The Hunger and the Dusk #3: To Love What Death Can Touch

Singer/songwriter Nick Cave once wrote, “There is a vastness to grief that overwhelms our minuscule selves. We are tiny, trembling clusters of atoms subsumed within grief’s awesome presence.” about the concept of grief, speaking to the hold it can hold on a person or persons. The notion of its massive scale is undeniable, and the quote says just how harrowing the emotion can be. 

No matter how strong, courageous, or intelligent we are, grief is there to be a great equalizer. That sense of despair can be addressed, ideally in a healthy way, through making art. There’s a subsection of craft that feels like an exorcism of grief, offering creators an opportunity to process their sense of loss through the mechanisms of creation. A series like IDW’s The Hunger and the Dusk, at least in part, feels like the exploration of grief through an artistic lens. 

The Hunger and the Dusk #3 – written by G. Willow Wilson with art by Chris Wildgoose, colors from Msassyk with assistance by Diana Sousa, and lettering by Simon Bowland – is an issue of mourning and steps forward as the book grapples with the previous cliffhanger. Grief is a strong unifier for man and orc, as Tara and Callum build walls due to their respective pains. Meanwhile, after capturing and interrogating one of the deadly beings, the larger party realizes more about the Vangol’s origins. 

On the other side of the lands, the newlywed orcs Troth and Faran try to survive constant Vangol onslaughts, pained by the numerous losses. Rather than building walls, the duo grows closer under the mantle of leadership. The duo comes to trust and understand the other better, as they attempt to share a night of passion after a swath of funerals. That bit of passion is interrupted by news of what has happened to Tara and her group just as the human/orc party descends into the lair of the Vangol. 

Wilson’s script for this issue is an excellent moment of recourse after the bombastic, world-building, rich opening issues. Character and emotion get to take the forefront of this issue as the book’s leads and support cast take the opportunity to process the events thus far. The dual plot structure is a brilliant move on Wilson’s part to show the divergent and echoing reactions between Tara and Callum and Troth and Faran. While the first hints at their growing connection from behind emotional walls, the barriers fall for the second couple.

That split focus allows for multiple plotlines to develop and showcases the similarities between these two societies. Wilson makes clear over and over the similarities between the humans and the orcs, and grief is used as a stunning example of how that gap is bridged across groups. While the method and rituals surrounding death may differ, the loss of life is a striking occurrence for both groups. It not only unifies inside of the specific social groups but works to bring together larger groups and plotlines all at once. 

Grief is an excellent core to this issue, and Wilson’s script sets the baseline, which Wildgoose picks up on and runs within the art. The linework feels heavier in this issue, drinking in the abundance of somber emotion. Even as the book is more melancholy and introspective (lacking in massive action setpieces), the page has no compelling images. Wildgoose’s layouts return to a more formalistic composition, lacking the previous issue’s sharp, diagonally cut panels. That decision makes sense as the faces and expressions become the forefront of the issue rather than the action beats or kinetic movements. 

Close-ups and more cinematic, wide paneling through the issue make for a sweeping sense of the emotion, selling the grief in every image. Thanks to those thickly lined, well-defined panels, little details like Tara’s haunted eyes or the blistering passionate smiles between Troth and Faran pop. That decision also allows for the last page reveal to stand out, as it opens to an almost full-page splash that promises a return to the more dynamic style the book has played in before. 

Msassyk’s colors are just as vibrant as previous issues but with the added twist of evoking that sense of solemnness. Living up to its namesake, dusk has come to this issue in the interaction between Tara and Conwy, a member of the mercenary group that gives some information about Callum’s distant behaviors. The fading light moving into purple hues is an instant classic color decision and creates a wistful atmosphere for the issue. 

On the next page, once night has fallen, rich blacks littered with the oranges of flames and prickling starlight is enough to make a reader’s breath hitch in the throat. It’s a styling that feels like the organic progression of the scenery and makes for the perfect backdrop for the small moment of emotional growth. As the party rests in a long-dead creature’s bones, a sense of wonder and history is imbued through the palette. The shadows of grief hang overhead, but Msassyk’s coloring choices help to foreshadow the bits of hope burning in the night.