Wendy often feels to me like a missing link of comics history. In terms of aesthetic and general happenstance (drinks and drugs galore), it feels much like a natural continuation of the 1990s alt-scene, the kind of lo-fi comics that were all about how crappy their protagonist are and reveled in the terribleness of people in a self-aware fashion.
Yet Wendy doesn’t hate its protagonist, the series seems to be heavily involved in the possibility of her succeeding in the fine art world. The cast around the titular character is compiled of people who are faulty but not overtly so; bringing the series closer in spirit to the post-2000s webcomics world in which "quirky" replaced "shitty" as dominant mode for slice of life comics.
Art School Confidential, a natural reference point, is genuinely hateful from the get-go. A barrage of negativity aimed the scene, the system, the people that inhabit it and everyone within a spitting distance. Which makes it not so much "hard to read" as "dull to read," a one-note experience2. Wendy binge drinks and makes wild faces. Wendy takes drugs and wakes up in places she doesn’t recognize. Wendy makes some grand statement that the universe contradicts immediately. You know the deal, but it doesn’t stop it from being funny. There's a constant sense of restless energy that Scott sells, as if the protagonist is paranoid the whole universe is out to get her. Then, there’s Wendy’s friend Screamo, who behaves as if the concepts of "shame" or "anxiety" had never been properly explained to him.
Screamo’s visual depiction, simplified even in the standards of Scott’s artwork, is a good example. It’s funny to see him in his natural scenery, partying and raging, and funnier to see him in exactly the same state in his daily life. I enjoy Scott’s cartooning as a rule; he’s not exactly breaking new ground3, but he is willing to commit to the humor of scene. The structure – while each collection has a larger story it’s divided into short sections that often stand on their own – helps the punchiness of the story. There’s also a subtle but noticeable improvement from the first Wendy book to The Wendy Award, as Scott grows slowly more certain in his craft and direction. He’s not necessarily getting more technically accomplished, but he is getting better at being himself in finding what is necessary to tell his particular story and discarding the rest.
But The Wendy Award isn’t just a wild comedy about a couple of young fuck-ups clashing. It’s also a drama about a person realizing she can’t be a young fuck-up anymore, that there’s a new generation of art students who view her the way she viewed her predecessors. There was always this element for the Wendy series, as commented on by the Comic Books are Burning in Hell podcast, she represented people who couldn’t quite let go of the academic system, because to let go of your schooling means to finally go outside to a world that isn’t (in some way) managed for you.
The Wendy Award puts this front and center. Not only is the award seen by Wendy as the last chance at legitimacy and success, but some of the nominees belong to a younger generation. Moonstone and Octavia are seemingly there to fill up space, but Zima4 is front and center throughout the book.
Zima is immediately hostile to Wendy and worshipful of her friend Winona, and for a large chunk of the books one gets the unpleasant sensation that the whole plot not only uses stereotypes of young people as a punching bag, but also does so in a wholly unfunny manner. Wendy, after all, was a series that recognized, if not always respected, the humanity of all its characters. The first few books insisted strongly on behalf of Wendy’s artistic vision in a world that often rejected it, which is why it’s weird to see Zima almost immediately positioned so negatively. Liking Wendy herself wasn’t meant to be a prerequisite, because Wendy engaged in enough self-loathing for the rest of the cast, and I read Zima’s first few scenes with mounting dread.
It gets better, if not wholly "good," as the book gets its groove on. A party scene in which another character mentions “you elder millennials love 'they' jokes” shows Scott isn’t blind to his characters’ prejudices. I’m not sure that the book knows what he wants to do with Zima, or with any of the younger cast, but it somehow turns this weakness into a strength: Wendy doesn’t know what to make of these people, and it’s yet another sign, one that she cannot ignore, that the world expects her to act like a grown up, even if she doesn’t feel ready for it yet.
As the plot keeps going, elements that were previously played for laughs – Wendy’s endless partying – start to shift towards drama. This is the book in which the series hits the wall of aging … and can’t quite break through it. After four books circling the same scene and ideas it seems that Wendy is making a break for it. But the break doesn’t fully come through, and the The Wendy Award, for all of its qualities, seems more like a promise that things will get better in the future. It's the kind of "snatching happiness from the jaws of sadness" ending that often occurs in Wendy stories, there’s always an upswing at the end, which doesn’t feel as earned here. Maybe next time Wendy, maybe next time.
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