Hope Exists: Darcy Van Poelgeest and Ian Bertram Discuss Their Image Comics Saga Little Bird

A young Canadian girl—the titular Little Bird of the new graphic novel from creators Darcy Van Poelgeest and Ian Bertram—finds herself caught up in a bloody rebellion against the theocratic government of the future United Nations of America and its all-powerful Bishop.

Darcy Van Poelgeest and artist Ian Bertram were kind enough to chat with us about the new book, which arrives this month in a handsome hardcover edition from Image.

Darcy, given your background in screenwriting and directing, can you talk a bit about how the process of working on a comic book differs?

Darcy Van Poelgeest: In some ways they are very different and in other ways, no different at all. The differences are largely logistical ones; creatively it feels very similar. Scale has a lot to do with it: on a film you’re working with dozens of people; on a comic, three or four. One of the things that I loved about making Little Bird, and which will keep me making comics, is how intimate the process is between myself and the others involved. Being this close to the canvas, with little or no compromise required, is the most wonderful feeling. I’m not sure a story like Little Bird could have been done any other way.

Ian, you’ve got a more extensive background in comics and graphic novels. What did you each bring to the collaboration?

Ian Bertram: One of the coolest things about working with Darcy is how he thinks about story. It’s a different approach than what I’ve done before. We spent a lot of time bouncing ideas off each other, and everything was very collaborative. I felt free to improvise. The process took on a jam session feel—nothing was out of bounds, and everything was encouraged. A truly rare thing.

On top of all that, the man can write. His ability to build character with a word, or to give a measured pace to a book that [moves at] breakneck speed is unreal. [A good example is] how he handles chapter 5: there is an absurd amount of visual information in that chapter, on top of a huge amount of story that needs an ending. It would have been so easy to let it slip into indecipherable chaos, and yet he brought it home with so much grace and power. It honestly boggles my mind.

Along the same lines, can you discuss your working process with Matt Hollingsworth and Aditya Bidikar? There are design elements that carry through from the front cover to the back, a feat that must have required incredible collaboration.

IB: Matt and Adi are incredible. I remember drawing a double page spread for chapter 2, giving it to Matt, and thinking in the back of my head that it would be a red, hellish sea. The page he turned in changed the way I saw the book: the dream was no longer a brutal wasteland where salvation would be carved out through toil, but a midsummer night’s dream. A place where time stands still. Tentacles writhe and giant owl eyes stand guard, all bathed in moonlight.

Adi brought a level of expertise and ingenuity to this book that I didn’t think possible. Just one small example: in chapter 5 there is a “BOOM” sound effect that takes up a whole panel. I love it, and it was all Adi. I had drawn the whole panel, and he came in and placed the sound effect over it, and deleted all the negative space. As soon as I saw it, I was blown away—not only did it work seamlessly with the story and the art, but the experimentation and his obvious love of the book [actually] inspired me.

Ben Didier designed the logo for Little Bird years ago. I thought about it as a touchstone for the book: if i looked at it, I remembered to bring a softness to the work. It is the perfect mix of gentle poetry and winding curiosity. Whenever I see it, I smile.

DVP: We all worked closely together, but it was equally important that we all got to work away from each other, so that everyone had the time and space to bring themselves into the work.

Matt largely did his own thing unless we had a specific request or in the rare case that color was telling a very specific bit of the story. With Aditya I was more involved—the lettering is really an extension of the writing process, and when done well it transcends [the] writing and works with the illustrations to become performance.

A huge part of my job was just constantly communicating what Ian and I were doing to everyone else involved so that we were all working from the same place. That included working with [designer] Ben Didier to make sure the chapter breaks and various design elements also became a part of the story. Everyone had a role to play in terms of telling the bigger story.

The book begins with an acknowledgement of Vancouver as Musqueam ancestral (and unceded) land. Can you speak a bit about the First Nations influences on the story? What’s your relationship to the Indigenous communities in BC or down south?

DVP: Actually there’s been some confusion from readers and reviewers that I’m writing about the Musqueam people. I’m not—it’s a land acknowledgment. I’ve already witnessed some really interesting conversations take place due to it being there, so that acknowledgment be at the front of all my work regardless of the subject matter until I feel as though it’s no longer helpful.

But more to your question; prior to working on Little Bird I spent time doing some documentary work for the government as well as non-profit organizations, working with First Nations People and indigenous communities in the Vancouver area. And both my mother and grandparents spent a good deal of time standing with indigenous communities at protests, protecting wildlife and old growth forests here on the west coast of Canada, all of which had a profound impact on how I see the world.

We’ve come a long way in recent years, but many years ago when I had these initial experiences—sitting across from elders and hearing their stories first hand of what it was like to endure the residential school system or the legacy of cultural genocide—to be honest, I wasn’t sure what to do with what I was hearing and experiencing at the time.

