written by Stefan Salinas

If there’s one thing that can be said about Within the Rat, it’s that it presents a very interesting take on the traditional autobiographical graphic novel format, but whether or not Stefan Salinas’s approach is completely successful seems to rely entirely upon how deeply the reader chooses to delve beneath its turbulent surface. Salinas is telling a story to himself, about himself, and if you happen to overhear it, he doesn’t seem to mind. If you miss the inside jokes, it’s your own fault.

For all of its flaws (typographical ones included), Salinas’s method of throwing in countless loose, scrawled sketches from throughout his own sketchbooks seems to give off the impression of a hazy memory, or a confused series of emotions, or an inability to perceive things properly—a sentiment that is matched by the text. Sequential comic panels jump from one visual style to another without warning, and there’s an exceptionally childlike reluctance to drawing proportionate bodies. It’s a very disconcerting collage, and it communicates Salinas’s emotional state more than it displays any artistic skill.
 
Between the gray tangle of illustrations, icons, and scribbles, there are a handful of words that focus on describing heavy-handed metaphors—some in narrative style, some like e. e. cummings poems. The entire set of vignettes is bookended by a few segments of a story about three children hunting a monster in the woods. Of course, it’s made excruciatingly clear that this is a metaphor for innocence and defeating doubt. The book references its own existence, breaks the fourth wall, and is thick with parable. If there’s a literary device, you’ll find it wedged in between these pages.
 
Salinas paints himself as a victim throughout the entire book—a victim of others, of his own promiscuity with older men, of the world. He inhabits multiple selfless, altruistic forms : a rat (who is a spitting image of Dr. DeSoto), an old woman in perpetual mourning, and a lion cub among his incarnations. He seems to express an unwillingness to take responsibility for any of these things, but by the end of the tale, Salinas finds enough peace to accept (and literally consume) everything that he is and grow from it, wearing his scars with pride.
 
If the work seems incoherent, it’s because it is. It’s jarring, twitchy, and filled with a confusing amalgamation of finished artwork and barely distinguishable sketches, related through an amorphous stream of consciousness. The best autobiographies will help the reader understand themselves better, but this serves more as a vehicle for Salinas to explore, very publicly, what he calls his Shadow Side.
 
Teachers and librarians may wish to note that Within the Rat includes themes of homosexuality (depending on how conservative your particular demographic is), and that there is a single, understated depiction of genitalia. Aside from that, the childish metaphors for alcoholism and sex are made so innocently that they’re almost nonexistent.
 

While not a work of genius, it’s well worth reading because the “scrapbook” method of creating an autobiography is a fascinating one, and far more engaging and intimate than any other type I’ve ever read. It’s visceral and effective in its own outlandish, unexpected way. Rat provides a kind of informal education in thinking outside of graphic novel traditions, and this technique possesses an immense amount of potential if harnessed intelligently.

-- Collin David

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