Depresso [Paperback]

The title of this graphic novel makes the subject matter clear. However, it's anything but a depressing read. Brick has been the UK's leading cartoonist on development and environmental issues for decades, as well as a cycling journalist. His style and subject matter are eclectic, wide ranging and ambitious. 'Depresso' is a lightly fictionalised account of the mental breakdown he suffered after years of dealing with bleak subjects but hiding from his own demons. The story shows how the NHS deals and fails to deal with depression. The book also stands as a vivid autobiography, told with so much visual flair that the only apt comparison I can think of is David B's 'Epileptic', a similarly ambitious (and wonderful) graphic novel. Brick's account is harrowing at times, but never loses its wry sense of humour. He throws in cinematic and rock'n'roll references (and a superb section set in China) while tackling both the history and science of depression. It's in a different league to any other work I've seen on this subject and I devoured it more quickly than I wanted to, forcing myself to stop every other chapter so as to have some left. I defy anyone who is interested in graphic novels not to devour this book, which will reward rereading many times.

As someone who hasn't looked at a comic book since reading Tin Tin to my children nearly 30 years ago, and who tends to be rather snooty about the French male addiction to this form of literature, I was in for a delightful surprise. Despite its title, Depresso, is a riveting, rapid-paced read and a manual of hope that normalises depression, highlights the NHS' marginalisation of psychological services and the ill side-effects of pharmacological solutions. And it's all done in a hilariously and subtly drawn cartoons! I was astonished how the medium added expression and showed Brick's extraordinary sensitivity. But more importantly it could also hint about things through a surprising drawing that a regular text would be incapable of, or suggest something by a look that might take pages to convey otherwise.

This book, which presumably is an autobiography, is a tour de force - nay a masterpiece - and deserves wide readership. A riot of creativity illuminated by fabulous graphics -including explain-the-world punctuations in Tim Hunkin style - it follows the author's attempts to distract himself by manic cycling and fell-walking, camping in the wild, visiting China, couch potato TV watching, obsessive one-person sex addiction, graduating to yoga and canoeing. Anything but pay attention to his feelings! Classic masculine crisis here. Finally, he is propelled towards healing by an inner dialogue with a friendly dragon alter ego, a competent psychotherapist, and the despair of his partner, which he belatedly clocks when he discovers how to look beyond her breasts.

Importantly, this book sheds light on two further issues. First, that depression is not just an `illness' - as the billion dollar pharmaceutical industry would like us to believe - it is telling us something: it asks us to pay attention, even while we know not yet where to listen. Hence the dragon.

The second is the harm caused by the British tendency to send their children away to boarding school from a ludicrously young age and expect them to reappear as self-sufficient winners: "I think my parents are disappointed I've yet to be knighted", says Tom Freeman, the depressed hero of the tale, with ironic resignation. Or at the very least these children should emerge fully rounded adults. Surprise, surprise: they do not. See Depresso and take a concerned look at the current UK cabinet. I have myself written about this extensively, from my personal as well as professional experience; but it is very hard to convince the British that some of their habits are nasty. "The Making of Them: The British Attitude to Children and the Boarding School System"

"They didn't see me growing up", continues Tom. "We became strangers, emotionally detached. Home was the school, this medieval cloister. Now and then I visited some acquaintances called Mum and Dad." Getting depressed about it is a sane response to an insane situation, as Ronnie Laing might have said. And a jolly good way to hide the anger about the outrage we do to our children. The problem with the cabinet members - largely ex-public school - is that they are NOT depressed!

Brick's story is a testament to one man's rebel sub-personality having outlived its time and the torment in his soul because, though all the pointers are there, the shame about the 'privileged' education prevents him naming how abusive it was. Easy for me to see this is as a classic Boarding School Survivor double-bind, but it so hard to spot from the inside. The therapist gets to the point, highlighting how Tom displaces his anger through all kinds of left-wing causes: "What if you are the victim of a grave injustice you've been made to feel guilty of? You would be angry as hell, right?"

Boarding school is the worst training for intimate relationships. "I didn't know any women until I was 18, a mother included," says a Siergio Leone lone ranger figure sporting Tom's distinctive spectacles - the device Brick uses to stay vicarious whenever things get close to the bone. Boarding School Survivors have given up on trust. "One mortal wounding is enough in a lifetime," explains Brick. And yet the persistent love of a partner can be the only sure means to healing. Finally, Judy lets Tom know how his unrecognised wounds have been dominating her life, and he begins to get the message.

Great stuff! However, at the end I was less than sure whether the author himself had fully got the point he was making. What a mysterious thing is man!

This is Brick's first outing on a mental health theme. How much of the story is fact and how much is fiction is not known. There is deliberate ambiguity about the identity of Tom Freeman, the protagonist in DEPRESSO, as the back cover informs us that the work "...is only semi-fictional". Furthermore, throughout the book, Tom has an alter-ego, a white lizard who walks on his hind legs and is a benign companion on Tom's journeys through Scotland, China and despair. Terrifyingly, he occasionally turns into a fire-breathing dragon. Ultimately the real hero in the story is Tom's long-suffering partner, Judy, who has every reason to leave him, get him sectioned or at least never speak to him again, but patiently stands by and learns to understand and accept Tom, with all his faults. This is what the book is really about - understanding the human condition.
DEPRESSO is an intelligent and carefully crafted work of art. It is not only an account of one man's journey, but also a critique of the psychiatric system, a commentary on the side effects of medication, stigma, psychological processes and so on. Importantly, as personified in Judy, the significance of loving human relationships shines through. Whilst the reader is creatively taken to the pits of despair, the ultimate message of the book is one of hope. There are a growing number of books containing the narratives of survivors of mental distress, but there are few that have made me laugh. This book did, yet it also made me cry. In today's recovery orientated environment, DEPRESSO should be a set book for mental health students.
The biggest problem with DEPRESSO is that it ends after 263 pages. I wished it could have continued for much longer. What a brilliant, enjoyable and stimulating read; DEPRESSO is one in a million. I warmly recommend it.

Theo Stickley, University of Nottingham