Erik Svetoft Spa
Writer/Artist: Eric Sweetoft
Translated by: Melissa Powers
Publisher: Fantasy Books
Publication date: February 2023
I have nightmares. Not clinically common, but frequent enough that I try to slow them down; no coffee or spicy food before bed, and definitely no scary movies after the sun goes down. While I can’t say I’m happy with not consuming caffeine or spicy foods, avoiding scary movies at night is something I haven’t broken in years. Reading never seemed to bother me, though. Although comics are also visual, which seems to be nightmare-inducing, I could sit through Junji Ito or a reprint of Tales from the Crypt until the evening. until i read spa Written by Eric Svetoft and translated from Swedish by Melissa Bowers, this book actually gave me nightmares.
I don’t want to over promote this, especially to those who consume horror voraciously. I get scared easily. Things scare me. If my baby goes by too fast, I jump. So don’t run to Swiftoft to see something terrible you’ve never seen before. This is not that book. Instead, what really terrified me about this book and sent me into a dream state was the way Sweetoft combined his visuals with the absolute horror of the characters’ indifference.
The art in the book tends to be cartoonish from the start, though that changes later on as the spa becomes increasingly bizarre and we’re immediately thrust into the uncanny. From the first image, we see a smiling character looking directly at the reader. This is not an unusual strategy in itself. Many comics and movies have characters staring at the reader in an attempt to draw us in, to lure us into following the thrill or action more intensely. Different creators have had varying degrees of success with this, but usually break the fourth wall or have the reader represent another character/location/villain/hero/being/thing.
exist spawe often don’t know what the characters are looking at. The first image is a notable exception, as we do see those awkward-looking monsters, which extend the argument for the universality of smiley faces to the other side of the character’s gaze. Or what about us? The monster in the third panel forms the body of the character and therefore the gaze, which puts the reader at the center. Thus, before the first two pages are over, the reader is stared at, comforted in the belief that it is these monsters who are being stared at, and then questioned as to whether the character is staring at another monster or the reader. Maybe a little bit of both?
Many of Swiftoft’s characters exhibit this uncanny look, which continues throughout the first half of the book. Before we reached the titular spa, the dead were watching us. When we arrived at the spa, residents were looking at us through the visuals of a welcome video. Then, more characters make eye contact as the panel takes us through the various spaces of the spa. The eyes are always on the reader. They were always staring at the pages from where we sat. They don’t let go until you turn the page and see new eyes doing the same thing. There is nowhere to escape.
In movies, there is a character who represents the audience being watched. The scary thing is making that character feel uncomfortable and therefore making us feel uncomfortable. But the beauty of Sweetoft’s comic work is that there are no stand-in characters. Perhaps, for some of us, we invented one or assumed that one of the characters introduced was experiencing the gaze. It can’t be us. Not us. Although, it’s clearly us. This strategy engages readers in a way that is unique to comics and, indeed, certain arthouse films. There’s horror here, but not the kind that jumps off corners. This fear lurks beneath the surface and seeps in when you least expect it. When the shadow suddenly moves. When you find an earworm, you’ve just killed an earworm. When mold suddenly spreads during the night.
Halfway through the book, the horror of the images became more concrete. The actual mold inside the spa and the pigs that appear around the corner are both surreal and strange, but mostly in a darkly comedic way. Nothing can truly compare to the look of pure fear in your eyes. But it wasn’t just the blank stares that attracted me. This is the coupling to the laws of the universe created by Swiftoft. This world is so close to our world, but still two spaces away. Just outside. Not far enough away to feel unreal, but far enough away to feel possible.
I want to tell you what “happened,” but this book isn’t about that. The back of the book gives enough plot: it’s the story of a spa for the rich that grows moldier and moldier until it all collapses. Indeed. I encourage you not to shy away from it because of its uncomplicated narrative. The simplicity of the events and lack of detail leads to some confusion in the narrative. It becomes more pleasurable to lean into it.
Whether you like the director seeing strange, cute creatures in every picture, the two plumbers unable to solve a problem that might make it worse, the guy with a pig nose as punishment, or the chef taking over a wealthy There is always something incredibly delicious about a client’s life for you to experience in this book. The book doesn’t shy away from deeply satirical commentary on the wealthy and the industries that cater to them. Soon enough, you realize that the characters’ mediocrity is part of their indifference to what’s really important. They simply believe they are untouchable. There’s a slight linearity to the events, but once Sweetoft gets going, you’ll be along for the ride no matter how much these characters make your eyes or stomach churn.
The book’s surrealism is complex, layered, and ironic. Nothing here is super appealing. The book respects the reader’s ability to follow along and finds comedy in the absurd (can’t find a room even if there is one) (the centipede monster gives the director a little kiss). No holding hands. There are only ongoing events that appear to be objectively observed.
This is where horror can really take over. Of course, the sight will linger in your mind long after you put the book down, but so will what happened. The corpses were easily disposed of, and the conference room was filled with corpses without comment from the harpoon-wielding guests. This is about as normal as the front desk clerk getting into a fight with her sister and then getting screamed at by HR for taking a personal phone call. It’s all too real. It’s like this book, it doesn’t make much sense, but what else in the world does it mean? Honestly, a herd of pigs riding horses through a mold-infested spa catering to the wealthy sounds like something out of a Tuesday news report, with seven pages of more real-world absurdity hiding behind it.
This comic doesn’t hold back. It criticizes, stings, teases. It’s terrible. It feels very real. It’s also fun to do. All the imagery, dialogue and design suggest that Erik Svetoft is having a great time; explosive definition and pure euphoria all at the same time. If you can immerse yourself, there’s no better guide than Swiftoft. What he’s going to show you is scary, horrific, but you’re going to laugh it off. When you fall asleep, you have to laugh deeply into your pillow and whisper “What the f*$%”. Your nightmares are the only place where everything makes sense.
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