“We never get tired of running from ourselves.”

The Underwater Welder
Jeff Lemire
2012
Topshelf Productions

Jeff Lemire’s 2012 original graphic novel The Underwater Welder is a horror book, despite being labeled as “GRAPHIC NOVEL, DRAMA” on the back cover. It’s not horror in the traditional sense, as it does not feature scary imagery, gore, violence, archetypal characters (monsters, slashers, aliens, supernatural beings, etc.), frightening mise-en-scene, or any other generic horror elements designed to create dread and fear in the reader. The horror in Lemire’s follow-up to the widely acclaimed Essex County (2008) follows suit with the style and tone that Lemire has become known for in his original works. Much of Lemire's oeuvre predominately features ordinary characters who lead relatable lives that aren’t grandiose or vastly different from the average Canadian’s. Lemire prides himself on setting his stories in Canadian landscapes, accompanied by depictions of white Canadian culture and pastimes, as well as pitting his characters through suffering of some sort. Like filmmaker/fellow Canadian Denis Villeneuve (Sicario, Polytechnique, Prisoners), Lemire has a gift for capturing internal struggles and presenting them fully realized on the page. Not only are his stories solid, but his artwork has one of the most distinctive styles in contemporary comics. The self-taught Lemire experiments in The Underwater Welder by combining his iconic black-and-white colouring & heavy inks with interchangeable water colour sequences over thinner inks. 

Lemire combining his traditional style with the new.

Set on the coast of Nova Scotia, The Underwater Welder follows Jack Joseph, the titular welder and burgeoning father, as he ventures offshore one last time before his pregnant wife Suse gives birth to their first-born child. The story is broken up into four chapters, each one with its own title that is fairly suggestive of what’s to come, both literally and metaphorically. Flashbacks are a constant in this narrative; without them, the story would not work. Damen Lindelof (Lost, Star Trek, Prometheus) in his introduction argues that The Underwater Welder is "the most spectacular episode of The Twilight Zone that was never produced." Elaborating on that, The Underwater Welder reads like a dream at times. It’s equal parts tranquil and serene, often providing Jack with a sense of calm while he’s underneath the surface, and equal parts surreal: Jack enters a strange place when he dives down to repair the rig he’s tasked with fixing. The ocean itself is a foreign environment, and like Jack’s experiences, the ocean brings forth a solace of sorts as well as the fears of what lurks beneath. When Jack descends, he not only enters the estranged terrain of the ocean, but also the murky depths of his own mind; it’s kind of a cliché to relate the ocean and one’s subconscious like this, but Lemire’s execution of what follows is what redeems him from his own entrapment of overused narrative devices. 

It’s revealed as the story unfolds that Jack’s father Pete disappeared mysteriously two decades ago on Halloween night (double check the date of this review). This sole event is what drives the narrative and leads Jack to explore his own inner world. Meanwhile, Jack neglects the world around him, leaving his pregnant wife to fend for herself and prepare things for when the baby comes on her own. Besides neglecting her at a time when she needs him most, Jack’s few interactions with Suse are sparse and brief. Jack is a lackluster husband and partner. It’s clear that Jack’s daddy issues are affecting his transition into becoming a parent himself, and like any good husband/fledgling father, Jack abandons Suse at the worst possible time. Just as everything begins to crash in Jack and Suse's lives, Jack decides to abandon ship and heads back into the water. Just when he thought it was safe to go back into the water...

A reflection (of a reflection).

The horror in The Underwater Welder stems from the unknown. Jack, along with everyone else in the nameless town of Nova Scotia, believes that Pete was diving during a storm on that fateful Halloween night twenty years ago, but his body was never recovered. Besides not knowing the fate of his father, Jack is also afraid of the responsibility of becoming one himself. Something else that remains uncertain is where Jack goes at various points in the novel. It’s suggested that he sinks inside of his mind, but it’s never entirely clear. Cue The Twilight Zone vibes.

On the art side, this book is a treat for Lemire fans and newcomers alike. Lemire’s linework is it’s cleanest during the sequences I dub as taking place in “reality,” particularly those when Jack and Suse are together. Choosing to make the book black-and-white allows Lemire’s pencils and inks to really shine, as when his art is coloured like in his Vertigo series Sweet Tooth, the focus of the art is no longer solely on the structure of the linework, but also on the textures the colour palette creates. Rather than solely using his signature combination of thin lines and thick inks, Lemire layers his work by utilizing watercolour washes and experimenting with lighting. Lemire’s use of watercolour creates an effective underwater aesthetic during the underwater scenes. He also employs watercolour grey tones (with minimal inks) for the flashback scenes featuring Jack’s father Pete, which creates a sense of nostalgia that translates to the reader well. 

An example of Lemire using watercolours overtop of his thicker inks. 
The watercolour naturally gives an underwater aesthetic.