I certainly didn’t set out to tell a uniquely indigenous story with Little Bird, and I wouldn’t personally describe the book in that way. But as I began imagining this world, and the mechanics that drive it, it became more and more difficult to not see the protagonist as being connected to the indigenous community. When I look around today at who is advocating for the environment, for climate justice, who’s leading the march on progressive change—it’s often women, and quite often indigenous women.

At some point in the process it began to feel disingenuous to have Little Bird be anyone other than exactly who she is in this book. Also Ian has pointed out on more than one occasion that Little Bird looks a lot like my daughter (who is mixed Black, white, Chinese and Indigenous) so maybe some of this is just me imagining her in a world where she doesn’t take shit from anyone.

The book’s design elements are incredibly distinctive. What inspirations did you draw upon for the Canadian civilization, and then for the very different American one?

IB: I mostly drew on my understanding/total lack of understanding of the United States of America. It’s a surreal place, and I wanted to impart a sense of desperation and hope in its construction. The juxtaposition of the frightening and comical cross on the American flag with the sickly inhabitants of the new Vatican comes to mind: united under one belief system and destined to rot.

Maybe their hope is in the construction of the new Vatican: every block of the buildings carefully arranged, one on top of the other. A depiction of strength and wealth, but one that is rigid and unable to adapt. The elites trying to find that perfect balance. Inequality and class disparity versus pious platitudes and fear of the other.

I’m an American who married into a Canadian family, and I’m always fascinated by the small but meaningful differences in perspective. Were there conversations between the two of you that changed the narrative? 

IB: Over the course of making this book we had so many conversations about what was happening in Canada and the U.S. I think I felt very responsible for critiquing the U.S. in these conversations, and Darcy handled Canada.

DVP: I don’t know how much our perspectives changed due to which side of the border we’re on. I think we see the world in fairly similar ways. But we definitely had many conversations about the specific story we’re telling, and having Ian’s perspective helped shape the narrative.

A lot of that is just bouncing things off Ian to see how he feels about it [during] the writing stage. I wanted to write Little Bird for him, and Ian has such a unique style, it just wasn’t going to work unless he had input on what I was doing. I didn’t want him to draw anything that he wasn’t connected to.

I understand that you’ve been working on this book for several years. Given the nature of Little Bird’s conflict, were there any real-world events that changed your perspective on the story?

IB: When Darcy and I started the book, it was before the pendulum swung towards isolationism and populism. I very much hope the world of Little Bird will remain science fiction.

DVP: We started this book nearly seven years ago, and it is very much a reflection on the past more than current affairs, but the past often repeats itself. It’s been an unsettling experience to see how quickly things have escalated toward the fictional world of Little Bird. We’re still a long ways away from what we’re exploring in the book, thankfully, but certain parts of the story hit me harder than I’d anticipated when I looked up from my work. Steering clear of spoilers, the recent operation of separating children from their parents at U.S. border broke around the same time we were finishing off the final chapter and at some point I just started to cry while I was working. It was a scene that was already challenging to realize, but seeing it happen to real families…

I think of the horrible damage that’s been done to Indigenous communities when their children were taken away to attend residential schools. It’s unimaginable that this could be happening today.

How much of the book’s allegory reflects what we’re seeing right now in the world, and how much reflects concern about what’s to come? 

DVP: I suppose all of the above. We’ve seen it in the past, we’re seeing it now, we’ll see more of it in the future. It’s kind of a funny thing, because in science fiction we expect to not see the world we live in, and we disguise what we really want to say about the world with something other than ourselves. I wanted to take a different approach, because truthfully if we’re to be afraid of any organized threat 2,000 years from now, it’s probably not aliens or giant robots—it’s going to be something that already exists. Something in the open that has largely gone unchecked for a long period of time. As uncomfortable as it is to admit, we know our perpetrators far more often than we don’t.

There are elements in the story of surreal horror and dread, but ultimately the book offers a sense of hope for the world. Which feeling is predominant in yourselves at the moment?

IB: It depends on what day you catch me. I think the world might be alright. But compared to what? We are still dealing with the same power structures [and] fears. Everyone I talk to has the sense that things are bad but we can’t agree on why. We have ideas—ideas that could change things. But how would we even start?

But if you asked me tomorrow, I would say that a sense of hope is the guiding light. And when Little Bird fights to understand the world, it’s a beautiful thing. Hopefully it inspires people to stand up and take a look around.

DVP: I feel all of it, all at once. This is what it feels like to be alive! The ocean is never still. But ultimately, I’m hopeful. Not that one day it will all be sorted out—it won’t be. But I think we’re seeing a growth right now towards a greater consciousness and a more holistic view of how to exist in the world.

I believe Little Bird is a reflection of that view, not just in the story itself but in the manner of which it’s been told. “Hope exists” yes, and I believe our best years are still ahead of us as a species. Apart from the dread and horror, there’s a strong sense of optimism in the book, and I feel like that’s been a big part of its appeal. I’m excited for it to reach new audiences in this format and for readers to ask themselves some of these same questions.

Preorder Little Bird, available November 26.