Cluttered. One needn't peruse more than a dozen pages to find the word that best articulates the indelicate disarray of FOREST HILLS BOOTLEG SOCIETY. Chatty narration. Clumsy lettering. Overindulgent worldbuilding. Coming-of-age stories are often messy in their own right, but this is just a messy story. The apparent eagerness to cram a low-key adventure full of "interesting" information never marries its righteous equivalent to what actually qualifies as necessary.
This graphic novel's weaknesses rest in the creative team's many presumptions on the part of the reader. The difficult and sad truth of FOREST HILLS BOOTLEG SOCIETY is that it's a lovingly drawn book with clever and comparatively relatable characters. However, the creative team attempts to wean readers onto the sleepy suburban proclivities of Forest Hills, California, U.S. through myriad, decadent character charts, irrelevant city maps, unavailing side conversations, and other narrative quirks — none of which carry information that is especially relevant to the book's actual story. The graphic novel has, in effect, a lot of clutter.
Readers need to know Brooke and Kelly are awkward lesbian teens with no real clue how to invest in a serious relationship. That's important stuff. Brooke is achingly codependent and constantly hunting for belonging. Kelly is an impatient otaku who, like most teens, accidentally wields her worldly ignorance in an effort to grow up too fast. However, readers will be hard-pressed to pry out these details in time to make sense of them. Why? Because the book actively distracts far more than it informs. Do readers care that a random side character is reading the diary belonging to an unknown tertiary character's sister? Do readers need to know the city's largest office building was constructed in 1987? Do readers need to waste time reading a full page detailing "a brief history of a textiles manufacturing plant" to supplement a passing reference to an idiot celebrity's overpriced jacket?
Readers need to know that "lawful good" Maggie is the prototypical, god-fearing good girl destined for corruption the instant she's fed praise. Readers need to know that Melissa, despite being the friendly foursome's smartest character, is completely lacking in direction and motivation. That's important stuff. Maggie's working-class household contrasts her vehement religious piety, which itself contrasts her friends' curse-laden joke-telling despite their attending a private school across town. Melissa, meanwhile, is at war with puberty and has no one to talk to about it. But, again, one must peel away the narrative nonsense to discern what's worthy of attention. Do readers care about the daily hygiene habits of a character who appears only twice in the whole book? Do readers need to know that almost all of the named adult characters are ensconced in dishonest or illegal partnerships? Do readers need to know multiple, unenlightening details about a character with a lisp who comprises less than one-eighth of a page?
FOREST HILLS BOOTLEG SOCIETY is difficult to read. Not because its characters are irredeemably dumb (alas, all teenagers are), but because there's so much noise that one finds the reading experience that much harder to endure to enjoy the good stuff.
The book's four protagonists form a small ring of bootleg sales between the city's two high schools. The girls prioritize kitschy, sultry anime romps clearly designed for wayward adults, and make some good scratch in the process. But Brook's hunger for status (and the attention of anyone of status), Kelly's ascension as a loudmouthed Japanophile, Maggie's impoverished Christianity, and Melissa's roving insecurity frequently clog the gears of the girls' comical money-making enterprise. Sure, it'd be nice if they had enough money to get matching jackets and all, but what about that cool-people party invite? What about hanging out at the local burger joint? What about building out their personal hobbies?
These trials and tribulations crisscross and overlap with assorted coming-of-age dilemmas. For example, one character questions her sexuality when she realizes she might gain more camaraderie from a girl with similar problems than from elsewhere. Further, another girl's impetuosity gives her group of friends its trademark, kick-butt ambiance, yet wreaks havoc on her personal relationships when push comes to shove. If FOREST HILLS BOOTLEG SOCIETY were a more calculated, prose novel, instead of a frenzied graphic novel, then these and other characters would have flourished more earnestly.
Visually, the book pulls together smart and charismatic character designs that gift readers, occasionally, a qualitative nuance of the relational dynamics buried beneath everything else. Introverted Maggie is short with stubby legs, covers herself with layers, and generally looks confused most of the time. Brooke, whose worst habit is trying too hard, is overly expressive, excitable, and has trouble sitting still. Hilariously, Kelly, the anime fan, is the graphic novel's only character without a dimensional nose.
