgue. The second chapter opens on p. 45 with a panel of a corpse lying on a trolley as a worker washes away a bright red stream of blood. A series of panels depict the everyday working aspects of the morgue, as workers shuttle corpses through different rooms, nail coffins shut, and fill out paperwork. At the bottom of the page, a worker leans over an open corpse, its brightly colored organs blatantly displayed. As she digs through the mass of organs, pulling out a long, snake-like intestine, she discusses lunch with a coworker: “how about Chinese?” The next shot shows the same coworker sawing through a lump of pink brain. By opening the scene in this fashion, Modan highlights the banality of death in the morgue, where displaced organs coexist with lunch plans. As the scene continues, death is continually understated, as a man comes in to identify a relative by comparing ears and asks for a videotape of the body, pleasantly discussing the matter with the cheery receptionist. When Numi and Koby arrive to find the unidentified body has been buried, the receptionist smiles broadly stating “knock on wood, there’s no shortage of bodies in this country” (48).
Even as Modan represents death as an everyday, common occurrence in a society that distances themselves from tragedy as a defense mechanism from the continual violence that hovers around them, she subtly captures the personal anguish of lost family members–Koby’s father’s ritualistic habit of visiting his deceased wife’s grave, and the cafe owner’s wife who grimaces and wipes an unseen tear from her eye when she reminisces about his lost husband. At the end of the novel when Numi and Koby discover that Gabriel still lives, the revelation is bittersweet. As Numi says “I wish he was dead. I wish it really was his body,” she expresses the intense grief felt by abandonment, where Gabriel’s death seems less painful than his rejection. In this way, the novel’s title “Exit Wounds”–which conjures images of physical destruction–instead represents a deeper pain, the pain felt by rejection, the deep emotional wound left by a loved one’s departure.
