The first thing the reader will notice about Nick Merdasi’s Condoms is its physicality. Its square paperback format and the plastic “packet” it comes in are designed to mimic the packaging of its titular items. It’s a design element that immediately grasps the reader in thematic terms. Condoms is an autobiographical series where Merdasi looks to explore the impact of PrEP on gay culture; medication that being pre-exposured to helps provide HIV infection protection to those at high risk.
When we first meet the on-page incarnation of Merdasi he is in conversation with friends about how he no longer feels the need to use condoms because of PrEP. Seeing this not just as representative of a lifestyle change but also of a quantum step forward in medical development and scientific progress, Merdasi nevertheless has a fascination with collecting unopened condom packets. As the story progresses we observe his interactions with partners, including Jonno an older man in an open relationship, and briefly flash back in time too to his friendship with childhood schoolfriend Fiona where his fascination with condoms as ephemera seems to begin.
Condoms Part One is an intriguingly different approach to discussions on safe sex and the cultural rituals around it. This first instalment is set somewhere around the first year or so of the pandemic and in terms of the educational it uses Merdasi’s experiences as an object lesson in what to avoid rather than the usual route of instructional paths to take. In that regard Merdasi is unflinching in his depictions of his own dismissive attitude to safe sex during this period as his casual belief in his own invincibility in terms of his health becomes bolstered by his belief in PrEP as some kind of protective metaphorical armour.
This is one of the key strengths of Condoms – its author’s willingness to present himself at his most reckless and self-endangering without compromise or mitigation. Visually the story is told in tight, claustrophobic panels with the often pale pastel colours giving events an almost clinical feel. At times it does mean the book enters talking heads territory with perhaps not enough variation in perspective but arguably this also adds to the intensity of some of the character set pieces. This is Part One so we need to wait to see where Merdasi’s eventual thematic journey takes us but so far Condoms is proving to be a project of important conversations and vital social observation.
Nick Merdasi (W/A) • Self-published, £14.00
Review by Andy Oliver
