Magical realism is a tricky genre: tricky to describe and tricky to get right. When an author does get it right, as Tillie Walden does with Are You Listening?, pinpointing exactly how they did it can be tricky as well. A whole host of intangibles supports the fragile balance between truth and wonderment in a book like this, and trying to nail them down feels a bit like shouting out the secret at a magic act. Exposing the hidden wires wrecks the trick, and knowledge is no substitute for the joy a well-spun illusion gives ... One thing that's no mystery is the powerful role Walden's art plays in suspending the reader's disbelief ... Walden doesn't build up a thick, realistic magical world, but strips detail away instead. The story has the feel of a dream where everything is both larger-than-life and strangely featureless ... Still, the specialness of these two women and their journey suffuses every page thanks to Walden's busy, nervous, versatile pen ... every element is potent. Once in a while she takes time to pay homage to the beauty of the natural world; these pages have a huge impact.

Walden is up to her usual visual tricks in her latest, with intriguingly layered, intricately detailed images in rich, warm, sunset colors that lack concrete realism but cultivate powerful atmosphere ... For all its fantasy trappings, there’s a moving story of recovery and resilience here, as well: Bea in particular is searching for a safe place to call home, and the visual metaphor of building a road when you need one is particularly resonant. This artful, introspective graphic novel will likely be a hit with fans of weird fiction and could be a good crossover pick for new adults, too.

Walden evocatively sets the mood and tone with deepening, ominous tones of black and white. Only the first few pages (presumably reality?), contain color, albeit in dark tones ... There are tears, fears, some raw language and evil foreboding in this graphic novel that will leave readers pondering and contemplating the power of human connection.

... a dreamy road trip story with modern flairs of magical realism. The book’s West Texas landscape oscillates between fantastical and familiar, and the characters will have you rooting for them to the very last page ... teems with quiet growth and emotional friction ... The mystery of the novel is two-fold. Readers will race through the pages to find out both what happened to Bea and what the agents are hunting ... Along with nailing the emotional beats of trauma and grief, Walden perfectly captures the surrealism of West Texas. The endless stretches of road, the horizon-to-horizon rolling hills, the vast nothingness between the infrequent gas stations and diners—Walden has rendered it all on the page. The landscape becomes a character of its own as the book dips in and out of magical realism ... From the first page to the last, this book works. The explosive colors, the taut emotional energy, and the fantastical landscape weave a beautiful story of how running away can actually run you headlong into your problems—and, ultimately, into healing. Both the artistry and the storytelling strike their chords, turning this book into a symphony of illustrated literature. Bea and Lou’s journey is sure to stay with readers long after they’ve turned the final page.

Road trips are fascinating experiences that facilitate bonding, but also aid introspection, thanks to those moments when the talking stops and you’re left alone with just your thoughts and the landscape zooming past your window. Walden is deeply in tune with this dynamic, and she always finds time for quiet pages that let the reader sit with the information revealed in Bea and Lou’s conversations. This book is filled with beautiful natural imagery, with Walden’s blend of delicate linework, thick pools of black, and vibrant coloring imbuing the landscape with a sense of mystery and wonder. The sprawl of this environment often overtakes panel borders, which helps to reinforce an ethereal atmosphere ... Walden is very sensitive to how readers will respond to potentially triggering material. When Bea shares the story of why she ran away from home, Walden doesn’t visualize any of the dialogue, instead focusing on the water that Bea drags her feet through. This captures how Bea tries to wipe away the details of past events, but it also puts the reader in Lou’s position, gaining no extra context for the trauma beyond what Bea tells her. The emotional impact is there, but Walden doesn’t immerse the reader in an agonizing past. Instead, she keeps the action in the present, highlighting the bravery of Bea sharing her story with another person and choosing not to suffer alone.

Walden’s pace and productivity continue to astonish ... a good midpoint between Walden’s previous two books. It’s not as abstruse as On a Sunbeam, not as simple as Spinning ... There’s plenty of shimmery weirdness ... The story is more effective in darker spaces, when weird magic seems more possible ... Is Walden slowing down? It doesn’t feel like it; instead, it seems like she’s figured out a way to keep the same intense pace but balance herself to avoid spinning out.

Walden crafts a story rich in metaphor about two gay women on a journey through trauma and grief. The unpredictable, shifting landscape in which lakes appear and roads change course encapsulates the treacherous and nonlinear path of healing. Complex panel layouts in dark tones and moody reds often bleed together, and stretches of silent art fit the heaviness of the tone. Background characters whose eyes are hidden add to the rising sense of anxiety throughout the story. In the midst of this intense atmosphere, Lou and Bea develop a moving bond and deep trust that allow Bea to open up to Lou. The resolution offers hope that both characters will continue to heal. Characters appear to be white ... A tsunami of emotions—sharp and heavy.

This latest by Walden uses heavily detailed illustrations and luminous, startling color to depict both surreal landscapes and subtle expressions, imbuing the story with equal parts paranoid tension and quiet wonder. The tale’s fantastic elements are a mixed success; some moments feel effectively executed (a claustrophobically cluttered gas station, roads and bridges that contort in impossible ways), while others feel awkwardly made to fit (menacing but extraneous villains, the cat’s hidden powers). Ultimately, the volume is most successful as a nuanced portrayal of the connection between Bea and Lou, nearly a decade apart in age but young and gay and navigating trauma and loss in rural Texas.