What The Underwater Welder is ultimately about is accepting that which you cannot change. It’s about giving into the horrors of grief rather than ignoring and repressing them. The Underwater Welder demonstrates that it’s okay to be vulnerable to our emotions. By accepting grief as a natural part of the human condition, we are able to strengthen ourselves emotionally and prepare to build a better future for ourselves. Jack’s story isn’t all that happy, but acceptance isn’t always easy and his story is a good representation of this. In Nietzsche’s terms, we need to become critical historians; we need to overcome our long established antiquarian ways -- to let go of the old and pave way for the new. 

“Isn’t that what people do?”

Why Are You Doing This?
Jason
2004
Fantagraphics Books

Jason is the cartoonist who, on the back cover flap of his book Why Are You Doing This?, describes himself as follows: “Jason was born in Norway but lives now in France. Like most cartoonists he wears glasses and is balding.” It may not be obvious to most readers, especially those foreign to his stylings, but Jason revels in deadpan humour, monotony, and expressionlessness. You will find those three things in most of his works, and especially so in this translated-from-the-French 48-page comic from Fantagraphics Books.

The premise of this story is considerably similar to a lot of generic Hollywood action/thriller films that unfortunately present themselves every year in the megaplexes around the continent: Alex, recently broken-up from his partner and down on his luck, is miserable and anti-social (though you’d be hard pressed to tell aside from the dialogue since Jason draws majority of characters with the same blank facial expression). His friend Claude tries to help him get over the break-up blues, but with no success. Claude tells Alex that he will be gone for a couple weeks on vacation and asks him to water his plants while he’s away. Alex, to both Claude’s and the reader’s surprise, actually leaves his apartment and does just that. While there, Alex glances outside and notices a strange looking man peering at him in the window of the apartment building across the street from him. It seems weird and harmless, so Alex doesn’t make a big deal of it and instead drinks some bad milk from Claude’s refrigerator before leaving.

Images and (no) words

Before I continue with Jason’s playful satire of Hollywood thrillers I’d like to draw attention to how skillful Jason is at showing and not just telling. As is common with most of his other work, namely the aptly titled Almost Silent (Fantagraphics Books), Jason often draws his characters performing actions with as little dialogue as possible, sometimes with none at all. Jason knows how to convey character and personality through actions rather than relying on words, and he does this well. The aforementioned scene with Alex stealing Claude’s milk demonstrates to the reader that Alex is not necessarily the most honest person. Aside from the fact that, during a conversation with Claude previous to the milk scene, Alex lies to Claude when asked about watering his plants; this lying also suggests that Alex is indeed going through a break-up. People with poor mental health or dealing with grief of some kind often make choices that seem questionable to those in good health, and this is communicated effectively in this scene. What I’m getting at here is that there are various ways to analyze this simple scene that has no dialogue, which in turns makes for a more engaging and stimulating narrative – the reader has some work to do when reading Jason’s work, which is a sign of a skillful author rather than a lazy one who dumps exposition everywhere to ensure the reader thinks as little as possible in his/her endeavor with the book.

After his initial visit, Alex winds up framed for murder upon his next venture to Claude’s apartment, and is all of a sudden involved in something bigger than him. Just like that. Alex then meets a shopkeeper named Geraldine who recognizes Alex’s face from the news and decides, based on some bizarre leap of faith, to take Alex in to her home and hide him from the authorities. For whatever reason, the two fall in love, Alex tries to solve his own case, and then things escalate into parody even further…

One of the many pages in which the characters discuss what matters about existence.

There is a cynicism present in Jason’s work that doesn’t take itself too seriously, which is one of Jason’s greatest charms. The characters in this story - namely Alex, Geraldine, Nicolas, Inspector Libens, the nameless killer - all lack a rational sense of morality, which Jason is not shy at all about exploiting. Why does Alex insist on running away from the police when he could explain his situation and have them investigate his side of the story? Why does Geraldine openly invite a wanted killer into her home and into the presence of her only daughter? Why doesn’t Inspector Libens do anything to help catch the real killer after being told the truth of the situation by Nicolas? Did Nicolas actually tell Libens the truth of the matter? What exactly is the “truth” here? Why is the killer doing this?

If it’s not clear by now, Why Are You Doing This? is a metaphor for existential crisis. It’s a briefly discussed topic in the narrative, however ontology and existentialism are key themes running throughout each scene, as Jason pits his protagonist in an ultimate battle against knowingness, or the lack thereof it rather. By the end of the narrative, nothing is resolved and like the characters within the panels, us readers do not know the why of anything in this book, or the why of anything. To close out the book, Jason concludes with a running joke that’s presented itself in various scenes throughout. We’ll (likely) never know the why of our existence, and Jason seems to be having fun reminding us of this constantly throughout the narrative. Bastard. 

“If you can’t love me, who can you love?”

I Never Liked You
Chester Brown
1994
Drawn & Quarterly

Chester Brown is well known in the indie comics community for work that is personal, poignant, and polarizing. Chester initially began professionally making short strips in the early 1980s, mostly focusing on political and social critiques of Western culture, all of which are infused with his signature sense of humour and absurdity in one way or another. You can read about some of them here. In the late 80s and into the early 1990s, like Art Spiegelman, Robert Crumb, Aline Kominsky-Crumb, Phoebe Gloeckner, fellow Canadian Seth, and many others before him, Brown entered the creative foray of autobiographical comics. How exact these comics are to Brown’s experiences is anyone’s guess, but there is certainly an introspective examination occurring in I Never Liked You.

