Roughneck by Jeff Lemire is, like his classic Essex County, a story featuring a hockey player. Derek Ouellette had a stint with the Rangers where he was aviolent goon, and now he lives in a small shitty town in northern Ontario working at a diner and beating people up. When his sister comes to town to get away from a terrible boyfriend things change. Sort of.
What I love about this story is its handling of violence. It’s not a hugely complicated story, but the resolution shows exactly the kind of earned change I want to see in fiction.
The thing I feel weirdest about this book is that Jeff Lemire is a white guy telling stories about indigenous people. In this article he says:
“For me, these were a way to educate myself, that’s what it comes down to. And I hope my experiences up there allowed me to create something and reflect what I saw and show other people.”
For me that makes sense, but like Lemire I need to work out my thoughts in writing and I’m not from a community that has my story told for me, so I’m kind of primed to be sympathetic. I understand that it’s shitty to have white dudes in all these spaces. Don’t read white people’s writing about indigenous people: read (and pay) indigenous people telling their own stories. If you like comics a good anthology for finding some new creators would be Moonshot (here’s an article with some blurbs and examples of artists featured in that book, and Moonshot vol. 2 should be coming out soon).
But as far as Roughneck goes I do like this specific story, even if it’s a symptom of greater terribleness in the world.
The Underwater Welder is Jeff Lemire’s story of being scared of becoming a father. It’s so good. The introduction to the book sets it up as “the greatest Twilight Zone episode that was never produced.” I like that conceit but that makes it sound a lot more self-contained than it was.
Jack and Susan are expecting a baby in the next month. Jack keeps running off to his work on the oil rig, as an underwater welder. We know something bad happened between him and his father at Halloween some year, and it’s keeping him attached to the loneliness of solitary work in the ocean instead of the flesh and blood people surrounding him. It’s an ominous and looming kind of story that pushed in on my chest as I read it.
Lemire draws the book with the same kind of scratchy style he used in Essex County, but here it feels different. Maybe it’s just all the water that makes the wobbly lines feel like they’re the distortions of seeing everything through bubbles. The big splash pages work very well, especially the ones with the floods of memories coming in like clouds of angular bubbles.
It’s a beautifully done book. Highly recommended.
Iain M. Banks’ Culture novels are the kinds of books that make me want to be very elsewhere, living in a post-scarcity economy with control over your biology and the ability to live for hundreds of years and be eccentrically apart from society for decades if you want. I got Excession in Portland for a dollar and it was much more than worth that, just for the ability to have conversations about switching genders and carrying children simultaneously and letting the kid gestate for 40 years with no ill effect. And to have incredible intellects machinating about wars and science and the power to do whatever the hell you want.
This isn’t much of a review. I’m sorry. I just love this kind of book. It’s aspirational and the kind of thing I’m never going to see outside of a science fiction novel. The possibilities out here in reality feel so limited some days. Sigh.
One of the things about only getting your information from the internet (plus whatever commercials are shown during baseball games before your free cable disappears) is that you can tailor your knowledge very well. So well you eliminate a pile of serendipity. I mean, I get to ignore all the shitty movies I’d never want to see, and don’t get hit by a million commercials for them because of my net habits. (I also learn far more than I’d like about a certain subset of movies I might be tempted to see and now have no desire to, like Terminator Salvation, but this is not the point.) For the most part this is good. But then something shows up on my radar (actually me looking at the listings for the Towne 8) that I had no idea existed, like Away We Go, directed by Sam Mendes who I remember from directing American Beauty.
It’s about a couple in their early thirties deciding where they should live. Verona is six months pregnant. They’re looking for a place. Their jobs can be done anywhere and they want to be close to some sort of friends or family. It’s kind of a “what people do with their lives” road trip movie. That’s it. I loved loved loved it.
Of course it’s pretty much pointed straight at people my age. People who kind of suspect they’re fuckups but don’t want to just live completely by default. Maybe there’s a lot of analysis that would prove why I shouldn’t like the film. Maybe it’s actually horrible. I don’t know. I liked it a lot, even though it made me sad.