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).
Thank you for your comments on the narrator's tone and approach. The comparison to Lucky is apt and the level of humor is more engaging.
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Her depiction of daily methods of coping with/processing her brother's addictions and her own sticks with me. A cursory description of the plot and the way that the narrator constructs survival, frustration, limited control over someone not herself, concern and love for him, etc. got my mom talking about her family within a matter of minutes ("Every husband drank because of economic helplessness and every husband beat his wife and kids"). There's something to the minutiae in the background, the omnipresent bottles, and the progression/pace of action that evokes her vulnerability and humor as a way to keep going (without ever knowing that her brother will).
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