Drinking at the Movies

I have to admit, a story about moving to New York never seemed like it would end up being interesting enough to write (and illustrate) a novel about. In my opinion Drinking could potentially have run the risk of making it into that category, which Wertz fully acknowledges in the preface. What set it apart was her complete self-awareness in everything from her privilege, her whiteness, her homesickness, her alcoholism, her self-deprecation that’s really the product of the situation she imposed on her self, and ultimately her inability to blame anybody else but herself for any dissatisfying circumstances. Personally, I found her alcoholism to be one of the most interesting (if that’s anywhere near the appropriate word) aspects of the story. She doesn’t always draw specific attention to the bottles in the images, but when I went back and directly looked for them it was shocking how much she was actually drinking. On pg. 31, where Julia is unpacking in her first apartment, the purpose of the frame is to show how incredibly insignificant and selfish her personal concerns seem in the face of the struggles the rest of the world has to deal with on a daily basis, all of which make her freaking out over her comic books seem silly. But in the corner there is a six-pack of beer, which I didn’t notice the first time because of the way she was making fun of her own privileged small-mindedness. Instances like this make her consumption of alcohol, which is inconspicuous at some early points in the story, appear very excessive. I know the point of her story was to admit all these things through an unsparing self-depiction, and she was incredibly effective. Sometimes her honesty was painful. The circumstance with her addict brother at first shocked me, because it surfaced in the midst of so much sarcasm and self-mockery. I laughed a lot reading this, but I didn’t laugh when it came to the brother. As someone who grew up with a drug addict in the house, every feeling she admits having gave me an intense appreciation for her. Granted, the addiction part of it never stops her from poking fun at how small her personal concerns appear relative to the rest of the world, but I personally felt that her brothers’ relapses and the fear they cause the family made her human in a way Lucky didn’t quite do. There really wasn’t a whole lot Wertz wouldn’t spare herself from admitting, even something as painful as kind of wishing her brother would just die so she wouldn’t have to worry anymore. Yes, she’s selfish, but sometimes it’s hard not to be. Sitting there imagining the state he’s in can be worse than the thought of going to his funeral, even if that makes you selfish. She says, “Sometimes I just want it to be over,” and there’s always the fear that it may well be over the next time they disappear for days. So the best you can do is say I love you and live with the guilt that somehow you’ve contributed to this situation. Pg. 117 was one of my favorites because of the way this relentlessly sarcastic character admits her own vulnerability and that sarcasm is a shield in a lot of ways but it can’t spare you from facing pain. But then on the next page she’s back to making fun! Parts like this I appreciated so much because she’s so careful not to cross that line that would jeopardize the point of the story. She’s a small person in a big city and an even bigger world, against which her personal problems (made obvious by her excerpts from the news) seem trivial. There was something about the way Wertz illustrated the whole story and particularly her own character that created the appearance of being exposed to things much bigger and important than them. To sum up, I personally think Wertz gave her story a little bit more life than Bell did in Lucky, if for no other reason than the cliches are actively involved in the story (which, I don't have the book with me, but I don't necessarily recall being the case in Lucky).