Editor’s Note: This is an advance review of Virgil, which releases on September 9 from Image Comics.
It’s sometimes said that everything has already been written, and that the trick is to write something familiar in a completely original way. Virgil, from Steve Orlando and J.D. Faith, feels like one such book. At its base, it’s a familiar tale of a man, ripped from his loved one, who fights through insurmountable odds and endless punishment in the attempt to see that same loved one returned. At its heart, though, it’s a fiery tale of identity, love, and the strength that comes from both. It’s a powerful read, and one that beats it’s way into your consciousness with surprising force.
Virgil is a cop with a secret. To his peers and the outside world at large, he’s a man of the system, shaking down corners and frequenting brothels like there’s no tomorrow. In reality, he’s a closeted gay man, forced by social circumstance to hide the loving relationship he shares with his boyfriend, Ervan. Their hope to escape the stifling confines of their day to day is shattered when Virgil is outed and Ervan is kidnapped, leaving Virgil no choice but to face the very system he was forced to represent.
Not only does Orlando defy convention by having a same-sex couple as the driving force of the read, but by utilizing the setting of Kingston, Jamaica, where homophobia is both rampant and violent, he’s able to raise the stakes in increasingly personal ways. This dangerous backdrop allows for some wonderfully layered characterization, particularly when it comes to Virgil himself. Orlando’s well-paced narrative allows for a natural progression of character, each page showing the lengths Virgil is willing to go to keep his secret life under wraps. When that bubble bursts, we see those same lengths put towards saving that life, as Virgil becomes a one-man wrecking crew of vengeful violence. Said transition ultimately drives a good portion of the book, and while there are plenty of gruesome deaths by his hand, they aren’t used solely as a vehicle for bloodletting. Virgil is a typical action lead in every way but one, and Orlando argues that it’s that one minute detail that actually makes him stronger. He wants what all of us want — life, love, the pursuit of happiness — and finds himself locked in a world that refuses to let him have it. It’s this struggle that makes the gauntlet the character goes through all the more enthralling, as every time he’s knocked down, we’re reminded of what drives him to get back up.
This sense of conviction is only furthered by Faith’s heavy, atmospheric art. The artist has quite a gauntlet of his own in this book, the unfolding narrative calling for an equally fluid sense of tone. From Virgil’s corrupt mask walking the streets to his honest and tender moments with Ervan, Faith ably captures the duality the character is forced to present. When the read tilts into full-scale revenge mode, it’s a natural shift, Faith having already established both Virgil’s sizable ability and passionate resolve. His deep blacks and hard angles go a long way in selling the book’s changing moods, especially when paired with Chris Beckett’s often surreally vibrant colors. They also cause some scenes to read as slightly confusing in their choreography, his various hatching methods at times conflicting. When he’s on, though, such as with Virgil’s brutal final showdown, he’s able to craft a level of nervous investment that only escalates with each turn of the page.
In the end, Virgil is a strong, emotionally draining read that’s as stirring as it is action packed. Orlando and Faith show a strong refusal to go easy, utilizing obstacles both physical and social to tell a story worth telling. There’s no certainty here, no warm belief that everything will be alright. Everything here is fought for, clawed and earned, and by the time Virgil reaches his bloody conclusion, you’ll feel like you went through the gauntlet right along with him.
