I’ve thought a lot about The Voice Said Kill.
Oftentimes when I write these large deep dives and then subsequently review the book, something is inevitably lost. (Or maybe, something is never realized?) Either way, it feels like I know the story so innately that the review is almost an afterthought — a chance to repeat some thoughts and wrap it all up in a neat little bow. And there’s nothing wrong with that — it’s a little easier of a review than some other pieces — even if I wish this whole endeavor could prove a little deeper and richer for myself, the readers, and the book itself.
Luckily, The Voice Said Kill further reveals its deeply primal mystery with each new interaction.
Courtesy of Image Comics.
In a lot of ways, The Voice Said Kill works because it achieves the intimacy and directness as promised by creators Si Spurrier and Vanesa R. Del Rey. Here, we follow park ranger Marie Burgau, who in addition to being very pregnant, must deal with a redneck (Buck) on a scummy vision quest (and her backup is conveniently experiencing the fallout from a bad bowl of punch). No high concepts from the usually multifaceted Spurrier, and everything compelling about this book will come from the tension of Marie’s situation.
Even so early on, it’s the character work and development that powers this gritty drama. In a vital chunk of #1, Marie has an interaction with a kind of local crime boss, Mrs. Watters, and the two bond and clash in equal measure about the ins and outs of motherhood, and what we’d do to protect our own. That’s an essential plot point of this entire story — it’s not just about being a parent, but how that connects Marie to some grander, deeper tradition. She is now a force of nature as much a person, and she’s having to navigate who she was, what she has to become, and the violence, love, and power that her new life will contain.
Courtesy of Image Comics.
So much of Marie’s own interest as a protagonist is trying to maneuver between these fault lines and spaces, and early on in issue #1, it’s an experience we can all connect with to a degree even as Marie’s unique circumstances push her connective might into overdrive. She’s savvy (but not so much so), irritable, and with just the right amount of grit — in short, a perfect protagonist for a crime story that’s not like it’s various genre “siblings.” If only because the actual crime is less significant, and what really matters in The Voice Said Kill is the nervous, often revelatory fallout once the deed is done. It’s an especially human crime story that wears that humanity with glowing pride, and that sheer relatability is enough to go traipsing through the swamps yourself.
And if you’re gonna go swamp-hiking, you couldn’t ask for more intense, confrontational settings to wander through. (Or maybe the swamps in The Voice Said Kill wander through you?!) In our chat, both creators mentioned how alive this particular swamp feels, and they may have even been underselling it somehow. Because this slice of the bayou is another masterclass from Del Rey — the world is drenched in sweat and endless heat, and you can practically feel how much it bogs people down and colors their ideas about and engagement with the world.
It’s also just the right kind of bizarre and psychedelic; just enough to make us second guess the scope of this story without ruining our early immersion into a place that already feels so wildly, unwaveringly tangible. The world bums with primal life — you can almost hear the giant bugs chirping, truly — and Del Rey understands that the world itself is as much of a character, and she forges this place in a way that we must understand it as much as we must know Marie.
Courtesy of Image Comics.
In fact, the characters feel deeply connected with the movements and energies of the world. Marie, for instance, looks absolutely miserable sweating and stomping through the swamp/the surrounding area. Sure, that makes sense given how deeply pregnant she is, but it’s just another way in which the world and its inhabitants are exuding real life and tension. The world is alive not just because the color of trees or the beams of sun blasting our players; it’s alive because everything abounds and connects with everything else like its very own ecosystem. In that way, The Voice Said Kill is operating on another level entirely, and one where every angle and element of this story is screaming for us to follow along.
Still, there was one voice/presence I couldn’t fully silence, and I just kept waiting for the hook or supernatural oomph to finally reveal itself. Spurrier effectively said that just such a pivot may not be a real thing, and that what we should enjoy is the innate magic of the bayou and how it plays with our sensibilities and perceptions. It ain’t ghosts or whatnot, but that real life magic does feel just powerful enough.
Courtesy of Image Comics.
Still, Spurrier did say that we can expect a pivot down the line that will have a fundamental impact on the story of The Voice Said Kill. Do I think that’s when the magic might actually appear? Sure, anything is possible. But even if it’s something else entirely, there’s still something wonderful happening. Upon re-reading this debut, I tried to see what and where the twist might emerge, and while I have some solid theories, I’m mostly struck by the fact that this experience is already magic in and of itself.
And I mean, like, some Prestige-level shit, where we’re watching carefully for the trick to happen and when we’re being deceived. It may not come, but I’m watching intensely all the same, and in that process, I’m brought in like few other books. Wanting there to be something makes me feel Marie’s anguish all the more deeply. Or, it helps me understand the true influence of this bizarre ecosystem.
Courtesy of Image Comics.
It does, in short, keep me engaged beyond the inherently compelling nature of this story about a woman just trying to unscrew herself before the biggest moment of her life. It imbues it with magic, yeah, but mostly it reminds us that this world can be magic with just a dash of extra priming. Either way, I find myself entranced to the point I’m completely at this book’s mercy.
I’ll probably keep thinking about The Voice Said Kill long after this review is published. And likely even longer after we get the remaining three issues. Because more than the setting, unique choice of protagonist, swampy vibes, and promise (or not) of magic, The Voice Said Kill works because it reflects its creators’ skills to create rich, involved stories that speak to something essential about our shared experience (love/honor, maneuvering an unknowable world, and the fight to belong and flourish).
Let this book enter your own brain pan, and I promise it’ll make itself wonderfully, painfully comfortable forever and ever.
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