FOREST HILLS BOOTLEG SOCIETY is more consumable graphically than it is on purely narrative terms, but by degrees. The character art is great and the book's varying page compositions is solid, but the title's occasional merging of the script's chaos with visual chaos is inevitable. Sometimes, one finds these graphic interludes build out the scene quite well, as with filmstrips or a collage of inset panels that serve as makeshift montages, or when the reader encounters six consecutive panels without dialogue to emphasize social alienation. But most of the time, instead of integrating readers into the scene, the opposite happens, as with the various maps of the town, almost all locations of which are irrelevant; or with the book's multiple folio inserts, containing a full-page of character, family, or city background information of little or no value; or through one-on-one panel conversations overloaded with dialogue; or with dozens of character-intro word balloons packed with worthless information.
The clutter, again, makes this graphic novel a difficult book to read. One cannot be blamed for burrowing through the first dozen pages, sighing in exhaustion, and rationalizing the book just isn't worth the energy. The arcs these characters traverse and the problems they face tiptoe on the edge of plausibility given how thoroughly and how often the details that matter are drowned out by the details that don't. For example, does it matter that the popular girl is constantly skimming money from her friends? Maybe. Does it matter that domestic infidelity and domestic abuse are rampant in this little nook of American suburbia? Possibly. But readers will never know, because they can't get away from the stringent, clumsy, and deliberate indulgences of the creative team's hard-worldbuilding notes to finally reach the more credible, valuable experiences necessary for character growth.
Another example rests in the inconsistent treatment of curse words. Most curse words in FOREST HILLS BOOTLEG SOCIETY are swapped with grawlixes, the typographical symbols and markings that replace individual letters. Grawlixes are not uncommon, by any measure, but for some strange reason, FOREST HILLS BOOTLEG SOCIETY goes overboard. Most of the characters in this book use profanity, and most other characters don't care. Yet, for some reason, most curse words are censored. Even further complicating the matter, the censorship is inconsistent. Why are exceedingly common words like bitch and dyke censored, while tits isn't? Sometimes, shit is scrubbed in all its forms, but sometimes, it isn't. Elsewhere, harmless or worn-out turns of phrases like shitface, slag, asshole, and pussy are censored. In some cases, the disembodied narrator's speech is censored, which defies logic. In other cases, the grawlixes work a little too well, rendering the original (implied) profanity completely indecipherable. It's a mess.
One might assemble an argument to use grawlixes to muffle some etymologically benign but culturally (regionally) agitated words (e.g., cunt), but the graphic novel's awkward and mercurial application of substitute letters, in such raucous abundance, pulls one out of the story incredibly quick. Whether a consequence of author preference, editor preference, publisher mandate, or as a victim of corporate zealotry on the part of book distributors, the end result is a subpar reading experience.
FOREST HILLS BOOTLEG SOCIETY is a difficult read. Inconvenient and querulous highlights frequently distract readers from absorbing an otherwise curious tale of "kids being kids," teenagers who may or may not be coming into their own. This graphic novel cannot get out if its own way. Readers learn so many details about the characters and the city at the heart of this story, but almost all of those details go nowhere or have no fundamental bearing on the arc of the narrative itself.
And for what details do exist, they persist in fits and starts, leaving inexplicable plot holes to linger. For example, the story takes place in 2005, yet none of the characters have access to the internet or cable television. Further, anime's popularity in the U.S. at this time was significantly more saturated than the graphic novel implies. Kids driving to an out-of-town gas station to purchase random DVDs from a drugged-out loner makes for a good laugh, but is impractical when, in 2005, anime can be easily purchased in music stores, malls, and specialty film shops all across the country; regularly appears on standard and cable TV; and seasonally invades local popular culture (e.g., Why don't the characters know they live extraordinarily close to the largest anime convention on the continent?).