Limbo By J. J. Lee'sDeb. 2023. pp. 353. $17.99. ISBN: 978‐1‐250‐2566‐1

Deb J. J. Lee describes their graphic novel, In Limbo, as a “5-year therapy session I can carry in my hands” (346). What else is a therapy session other than a series of questions, many of which remain unanswered? Questions such as “What does it mean to understand another human's perspective?”; “How can you understand yourself without understanding others?”; and “What inspires a person to change their perspective?” In many ways, this text is hyper aware of the reality of offering this therapy session to an audience to also carry, not just to read but to view in such an embodied medium as the graphic novel. This text is informed by a real human's experience of adolescence while also aware of the fact that many eyes will see (and react to) the images and ideas contained on its pages in a way the author cannot control or necessarily anticipate. In this way, I think there is a certain kind of bravery embedded in graphic memoirs, especially ones like In Limbo that take up the mantle of representing mental health issues that many young people, especially, face in silence. And yet, the voyeurism of viewing images makes this reading experience tangible in a way that is uncomfortable—there's less distance between me as a reader and the author in this format. Being a witness to the intensely intimate scenes on its pages feels, in many ways, like an intrusion that, despite the invitation, deserves privacy. As the title suggests, In Limbo's central question or impulse is about the perception of multiple truths or experiences at once, about how a person can become suspended between them, and about the struggle to realize and accept both. In Limbo is a graphic memoir tracing Deb J. J. Lee's adolescence as a Korean American immigrant caught in tension: neither child nor adult, neither fully American nor fully Korean, neither innocent nor guilty but “forever in between” (94). The vibrant cover image, depicting an adolescent Lee floating in colorful water superimposed at an angle across a blood-orange sun with silhouettes of birds flying in the distance, bubbles not quite bursting at the edges, captures the youthful feeling of floating through time, space, and memory—trapped by the same confusion of perception that it also suspends and maintains. This memoir focuses on the author's high school experience, particularly the ebbs and flows of relationships—friendships and familial—that function as lenses through which Lee articulates and narrativizes their experience now as an adult. Time and distance provide the opportunity and the relationships provide the visualization. Separated into three parts, the memoir is printed entirely in soft blue ink, quite stark, and limited in range compared to the cover image. The blue offers a subdued, fluid image that reminds me of being suspended in water, the way that it can both blur vision and provide clarity at the same time. In a similar fashion to Alison Bechdel's Fun Home or Craig Thompson's Blankets, the narration of the memoir works in tandem with the specific plot of the depicted scenes with two or more voices occurring on the page simultaneously—narrator Lee and character Lee. Eyes, both what and how they see, drive the narrative of In Limbo. In terms of plot, the memoir is bookended by the artist's desire to change their eye shape, namely through double eyelid surgery. Thematically, the responses to this desire from different people in Lee's life demonstrate that how one sees is a powerful thing. Lee's mother is the one who first introduces the surgery to teenager Lee, suggesting that it could be a great graduation gift, just like she had done in her own youth. In contrast, Quinn—a dear high school friend—cannot understand why Lee would want to change their body in this way and, on multiple occasions, strongly discourages Lee from it. This friend's inability to see Lee's perspective is significant and a consistent experience in this memoir as their friendship dissolves in the wake of Lee's suicide attempt and Quinn's confusion about her role in the circumstances leading to this event. Birds also play a significant visual role in the narrative. The opening image of the memoir is one of seagulls at the beach—birds paired not with words but with images of a young girl staring into the distance as if to watch the birds in the sky. In moments of high tensions, birds provide a pause, a nearly dissociative experience that suspends the character Lee out of the emotionally charged home, school, or friendship situations. This distance is both representative of Lee's experience of their own mental health crises that the graphic novel engages and narratively transitions out of these scenes of intensity. Birds, silhouetted against a backdrop of blue, sometimes the landscape clearly defined but more often than not elusive and undefined, offer a vision of hope that this moment will pass and signals to the audience that, even though the next scene may perhaps seem disconnected, Lee's observations of the natural and urban environment they exist in provide a link between scenes, ideas, and dreams. Parts 1 and 2 of In Limbo focus mostly on the memories and experiences that led to Lee's suicide attempt and subsequent engagement with therapy. Part 3, while refusing to provide any definitive answers to the questions the text poses, revisits different moments and memories in new perspectives informed by time, distance, and therapy. The solution to understanding perspective, in many ways, is the acceptance that sight is uniquely personal yet also fundamentally communal. In the final pages, after scene upon scene of Lee's mother's verbal beratement and physical violence, Lee reimagines a childhood experience where their mother chooses to stay in bed, cradling Lee's small body, signaling support and love and compassion that remained so elusive during Lee's adolescence. This depiction—unclear whether it is an imaginative interpretation or factual memory—demonstrates acceptance of the complexity of Lee's mother as a human with her own perceptions and reasonings and experiences. She is not only the person who hurt Lee but is also the one who birthed, cradled, and welcomed. Perhaps this is the goal of the therapy session that is In Limbo, to recognize that understanding another person doesn't necessarily offer a fix to the problems we face as humans but can offer an understanding of ourselves, which is peace in and of itself.