Spider, Man
(Amy Jean Porter)
My friends, there is a comic out there that advertises itself as “the story of a man and a spider, eating sandwiches, on the anti-social web.” That comic is the aptly named Spider, Man and its publication marks something significant in the comics world. What that significance is, though, eludes me for the moment.
In this book, Porter strains to say something, but her voice is so quiet it's hard to hear exactly what it is.
It's a story told in aphorisms juxtaposed with full page tight pencil drawings suffused in gray ink washes. Within each standalone art piece Porter has embedded “Txt Msg Messages” adding a further truncated layer of narrative to its sparseness. This is a story about time and loneliness, technology and, of course, sandwiches. How it all puts together, though, is a head-scratcher.
It's as if Porter really, really, really wanted to give us some insight about these larger themes, but she wasn't sure what they were, and figured that if she kept it sparse, it still would speak volumes. This book could be the height of pretentiousness if it weren't so quiet in its desperation, so delicate in its execution. It's observational, without seeing behind anything, couched in language that caresses instead of reveals.
I'm still having trouble figuring out if I like it or not. I'm reminded of James Kochalka's Sunburn, but with an “artisanal” sensibility and all the bile that word evokes in the back of my throat. Then again, perhaps I'm over-thinking things. This is about sandwiches after all. Everybody loves sandwiches.
