Now I have nothing against standard trade collections of comics (in fact I picked up DMZ Volume 3 with this purchase), but occasionally I want something with less pew pew and resurrections from the dead and more character development and meaning.

Peter Kruper (of Mad Magazine’s Spy vs. Spy fame) takes a page from Craig Thompson’s excellent Blankets in telling the autobiography of his fictional alter ego, Walter Kurtz: they both draw on childhood memories to propel the main story and use simple yet, expressive drawings in telling their narratives. Where Blankets ends with the protagonist reaching adulthood, Forgetting takes us beyond that and into middle age.

Forgetting is a difficult book to understand: not in terms of plot, but in terms of purpose. It reads decently, and the art style works for the book, but I couldn’t help but keep asking why, as in why was this book created? From the very beginning, the book screams vanity project, as a middle aged Walter Kurtz breaks the fourth wall and introduces us to the fears that he has regarding his impending fatherhood. Knowing that Walter Kurtz is a thinly veiled fictional representation of the author doesn’t help the disconnect that I felt reading about his past memories and adventures. If the author can’t write his own autobiography, why should I invest in this fictional representation and play a guessing game of what is real and what is not (if I wanted to do that I’d pick up a James Frey book. Zing!).

It’s not that I didn’t enjoy the meandering recollections of the fictional Kurtz, but I felt that the impact of the main message of the book (our past as a learning tool for future success) was obscured by the just visible veil of fiction worn by Kuper. It’s as if the narrative was written in a way that Kuper could easily claim amnesty in the land of fiction if things got too controversial or boring (see the next few paragraphs).

Another thing working against this book is that the author seemingly gathered a collection of memories and threw them against a blank canvas, hoping that the narrative would tie them neatly together. Unfortunately, the result is a random collection of vignettes featuring weak supporting characters and inarticulate self reflection.

As an example, one of the book’s vignettes involves Walter’s exploration of homosexuality: in order to get back at a bitchy ex, Walter begins to sleep with her current object of affection, Keith (you’ll have to read the book for specifics). Walter tries out homosexuality as if it were the latest flavor of cola on the market, and ultimately decides that it’s just not for him (he prefers Coca-Cola Classic). While I enjoy the fact that the author doesn’t shy away from writing about this experience (again, the thin veil of fiction obscures facts here, so I’m not sure if it’s even a real event), it’s disheartening to read that the character ultimately decides that homosexuality just isn’t for him because he feels nauseous after having satisfying sex with Keith, which I can totally relate to because I felt the same way about eating scallops for the first time.

In all seriousness, I felt a little sick after the first few experiences I had, but that had to do with my mind struggling to justify a fondness for men within the paradigms of Roman Catholicism and Latin cultural expectations. Instead of exploring these kinds of themes, Kuper is content in dismissing Walter’s homosexuality by way of nausea.

Ultimately, these half-hearted attempts at self-reflection that are littered throughout the book (witness another scene where a random memory of a trip to Papua New Guinea is inserted for no particular reason) serve to work against the maturity that the author wants to establish in his character as he ultimately embraces his past and becomes a father. Unfortunately for Kuper and Walter, posturing only works if it’s done convincingly.