Page 45 Review by Stephen
Sounds and smells: they can snap you instantly back in time to a place held close in your heart, even if it's just a single image. It's the same for you, right? For Mike Dawson, his singular obsession with Queen (we hear little else by way of musical preference) and his sister's with George Michael forms the soundtrack to his life. Almost uncanny that George should find himself such a long way from Wham! and centre-stage with Queen at the Freddie Mercury memorial gig.
That this is a very personal book can be no surprise - that's the nature of autobiography - but Dawson has a knack for voicing the universal, and sharing the private in an unusually candid way.
It's the second element that's most curious about this book. His childhood and teen years are narrated sometimes from the perspective of a more mature mind, but often in the awkward, scowling, self-centred perspective of childhood without apology or excuses. He represents himself as he was, embarrassingly bad comic creations and all, be it superheroes or awful Queen-orientated fantasies in that horrible, harlequin leotard. Then there are those very young moments at Butlins where he gets up on stage and sings, but it's a lack of inhibition endearing to family grown-ups which I shared when my mate next door and I "performed" our eight-year-old songs to John's parents. At least, I hope it was endearing - I can only wince in recollection now. Mike's very brave, for without the sort of qualifying apology I've just made, it runs the risk of the reader forgetting that he is an intelligent, thoughtful young man now, rather than a naive, delusional toddler or a disaffected, ugly brat.
I don't know if it's because I don't hold a flame for Queen, but the most interesting pages for me lay outside of that arena: his grandmother alive and dead; cities; flying; family; early and sometimes disloyal friendships; courtship; the need to create in your own space. Most of all Dawson's particularly good at the nature of memory - as well as recognising that you can still hold visual memories of things that never happened except in your head - which is kind of handy if you're drawing a memoir.
The cover's quite horrible, so it was a major relief to open it up whereupon I thought of Alex Robinson instantly. Turns out the creator of TRICKED and BOX OFFICE POISON is a close friend, which in no way implies a slavish copying of style, because the sequential storytelling and art are both incredibly accomplished in their own right... except for his likenesses, because George Michael's virtually unrecognisable.
Be interesting to hear what other Queen fans think of this. Will you relate, or will you assert your personal, incontrovertible right to Queen as your own, not to be sullied by others' memories, as Mike admits doing here?
