'He deserves it.'

The Death Ray
by Daniel Clowes

The Clowes titles are coming thick and fast from Jonathan Cape recently. After the mental brilliance of Wilson I was satisfied if not blown away by Mister Wonderful. The latter's letter-box format perfectly suited its strip-form genesis but this latest publication (originally published in Clowes' Eightball comic book series - #23) is a gigantic, souped-up hardcover. Does this, and the striking cover, mean that Clowes has written some kind of super-hero comic? Don't you believe it. It may well be some kind of super-hero story but it's a very Clowesian one and anyone who's read any of his work will have an inkling of what that means.

We first meet Andy in 2004 and in the opening two pages he seems like another anti-hero to add to Clowes' stock. Married twice, divorced twice, devoted friend to an eighteen year-old dog called Dianne, Andy's altercation with a litter-dropping pedestrian is much like the first panels of Wilson; personal responsibility is raised immediately as a theme and Andy admits that his attempts to do what's right have become harder than ever of late - 'How the hell does one man stand a chance against four billion assholes?'

We then zoom back to Andy's adolescence in the 1970's for what all super-hero stories require in a spread entitled 'The Origin Of Andy.' Both parents having died he now lives with his 'Pappy' and apart from best-friend Louie is a bit of a nobody in most people's eyes, getting most attention from school bully Stoob. His girlfriend is miles away, he fantasises about his grandfather's carer, Dinah and at 17 he's yet to even sample his first cigarette. And that proves to be the catalyst to his transformation. There are plenty of people who've thrown up after their first cigarette but I'm sure none went on to develop super strength. Pappy hands over a package from his father (a famous scientist) that explains about the experimental growth hormone that he was injected with, activated by nicotine, and also mentions the existence of the death ray.

Together Andy and Louie struggle to work out what to do with this new found power, activated whenever Andy smokes, but their concerns remain pretty small. Saving the world is further down the list than revenge on bullies and getting a girl but through their various bungled attempts we begin to see Andy wrestling with the responsibility that comes with holding the death ray, a gun that only Andy can operate that makes its target disappear in an instant. Louie is a kind of side-kick, there to keep him 'honest' but when only one of a duo has any powers there is bound to be conflict somewhere down the line.

Reading this review you may already have found yourself thinking about some of the classic comics of the past with their orphaned heroes, raised by elderly parents or relatives and even more so of the alternative vision of vigilanteism in Kick-Ass. Does this book aim to pay homage or mock, subvert or simply hijack the super-hero mythology in order to combine it with Clowes recurring themes of inadequacy, bitterness and failure in the face of stupid and cruel world? Whatever the answer to that question I'm afraid there is something deflating about it as a read, particularly when held up against the biting humour of Wilson. It's been diminishing returns with these releases I'm afraid so I can only hope that Clowes' next piece of new material is a return to form. The franchise could do with a re-boot.

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'one last stab at romance'

Mister Wonderful 
by Daniel Clowes

After the misadventures of the glorious Wilson comes another Clowesian anti-hero, Marshall. Previously serialised in the New York Times, this collection of strips is brought together in his latest book through Jonathan Cape and presents an opportunity for us in the UK to follow another middle-aged man with a unique take on the world around him. With one failed marriage behind him ('I won't go into detail but let's just say my wife had some issues with fidelity, and several of my friends were involved, and when it ended I had neither wife nor friends.') and without having been on a date for six years it could well have been a future of 'increasing irrelevance' for Marshall had he not been recently bolstered by the evening he was '"befriended" by a strange woman' ('It was sort of like "Breakfast at Tiffany's," except in this version, Holly Golightly is an unstable, crack-snorting sociopath.'). So we join Marshall as he waits alone at a table for the blind date that has been organised by his friends.

His date is late however so we are thrown straight into Marshall's interior monologue which will dominate the story, sometimes riding over the speech bubbles themselves so that we get a sense of his losing track of the conversation as he comments on how the evening is going. After having virtually given up on his date and downed a couple of beers she suddenly appears. Natalie is a good-looking woman and so Marshall is simultaneously smitten and convinced he doesn't stand a chance ('Jesus, why am I self-deprecating even in my own interior monologue?'). This book is subtitled 'A Love Story' and described as a 'romance' by Clowes but anyone who has read any of his work before will know that things are never that simple. Damaged in their own ways, Marshall and Natalie stumble their way through an evening that always threatens to derail completely, events finally coming to a head at a party that Natalie had arranged to go to previously and to which she brings Marshall.

Marshall's fantasies about where this meeting may lead are dotted throughout, as is his tendency to let his temper get the better of him. There is certainly a more positive outlook to this book compared to Wilson but there is enough of that sharp humour to stop things getting too sappy. What is lovely is that Clowes wants to show that no matter what relationship disasters may lie in the past there is always the hope that there will be someone out there to help us make a better fist of things - even on a potentially disastrous evening where fists themselves will come into play on more than one occasion. Ah well, 'The course of true love never did run smooth.'

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'I love people!'

Wilson 
by Daniel Clowes


I've been a bit slow to read and review this one, especially as it's only about 70 pages and takes around only an hour to read from cover to cover. That cover to cover thing is worth noting as this is Clowes' first 'original graphic novel', by which is meant the first that hasn't been serialised previously, the first designed to be read from cover to cover. And yet it appears like a serial, each page a stand alone-sketch or vignette, which together provide snapshots of the middle-age of its sociopathic protagonist. According to the back of the book Wilson is 'a big-hearted slob, a lonesome bachelor, a devoted father and husband, an idiot, a sociopath, a delusional blowhard, a delicate flower. 100% Wilsonesque.' What is Wilsonesque? Well the first page should give you the idea.

From one page to the next Wilson attempts to connect with his fellow man (or woman) only for it all to crumble in the final panel. This structure had the effect in the early pages of making me laugh out loud at the end of each scene, but it's the kind of laugh that comes from the same comic stable as The Office, a laugh accompanied by a wince. As John Self said in his own review it's 'funny mainly because it’s not funny', and each punchline usually cuts right to the heart not only of the matter but the man. There is no social interaction too small for Wilson to turn into a confrontation, whether that be a casual conversation in a diner or passing a stranger in the street whilst walking his dog, Pepper.

Despite his claim to the contrary Wilson is far from being a people person and as the pages progress we realise that these random interactions with strangers really are the only human contact Wilson has, the rest of his time devoted to Pepper for whom he has developed a creepy falsetto voice ('People get really creeped out when you talk in the fake dog voice'). This wasn't always the case. In a classic page we discover something important about Wilson's past.

When he is forced into a last attempt to communicate with his father he begins a journey in which he attempts to find his ex-wife and confront a past filled with more than he ever knew. I won't say any more so as to avoid the surprises along the way, and some really are surprising, the book taking an almost surreal turn in the final third. You'll notice from the three pages above that Clowes employs various styles throughout, creating an effect (to borrow an observation from the person who leant me their copy) not dissimilar to one of those films that has multiple directors. Quite often the style will suit the sketch: a priapic nose as Wilson rhapsodises about fat girls (only for the comic pause panel to be followed by 'Of course, some of them really are disgusting'), a single colour to mark the simplicity of Wilson's staring at melting icicles, awaiting a moment of revelation. For that reason, and the huge weight of what we sense lies in between each page (and even sometimes between panels) this is a book that can be read carefully, slowly and repeatedly.

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