This is the eighth of nine nearly wordless panels that introduce Flies on the Ceiling. Jaime's typically excellent linework is obvious here, maybe moreso because the scale permits so much fine detail around Isabel's eye.
Five of those nine panels (including this one) are filled with black space, and there’s a lot more of it in the fourteen pages that follow. Does it give the story a haunted quality? Sure. But I think it’s more about Isabel's struggle with the unknown depths within her, her fear that she doesn't know herself.
I don’t know if Flies on the Ceiling can be entirely understood. I look back at it today, twenty-five years after it was published, and see it as beautiful and powerful. But it’s not familiar to me. It’s not a story I recognize as much as it is one that I want to read and to experience again.
From the beginning of Poison River, Chapter One. Almost five full pages without a single word of speech or narration. A servant saves a small child from the cruelty of her employer, and hands that child off to a poor working man. This child is Luba, whom at this point, Love & Rockets readers know only as a mysterious woman who arrives in Palomar with her daughters. Now, those readers begin to get the rest of the story.