Tuesday, 9 January 2024 05:34 pm
Book Review: Superfolks
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deckardcanineThat didn't take me long, did it? Robert Mayer's first novel, while not a graphic novel as it appears from the outside, nonetheless has fairly few words per page on average, particularly since there are 37 chapters in 231 pages. I don't remember where I heard of it, but it sounded kind of like Watchmen with a lot more laughs. Whether or not it inspired Alan Moore, it was certainly a predecessor, from 1977.
David Brinkley had been a Superman knockoff for decades, but when his powers started failing on him, he quietly retired. Eight years later, there are practically no other superheroes (misleading title, huh) or useful police, and a sudden violent crime wave rocks his hometown. It becomes increasingly evident to him -- and spelled out plainly for readers in chapters without him -- that someone has engineered the situation in order to draw him out of hiding, kill him, and continue with a conspiracy that he could otherwise foil. David's no angel, but he retains enough goodwill to contemplate donning the costume again.
For what it's worth, David is more protective of his secret identity than anyone else I can think of. He doesn't trust a psychiatrist to respect patient-doctor privilege. Even his family doesn't know. Since he's an alien, I'd say his wife never gave informed consent (and that's not the rapiest aspect in here). And the first enemy to indicate knowledge of his identity is the first he ever tries to kill.
The back cover makes it sound like the focus is largely on David's midlife crisis, making him a forerunner to Mr. Incredible. Well, we do get some gags about him being past his prime and wanting to leave his regular existence behind, but age isn't the reason for his decline, nor does he ever really think so. And the illustrations on the front of the editions I found don't make him look like Joe Sixpack or anything.
Part of me wishes there were more such focus. Sure, it already takes forever to see him in action, but the rest of the humor isn't my type at all. Some of it was too politically incorrect by 1990. We get some heavy swearing and the nastiest sex fantasies this side of Lady Slings the Booze. At least that book was clearly raunchy from the start; this one tends to be unpredictable in when to expect shocks. The morals in general are quite spotty.
And that's putting aside the weirdness. I found it odd from the beginning that David (whose alias is never given; enemies code-name him "Indigo") should share a universe with Superman and other DC heroes. Not to mention other fictional characters who aren't normally deemed superheroes, like the Lone Ranger and Snoopy. A few throwaway lines imply that David had consciously lived in the pages of comic books before, reinforcing my notion that text was not the most natural medium for this story.
Possibly Mayer's worst practice is to throw around familiar real names. Sometimes they refer to the actual people, sometimes they're clearly someone else, and some might be alternate takes in this parallel universe. What are we to make of a modern CIA deputy director named Martin Van Buren? David himself gets confused by some of them. It got to the point that whenever a new name came up, I'd check whether it belonged to a ballplayer or whatnot. For a few names where I couldn't find anyone promising, I suspect they've fallen into obscurity. At any rate, apart from a few choice puns, they make a bizarre, potentially irritating excuse for jokes. And they're all over the place. It's as if Neil Gaiman had a stroke.
Does Mayer make insightful observations about supers? Now and then. Does he get creative? Barely. Would I read more by him? Probably not; he does mostly nonfiction. Do I feel inspired? Only in the sense that I want to avoid making the same mistakes.
I have now picked up another fairly short read, Princess Academy by Shannon Hale. The Newbery Medal tells me it's not even YA, and right now, I could use the assurance of cleanliness.
David Brinkley had been a Superman knockoff for decades, but when his powers started failing on him, he quietly retired. Eight years later, there are practically no other superheroes (misleading title, huh) or useful police, and a sudden violent crime wave rocks his hometown. It becomes increasingly evident to him -- and spelled out plainly for readers in chapters without him -- that someone has engineered the situation in order to draw him out of hiding, kill him, and continue with a conspiracy that he could otherwise foil. David's no angel, but he retains enough goodwill to contemplate donning the costume again.
For what it's worth, David is more protective of his secret identity than anyone else I can think of. He doesn't trust a psychiatrist to respect patient-doctor privilege. Even his family doesn't know. Since he's an alien, I'd say his wife never gave informed consent (and that's not the rapiest aspect in here). And the first enemy to indicate knowledge of his identity is the first he ever tries to kill.
The back cover makes it sound like the focus is largely on David's midlife crisis, making him a forerunner to Mr. Incredible. Well, we do get some gags about him being past his prime and wanting to leave his regular existence behind, but age isn't the reason for his decline, nor does he ever really think so. And the illustrations on the front of the editions I found don't make him look like Joe Sixpack or anything.
Part of me wishes there were more such focus. Sure, it already takes forever to see him in action, but the rest of the humor isn't my type at all. Some of it was too politically incorrect by 1990. We get some heavy swearing and the nastiest sex fantasies this side of Lady Slings the Booze. At least that book was clearly raunchy from the start; this one tends to be unpredictable in when to expect shocks. The morals in general are quite spotty.
And that's putting aside the weirdness. I found it odd from the beginning that David (whose alias is never given; enemies code-name him "Indigo") should share a universe with Superman and other DC heroes. Not to mention other fictional characters who aren't normally deemed superheroes, like the Lone Ranger and Snoopy. A few throwaway lines imply that David had consciously lived in the pages of comic books before, reinforcing my notion that text was not the most natural medium for this story.
Possibly Mayer's worst practice is to throw around familiar real names. Sometimes they refer to the actual people, sometimes they're clearly someone else, and some might be alternate takes in this parallel universe. What are we to make of a modern CIA deputy director named Martin Van Buren? David himself gets confused by some of them. It got to the point that whenever a new name came up, I'd check whether it belonged to a ballplayer or whatnot. For a few names where I couldn't find anyone promising, I suspect they've fallen into obscurity. At any rate, apart from a few choice puns, they make a bizarre, potentially irritating excuse for jokes. And they're all over the place. It's as if Neil Gaiman had a stroke.
Does Mayer make insightful observations about supers? Now and then. Does he get creative? Barely. Would I read more by him? Probably not; he does mostly nonfiction. Do I feel inspired? Only in the sense that I want to avoid making the same mistakes.
I have now picked up another fairly short read, Princess Academy by Shannon Hale. The Newbery Medal tells me it's not even YA, and right now, I could use the assurance of cleanliness.