For centuries, humanity has dreamt of utopia, debating the social, economic, and ideological conditions under which civilization can exist in near-perfect harmony. One increasingly popular idea proposed by politicians and philosophers is an egalitarian system, where individuality and independent thought are encouraged, social equality is strived for, and the natural world is revered. And yet, our continued ignorance towards climate change and social unrest steer us away from this system. In our daily lives, once fictitious elements of dystopian nightmares have increasingly become commonplace. Is it possible that utopia was never meant for us but for another, more free-minded species? Michael DeForge’s hilarious and thought provoking graphic novel, Birds of Maine, offers a glimpse of what happens when birds occupy a utopian civilization on the moon’s surface. DeForge takes readers on a colourful journey through the depths of outer space so that we may return with some sense and compassion when it comes to our own planet.

Originally conceived as a webcomic, Birds of Maine acts as a retrospective of DeForge’s weird and wonderful mind, showcasing his dry sense of humour, sociopolitical insight, and surrealist drawing style. The loose narrative follows birds that occupy a socialist order on the moon long after the demise of civilization. There is no money, no work, and no lack of food or resources. Instead, birds pursue intellectual stimulation and pleasure, utilizing many layered fungal networks that dismantle boundaries between technology and the natural world. At the centre of this narrative is Ginni, a sardonic cardinal in the throes of adolescent self-discovery, her mother Chloe, a brown-headed cowbird and historian, and her father Magnus, an owl and leading voice in fungal computing. Through their adventures, the creative, intellectual, and sexual exploits of various other birds living in this colourful lunar society act as a springboard for DeForge’s satirical observations. In following these characters, we are drawn deep into DeForge’s spare and hallucinatory illustrations of utopia, only to be jolted awake by his absurdist jokes that speak truth to our own failed humanity.

Ginni acts as our tour guide in the novel’s surrealist landscape. As she attempts to find her purpose in life, DeForge uses her to demonstrate the personal autonomy and technological prowess made possible by a system free of property, class, and capital. With no workdays, DeForge’s citizens are free to explore their passions unencumbered by social responsibility. For example, Ginni is passionate about clothing design (a fraught career choice for birds) and practicing with her experimental punk band. However, DeForge depicts Ginni as a figure of discontent within utopia. Faced with the enormity of her future and the troubles of adolescence, Ginni is frequently depressed and dreams of alternate futures: life on Earth, as a clothing designer, or as a different kind of bird altogether. DeForge’s decision to grant his main narrator this added layer of inner turmoil allows the comic to transcend its 6-panel format in striking and original ways. In moments that focus on Ginni’s weary emotional state, such as scenes in which she looks longingly into the night sky, DeForge communicates the universal truth that we’ll always want what we can’t have, even in utopia.

But Ginni is the outlier, and Birds of Maine contains many hilarious, vibrant characters. While perhaps less relatable, other citizens do as much with their free time, roaming the moon freely in pursuit of intellectual stimulation, attending chess tournaments, and art exhibitions. And yet, despite this lunar society’s unmatched sophistication, DeForge’s citizens are impossibly unimpressed, drab, and sarcastic. The graphic novel is packed with killer dead-pan jokes that arise when the unchecked freedom of living in utopia has run its course. The contrast of the novel’s characters’ intelligence against the traditional behavior of birds acts a perfect vehicle for DeForge’s dry wit. Such moments, like a woodpecker attacking a tree and then admitting that, no, he doesn’t feel better, touch a sweet spot as they anthropomorphize our feathered friends in fun and unfamiliar ways. As we further explore his world of winged creatures and pastel wildlife, he turns his attention toward the world we currently inhabit.

In his sociopolitical satire, DeForge targets the class struggles present under our current capitalist system, ingeniously comparing them to a colony of bird’s simple-minded yet pristine socialist order. When Ginni’s mother, Chloe, decides to investigate the origins of her surname “Maine” (one of the few things held over from Earth), she has difficulty convincing others of our present reality. Terms such as “venture capital,” “collateralized debt obligations,” and “structured investment vehicles” seem so outrageous and made-up that they further dissuade them from our existence. Being confronted with these types of jokes proves to be a lucid, revelatory reading experience, given that I couldn’t tell you what half of these terms mean, yet they are real and acting tenets of our neoliberal system. DeForge has a remarkable ability to meld both bird ecology and socialist politics to point out that so much human behaviour is a symptom of alien ideas of power and competition, ideas that are at once abstract yet punctuate our daily lives. At one moment in the narrative, Ginni’s friend Ivy, tells her parents that she wants to study 21st century economics. Ginni’s parents react by comparing her decision to wanting to study “unicorn philosophy.” The further we dive into DeForge’s world, free of property and possession, the more comparable these two subjects become, and the more desirable his world appears.

Despite its rich comedic subtext, DeForge has instilled this narrative with philosophical ideas of utopian living that would replace our own. Our avian citizens live and develop their civilization in constant collaboration with their environment. For birds, technology and nature are synonymous terms. DeForge’s spare and hallucinatory illustrations do a stellar job of diagramming the inner workings of these systems. His eye-popping depictions of colourful trees, rivers, and hills are worth giving pause to appreciate in their full detail and majesty as they act as the lifeblood of this paradise and are respected as such. Pages without dialogue explicitly dedicated to illustrations of foliage and natural systems demonstrate the point that, as humans, we, too, once shared the same reverence for nature and renewable resources. Yet increasingly we have turned our back on the natural world and committed mass environmental damage to aid civilization’s advancement. But at what cost?

In our present moment, the future of civilization hangs in the balance. The threat of global industrialized capitalism making our planet completely uninhabitable inspires more memes than actual change. Michael DeForge’s Birds of Maine flies above such concerns, instead reveling in our misplaced social concerns and resulting mad-capped descent.