This book is cold. It’s both familiar to Brown’s previous serial work collected in The Little Man (1998) and Ed The Happy Clown (1989), yet worlds apart. I Never Liked You is a narrative focusing on Brown’s youth, specifically on his adolescence (aka an era prior to his comics career). Brown writes in the backmatter of the book that although he doesn’t specifically label the timeline of when events in the story occur, it all generally takes place during his high school years in the Quebec school system (grades 7 through 11). As is suggested in the title, I Never Liked You delves into Brown’s encounters with love and relationships.

The furthest extent to which Chester expresses emotion. 

I Never Liked You involves a different type of love-shaped relationship. Rather than there being a trifecta of partners, there are three girls that express interest in Chester: Connie, her younger sister Carrie, and Chester’s next door neighbour Sky. Things are certainly awkward for all involved and not simply because Chester is part of a love square (perhaps a rhombus is more appropriate). Chester himself is the major problem here, or at least that’s what Brown suggests in this reflexive tale.

Chester isn’t sure of himself in regards to anything. He’s often asked various questions, ranging from providing his opinion towards something to whether he will accept an invitation to a social outing or not. Both in and outside of his head the “fictionalized” Chester Brown expresses hesitation in everything he does. He is never sure of himself and tends to float freely from experience to experience. Rather than openly express his thoughts and feelings with his family and friends, he internalizes them and often times is apathetic and reserved, resulting in relationships that feel hollow and empty. Brown effectively captures the insecurity and fear that is common amongst youth as they make the transition from childhood into adulthood, as well as the carefree nature that most of us can relate to having had at one time or another. 

This page sums up what Chester thinks about on a regular basis.

Chester is never overly emotional towards anyone or anything. When he tells his neighbour (whom he has been idolizing and fantasizing about for months) that he is in love with her, Chester comes across as strangely uninterested and devoid of emotion. His interactions feel less than stock, like even a computer could give a better response than he does. As I briefly mentioned earlier, I Never Liked You is polarizing in that the character Chester is clearly learning about love, emotional connection, and socializing, but he fails to find the ways to communicate his affections to those he cares about. Chester isn’t sensitive towards other peoples’ emotions either and quietly tramples over top of another prominent characters feelings without even realizing it.

 

Chester having difficulties expressing himself. 

The title is intriguing; is I Never Liked You referring to the obvious (the obvious being Brown referring to one of the other characters in the narrative as You), or does You refer to his younger self? Perhaps it’s a bit of both. Regardless of the answer, Brown doesn’t paint his past with a glossy finish. He also doesn’t melodramatize it either. If the contents of the narrative are to be believed as a representation of Brown’s adolescence, it seems rather mundane and relatable. Whether this is a good thing will vary from reader to reader, but in a comics world overfilled with explosions, punches, and emotionally banal superhero shenanigans, I Never Liked You stands out as being an honest and authentic creation.


Brown’s approach to his memoir is refreshing compared to other (semi-)autobiographical comics. In Robert Crumb’s plethora of material, the reader understands Crumb’s insecurities and anxieties immediately. There is a different affect going on in Crumb’s work; Crumb is not shy with how he presents his emotions on the page and his stories surge with an emotional intelligence that is well realized. I Never Liked You, on the other hand, is foreign in comparison. There are slivers of knowledge that Chester exudes about his teenaged emotional state, but for the most part his feelings allude(d) him. Not only are they a mystery to him, but they are a mystery to us. It’s kind of uncomfortable reading I Never Liked You, yet it’s difficult to put down; I feel as though I’m peering into Brown’s past and eavesdropping when I shouldn’t be.

Another glimpse into Chester's mind.
He chooses to internalize his feelings rather than share them with others.

An important difference between Brown’s and Crumb’s work worth mentioning is that Brown is capturing what he was like as a teenager, whereas most of Crumb’s work features his middle-aged self discussing his then current tribulations. It goes (almost) without saying that the approach to their respective comics both follow a logical demeanour. What I mean by that is that Brown is presenting a younger fictionalized version of himself, so it makes sense that he is awkward and unsure of himself. Meanwhile, middle-aged Crumb is experienced and knows (to a clearer extent at least) who he is and how his mind functions, so his level of expression is more refined and clearly shows in his storytelling. It’s a smart decision on Brown’s part and further enhances the authenticity and rawness captured in recollecting his rocky beginning.

In the end, this is what everyone thinks of Chester.

I Never Liked You is a subtle coming-of-age tale that lets its readers into the formative years of an elusive and underappreciated Canadian comics creator. While the narrative may be an insight into the acclaimed author’s pre-comics creation days, Chester Brown manages to give his readers an inside look into how his brain functions (functioned rather) without removing the mystique that makes Brown so wonderful. I Never Liked You is much tamer than his earlier work, but shows how gracefully a comics creator can mature over the years. It would be a great sadness for you not to pick it up.