Laika by Nick Abadzis
Laika is the [true yet fictionalized] story of the first living being, from Earth at least, to enter orbit as part of the USSR’s Sputnik II mission. This 200 page comic follows the dog, initially called Kudryavka (“curly tail”) and later renamed Laika (“barker”), from birth in a common Soviet household to death as a propaganda tool after just a few hours in orbit. The story’s not solely told from the dog’s point of view however. The bulk of the comic is centered around the space program’s animal trainer, Comrade Dubrovsky, and to a lesser extent Dr. Oleg Gazenko, her superior, and their emotional reactions and relationships to caring for the program’s dogs while being aware that they could die during missions. Laika though, was sent with Sputnik II and without any method of return, prompting the biggest questions within the comic. In many respects, Nick Abadzis’ Laika is about destiny, or at least perceived destinies. While she was fated to die in flight, it was the chief designer’s idea and Kruschev’s approval that made it so.
At points the comic gives the chief designer, Sergei Pavlovich, attention, as one of terribly few sent to the gulags to be given a reprieve, he finds himself constantly striving for greatness at any cost. If it’s not forward momentum, it might as well be freezing to death outside his former prison. And while his motto is “I am a man of destiny,” his life is shown to be at the mercy of people far more powerful. Whether it was being sent to the gulag in the first place without trial or reason, or to having to cut corners in order to please Kruschev’s timetables, control of his life was often an illusion; an illusion perhaps masked by his repeated and defiant declarations of being “a man of destiny.” Laika, of course, is the most tragic victim of this false destiny, having no say in her suicide mission to space. She can only place her trust in those closest to her, from the abusive boy who initially owned her, to Dubrovsky and Gazenko, forced to send her to die upon being the dog specifically chosen by Pavlovich. This unconditional trust is shown to haunt most of those involved. A quote of deep regret from the real-life Gazenko provides the comic’s closing epitaph.
The work makes good use of the comic format’s strengths, from many free-flowing dream sequences to color choices like the blood red of the rocket that inevitably sends Laika to her death. It’s hard not to reach that splash page and feel anything but dread. There’s also something special about Laika being remembered and brought to life, albeit in frozen images, with so much love 50 years later for simply being a beautiful dog during extraordinary times, especially in contrast to her objectified use as a jab at Western powers. I have no memories of pets for this tale to draw on for emotional weight, but it’s safe to say Laika is touching and wonderfully illustrated.
