Page 45 Review by Stephen
"The words he refreshes for go unseen and remain unknown, for the letter of reconciliation slipped under the door… finds itself under the doormat."
Are you aware of everything you've missed? Of course not - that's why you're still sane.
Missed signals, missed opportunities; things you don't see and things you do see all too clearly in your mind's eye: memories of what you once had, now lost. Signals sent out but never received, of a potential romance stillborn through oblivion; buses we never quite caught leading to meetings we then never made; deadlines that did us in; the profound effect words uttered in casual conversation may have had on the lives of others; the company of friends, family or lovers now dead or deserted. Youth.
It's both these connotations - of failure and regret - that are explored here in a quiet, considered and elegiac fashion as a relationship fails through lack of attention: too little too late, and being too late too often. I'm constantly joking, "You're just in time to be too late," but it's usually about a comic that's just sold out, never about anything as profound as a relationship. So often I've seen that happen, though.
The key to the book's success is that the narrator does see it all, and not just this single relationship. He rises above the metaphorical treetops to view a whole world of things that are missed, some of them heart-breakingly poignant, others comedically absurd. It's the perfect balance and my immediate reaction on reading this prior to DULL ACHE and SOME PEOPLE (our current Comicbook Of The Month) was to tweet that we have a new Kevin Huizenga. Far from implying Luke Pearson's derivative, it's indicative of its style and a testament to the book's quality.
There's one brief scene in a bar which is a brilliantly observed string of cause and effect, an ode to the unobservant which made me smile just as hard as much of it made me sigh. For Pearson employs a considered, spare use of language, and by elegiac I mean moments like this: "The moon creaks. A window cries."
It's lovingly printed on thick paper stock and gorgeously drawn with the richest of shadows - so many shadows, silhouettes and shades - and coloured in warm, sunset hues of orange and brown. There are moments caught in the confines of a handbag as a mobile phone lights up unnoticed, suburban shots of disconnection and loneliness presented to perfection, but nothing will prepare you for the final few shots of the cliff, sea and beach, its smooth stones lapped by the tide and an early morning sunrise.
In the modern age of the missed mobile phone call or email which, once sent, is almost always presumed successfully received then either read or ignored - certainly not unseen - I'm now a bit worried after reading as to what my computer has designated 'spam' for the doormat above is metaphorical. You might want to check out that folder.
