The Allure of Pictures and The Printed Word.

Capacity by Theo Ellsworth is by far the most beautiful book I have held in my hands, read, looked at, pondered, understood, not understood. A squarish, thick graphic novel that I stumbled upon in my favorite comic book store. Looks like any other little-known, arty book in the store. Upon closer inspection, the pages contain a marvel in the world graphic novels. Capacity. A freakish, fantastic world illustrated in back-and-white pen drawings, meticulously detailed, each square inch of intertwined, cross-hatched flat space a world in itself. An audacious attempt to illustrate the images that appear so frequently in the author's head. Characters banter mischievously throughout the pages of the book, among the myriad of dots and dashes that come together to form a congested mass of wildly imaginative scenery and action. Hand-written words that are so natural you can tell they just came out of someone's notebook. It's not condescending; it's simple. Language that has earned plaudits from journalists, writers and artists alike. You could spend hours deciphering one of the pictures, the beautiful universes that muddle together into an image that looks like a winding, lopsided dream. The book begins with a strange, robotic illustration, also featured on the cover, that the author describes as "the reader". You are immediately placed (gently) into this story as a creature that fits in, so when the giant, ever-changing friendly beast places you on the chair he has so thoughtfully strapped to his antlered head, you don't feel so strange. The author does what many seem to forget - he makes you a character in the tale, and frequently interrupts the story to apologize for the strangeness, saying things like "Oh, by the way, are you still doing okay? Thanks for sticking with me through all of this! Here, have some more imaginary tea!" The author presents himself as someone who is hospitable, friendly, and perfectly human. We grow to like the author. This is really what sets Capacity apart from other books of its kind. You are not merely thrown into the world of fantastic creatures, mysterious cities, dark streets, and cryptic wizards offering you magic glasses. You are told the author's story in such a way that you forget about the insanity. He switches on and off from telling the true stories of his abandoned projects and his experiences of living out of a car. He then goes back to his dream-like histories, a welcome break from his somewhat lonely and obsessive life. The book is a like a Russian doll, a story inside a story inside a story. You would be confused if not for the author's frequent check-ups.

I was trying to pick a book out at Bergen Street Comics that day. This was before I had laid eyes on Theo Ellsworth's book. There was one I'd been eyeing for a while, a beautifully illustrated, wordless hardcover called Weathercraft. But, as I always do, I decided I would keep looking for a bit before making a big decision. I was a little bit put off by the fact that there was no dialogue or narrative in the book. While the illustrations were stunning, the experience of "reading" the book was like being

blindfolded, then dropped out of a plane and into a forest where there's lots of squirrels and stuff. You can sort of get a gist of what's happening by piecing together what little information you gather from your surroundings, but there's really nothing there to relieve your maddening curiosity and awkward misplacement. Capacity has a certain allure because of its conversation-like narratives and totally unpretentious descriptions, with an equally amazing supply of intriguing pictures. Sorry if I'm over-using corny analogies, but reading Capacity is like eating a chocolate bar with nuts in it or something else kind of chunky. Every bite of chocolaty sweetness is broken by a textural freakout of something else. A perfect balance and equilibrium between chocolate and nuts, words and pictures. Both are deliciously enjoyable, and this is what makes Capacity an incredible book.