Review by Booklist Review
As early as age eight, Tomine (Killing and Dying) publicly announced exactly what he wanted to be when he grew up: "A famous cartoonist," he told his Fresno class in 1982. He confused his teacher, who thought perhaps he aspired to be Walt Disney, so he had to clarify: "like John Romita . . . the best Spiderman artist ever." Classmates laughed, to which he responded "Stupid idiots!" earning him plenty of lasting bullying. By 16, he was self-publishing. By 1995, he was indeed "famous," dubbed "the best realist comic today." In the decades since, he's continued to earn substantial accolades (Eisners, Ignatzes, Angoulême), but what Tomine highlights here, with self-deprecating vulnerability and humble humor on pages of graph paper, are, well, the many failures: crushing reviews, disastrous readings (when audiences even show up), humiliating interviews, public invisibility, and still more. In between, he's also a groupie to fellow cartoonist legends, he gets stalked, he moves cross-country for love (his wife is clearly a superhero!), and he has two daughters. He lands one night in the ER with chest pains and returns home in the wee hours, reevaluating the life he's made in comics. While his family sleeps, he embarks on what will become--the graph-paper genesis gets revealed!--this book's opening panel. In this exquisitely rendered, prodigiously articulated work, Tomine proves again why he's still that "famous cartoonist."
From Booklist, Copyright (c) American Library Association. Used with permission.
Review by Publisher's Weekly Review
Eisner Award--winner Tomine (Killing and Dying) depicts choice vignettes from a decades-long cartooning career in this ruefully funny, often deliberately mortifying memoir. In the early 1980s in his California elementary school, Tomine presents as an obsessive, socially inept comics nerd, earning him instant ostracism from his classmates. But by his 20s, he makes a name for himself in alternative comics circles--Daniel Clowes, whom Tomine credits as an influence (and gets mistaken for frequently) refers to him as a "Boy Wonder." That does not protect him from negative reviews, poorly attended signings, weird or hostile readers, casual racism, and other ego-deflating encounters, punctuated with lit- and comics-scene cameos (with tantalizingly scribbled-out names). In one especially humiliating but hilarious episode, Tomine hangs out with an attractive young journalist who has just interviewed him, when sudden gastrointestinal distress quashes any romantic possibility. Later, as a happily married father of two approaching middle-age in brownstone Brooklyn, a medical scare puts into perspective Tomine's "glass half-empty" focus, and he reflects on the value of memories of his young daughters over his usual predilection to rue "small humiliations." Graph paper backgrounds create a sense of peeking into a diary consisting of Tomine's graceful drawings and precise lettering. Tomine reveals himself again a master of self-satire as his formidably healthy artist's ego and attendant anxiety butt up against a largely indifferent world. This merciless memoir delivers laughter with a wince, to the point of tears. (June)
(c) Copyright PWxyz, LLC. All rights reserved
Review by Library Journal Review
In 1995, a young Tomine (Killing and Dying) rages at his classmates for mocking his dream of becoming a famous cartoonist. His fury makes them bully him even more, thus setting the stage for the stories that follow in this funny, bracingly self-deprecating record of the countless humiliations Tomine experienced over the course of his career. Early success in the mid-1990s leads to a series of humbling visits to San Diego Comic-Con. These include the thrill of his first book tour that ends quickly when no one shows up for his signings, and when fans on a comic book cruise don't bother hiding their disappointment at being seated with him instead of Neil Gaiman at dinner. From a less skilled creator, the litany of awkward encounters might have become repetitive; instead, Tomine's mortifying misadventures become funnier and more emotionally resonant in the latter part of this memoir, as professional success and a growing family find the anger and anxiety that ruled the author's early years transform into an insightful and profound vulnerability. VERDICT A hilarious, frequently cringe-inducing masterpiece from a fearless artist at the height of his powers.
(c) Copyright Library Journals LLC, a wholly owned subsidiary of Media Source, Inc. No redistribution permitted.
Review by Kirkus Book Review
A lifelong obsession with comics results in less reward than the author and illustrator might once have thought possible. In his latest book, Tomine, who has been successful by nearly any measure--his oeuvre includes many minicomics and books and several New Yorker covers--delivers an understated yet illuminating graphic memoir full of insights on the creative process and the struggles of defining "success" in the world of comics and graphic novels. Early on in the narrative, the author is something like a younger Rodney Dangerfield, frustrated by a lack of respect. Schoolmates taunted him, and even the acclaim he earned as a teenage prodigy--"the boy wonder of mini-comics"--was short-lived, crushed by a backlash review that dismissed him as a derivative "moron." The rites of passage that seemed like markers of success--Comic-Con, book signings, tours, awards ceremonies--generally left Tomine feeling deflated and resentful. Instead of reveling in the acceptance he received from the New Yorker and elsewhere, the author dwelled on the slur of dismissal as a Japanese American that he received from one veteran artist. Throughout his narrative, Tomine expresses feelings of inferiority to the more celebrated Neil Gaiman and Daniel Clowes--though an epigram from the latter, on how being a famous cartoonist is "like being the most famous badminton player," proves telling. Even marriage and fatherhood failed to resolve Tomine's insecurities or anger issues, and readers will begin to suspect that what's at issue isn't the lonely profession the author has chosen but rather problems of self-acceptance. A medical scare provided a reckoning and a realization that his obsession had become his albatross and that he needed to put his life in perspective. Upon reaching this "turning point," he heads back to the drawing board--hopefully, for many more years to come. Subtle, provocative, and sharply drawn--a portrait of the perpetually dissatisfied artist. Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
Copyright (c) Kirkus Reviews, used with permission.
