Smoke, written by John Berger and illustrated by Selçuk Demirel, is a pictorial prose poem that—from behind a mask of levity and charm—presents a compelling argument about our condemnation of the cigarette.

Berger begins with a brief history of smoking: “We described journeys . . . discussed the class struggle . . . swapped dreams.” His words pop on the pages dominated by white space. Opposite them, Demirel illustrates innocuous smokestacks, ashtrays, squinting individuals taking a drag⏤wherever and whenever they’d like—in restaurants, between games of tennis, etc. Smoke curls from mouths, from trains and chimneys. In one drawing, smoke ascends into a nude silhouette that hovers above a line of old-fashioned houses.

Suddenly the narrative switches. Smoking is declared deadly and becomes a “solitary perversion,” while the environment is polluted with other, deadlier fumes. The smoker, according to Berger, becomes a sort of outlaw, while the real culprits go unnoticed.

An instinct might be to flip through this slim volume and allow its vivid, sensual images and sparse language to pass through you. But Smoke is deceptively simple—its power lies in the careful pairing of the two forms. Digested slowly, this small book produces a mounting tension meant to incite criticism, and cause us to examine our ever-changing societal values.

New York Review Comics.

—Review by Anna Vilner