The Alcoholic

Woke up pretty early this morning with a cold/sinus infection or some such unpleasant shit, and read The Alcoholic, by Jonathan Ames. A friend lent me the copy of this graphic novel (illustrations by Dean Haspiel).

I really enjoyed it, but it left me sad and somehow unfulfilled. Most of the material is familiar, a reworking of the stuff from I Love You More than You Know and Wake Up, Sir! But The Alcoholic is darker, more intimate, less humorous, and kind of painful. There is so much loss, and the self-loathing is not quite relieved. There was such a sense of isolation, although it ends on an ambiguous but possibly hopeful note.

When you read someone whose material is largely autobiographical, you really fee like you know them, and I confess after quickly devouring three Ames books this year, I feel close to him. It's a weird feeling, though.