Love Everlasting #9: Love Is Cruel, Love Is Kind, Love Is Never, Never Blind

As an abstract concept, love is filled with oxymorons and endless contradictions. It is forever and eternal but also finite and fleeting. It transcends all things but can be broken and hurt as much as it soothes. 

Those dueling expressions exemplify some of what makes love such a fascinating concept to explore in fiction. It’s an ocean of feeling and thought, being as logical or inconsistent as needed for the story’s sake. That might be part of the thesis or core of Love Everlasting; the notion that while love is forever, it doesn’t necessarily mean it is a boon or gift. With previous issues, the creative team has made apparent love is more complex than passion or physical attraction, and it can undertake more sinister attachments. 

Love Everlasting #9 – written by Tom King with art from Elsa Charretier, colors by Matt Hollingsworth, and letters from Clayton Cowles – continues its exploration of Joan’s life and love if it isn’t cut short by the time loop circumstances. The romance of Joan and Don is still trapped in 1963, but the couple has entered their empty nest years, with both sons grown and out of the house. The younger son, Timmy, is not in college, while the older one, David, is on the path to marriage. As Joan and Don adjust to the changes, life throws a curveball as Don is diagnosed with lung cancer. 

The issue splits its focus between Don’s deteriorating health and the upcoming marriage of David, the two events threading together as bitter reminders of what Joan is trapped in. After refusing treatment to stay healthy enough to attend his son’s wedding, Don manages to survive and give a passionate speech at his lowest before passing days later in the hospital. Joan narrates through the grief and loss and reveals the lack of love she’s felt over the years during a brief exchange with the funeral company. 

The story allows King and Charretier to slow down the pace established in the first arc and dig even more deeply into Joan than in the previous issues. Now that she’s entered the midlife era and the creative team has shown more of her life than ever, the issue morphs into a more introspective, meditative look at the circumstances of love. Contrary to the title, Joan’s narration (and King’s plot) clarifies that love is not everlasting and that abstract concept is fleeting. Joan is resigned to the fact, and the issue makes the point by never having her break like the previous issues, instead offering a deadly stoicism that only cracks towards the end of the book. 

Charretier channels that sense of longing, regret, and bitterness through her linework, capitalizing on the old version of these characters. The lines around Joan’s eyes contrast with Don’s still more easygoing nature. But behind his demeanor, the strain of a body ravaged by a deadly disease is evident on the page. Veins bulging in the forehead, the progressive slimming of proportions while clothing overtakes form, and finally, the naked form of a man racked with illness. It’s a harrowing transformation that Charretier depicts masterfully, selling the emotion (or lack of) in every panel as Don grapples with the disease through the power of denial and optimism of living on through his son. 

King lays out Don’s motivation before a diagnosis is ever declared and, in doing so, reveals more about the conflicting personalities of Don and Joan. He’s the ever-optimist that lives for others and would instead grit through the pain to reach the other end. Joan is a realist and wants to address the issues, but she knows in the future, nothing matters because of her reality. These ideologies create a sense of tension in the first third of the book. Still, King and Charretier decide to switch the dramatic core to the disease itself once cancer is identified. 

That allows Charretier’s visuals to hone into the progression of a body at war with itself. At the same time, King focuses on how life shifts as this immortal, invulnerable woman must watch her “love” deteriorate before her. Even under the high concept of endless romances, King ensures the emotion is grounded, and the notion of watching a loved one die is undoubtedly a concrete anchor. There’s a narrative mercy in that Don does get to live and see his son’s wedding, eking out a few days afterward before passing. What could have been a greater tragedy is instead a moment of peace for Don, but it only heightens the pain Joan must experience. 

The sense of longing and quiet suffering is exemplified by Hollingsworth’s coloring in the issue. The hues of pink and purple evoke a more melancholy, heavier atmosphere, contrasting with the lighter tones from previous uses. Even in the palettes of Joan and Don, that sense of time spent rears its head through the graying of temples and overall hair. Once the wedding passes, the color literally drains from the remaining pages, first to a gray tone with Joan in sepia as Don gets closer to death.

Then after his passing, the world goes to black and white with only the briefest flashes of color in titles or the occasional panel. It’s a stark division of Joan’s life with and without Don and reinforces the detachment that comes with immortality. Only in the final moments of the issue, as rage and then acceptance break through the wall of detachment, does color begin to return to the page.