There’s a schizophrenic feeling when you have a child, where something so common that literally every single one of your ancestors and most of your friends manage it nonetheless becomes laden with significance for you, personally. Really, the fact that it is so common makes it a thread connecting you to everyone else, and everyone else to you. The future belongs to those who show up - and the past belongs to the ones who made a future for themselves, because no one much cares about someone who died with a dissertation or a minor political appointment standing alone to commemorate them.
“Babyology” grapples with this. What is this thing that shows up as if by magic after nine months? Or worse, doesn’t? Why do you feel so alone and helpless as you watch forces beyond you push life into the world? And why is there that immediate feeling of connection, as your guts understand suddenly that roughly eight billion people just lost priority?
It gets very metaphysical. Fortunately, Owen Cyclops is a master of this. The connection isn’t just between you and you child, it’s between you and God, and then between your child and God in turn, as everyone realizes there is really only one way to approach the infinite. This melds with the author’s interest in theology - especially the more esoteric and paradoxical aspects. A discussion of, to pick one example, the Mormon solution to theodicity (“why does evil exist”) is worth the price of admission all on its own.
Aesthetically, Owen’s style is highly symbolic without being excessively abstract, and distinct enough that each panel grabs you as a set piece. It’s no coincidence that his other major genre is posters - I have several and they always grab attention.
Five stars, makes a great gift - you know, Mother’s Day is coming up.