Broken Frontier

Jonathan A. is a writer with a promising career. The only thing holding him back is his struggle with alcoholism.

By all accounts, The Alcoholic is as autobiographical as a piece of fiction can get. Those close to the author say there is little difference between the character Jonathan A. and the real life of Jonathan Ames. The books they write have the same titles and Haspiel has even drawn the character with a remarkable resemblance to the author.

Through a series of vignettes in the present and flashbacks, the narrator takes us from his lowest of lows to the realization of why he drinks. He shows the origin of his addiction and quite literally buries himself in excess. From his youth in the Eighties through the events of Fall 2001 in New York, Ames creates a compelling portrait of a man at odds with himself, his family, and the world that surrounds him. At times the story is heartbreaking. At times the story is uproariously funny.

This dichotomy can only come from someone who has lived what is being told. "Write what you know." This is the mantra beat into the head of aspiring writers in creative writing classes everywhere. Ames takes this advice meant for burgeoning Kerouacs and Hemingways and pounds it into his script.

It is odd that something that is so thinly veiled would be classified as novel instead of a memoir. The honesty of the piece screams autobiography and reflection. You know there is truth contained beneath the brown binding hidden by the drably colored dust jacket. One has to assume that there is hyperbole at play. Did he really bury himself? Did Lewinsky really eye a kielbasa? Did he embellish his story about Clinton?

In the end, it doesn’t matter. The truth of the book is in the details. The self deprecation. The setting. The keen characterizations. From an oddly alluring aunt to a neuroticism that causes one character to be identified by the city where she currently lives.

Along the way, while pointing out the absurdity of his own life, the author is making a statement about us all. Our egos and selfishness - no matter the situation, in the end we always seem to put ourselves first.

In fact that may explain the need to call this fiction. In the post James Frey world, memoirs can no longer be embellished. They are now merely a high class term for autobiography. The artistic pursuit of a higher truth that once permeated such writings has been lost. The spin that made something like A Moveable Feast or A Million Little Pieces so powerful, makes it less real. In the end that is a shame. At least, Ames is attempting to keep the spirit of such writing alive.

Haspiel is in fine form. The gait of Ames is more complimentary to his lines than the build of Harvey Pekar. Or it may be the level of comfortability of the writer. The American Splendor scribe seems to mock himself and shows a harsh self dislike, while Ames shows a fortitude of spirit. He is okay with the skin in which he lives. The artist deftly handles the differences between the dark tones which he lavishly accentuates with the assistance of the grayscales of Loughridge while lightening the more humorous scenes. The two work as if they have known each other for years and this enhances the honesty of the graphic novel.

The Alcoholic is an unflinching look at the nature of addiction and the kind of depraved life that it leads to. The writer and the reader are enriched by its experience.