There are maybe four main things I remember about Jeff Ayers, the manager of Forbidden Planet, my go-to comic shop when I lived in NYC. The first is that Jeff gave me a student discount long after I graduated from college, and he would instruct the other people on register to do so when he saw me. The second is that he was very gracious about not wanting to sell my self-published comic in his shop, but he was willing to let me put flyers for it on the front counter. The third is the time Grant Morrison did an in-store signing and I sort of ran up to him to ask for a picture without really introducing myself first, a move that made Jeff visibly cringe.
(Note: Grant Morrison was not offended. I don't actually know if he's capable of being offended. Also, the MOST CHARMING FAMOUS PERSON I HAVE EVER MET).
Sidenote: Michael Zulli is easily the least.
The fourth thing is that Jeff Ayers really loved Peter Milligan -- possibly more than he loved Grant Morrison, which was a lot -- and of all things Milligan, I think he loved Enigma the most. The fact that I too love Peter Milligan more than Grant Morrison -- well, more specifically, I love Milligan without reservation, while I love Morrison with tons of reservations -- is definitely due in part to the fact that Jeff Ayers convinced me that Milligan was cool. It is pretty hard to convince me that anything is cool, really, and maybe that's why I always held off on trying Enigma, despite it being (I think) Milligan's most well-respected work. By the time I'd decided to give it a shot, it was out of print and fabulously expensive, but then it came back into print, and then I found a copy of the old edition in a bookstore for eight dollars anyway...so.
But I guess if I'm being completely honest, there are two other reasons I wasn't sure if I wanted to read Enigma. The first is that the art always looked like mud to me. This was wrong. I mean, Fegredo's art is muddy and, at times, incomprehensible. But I was wrong to think this was a bad thing. The art just makes you work for it a little, and once you start speaking its language, there's some absolutely beautiful choices being made throughout.
The second other reason I never tried Enigma, I think, was that I knew it was about a gay superhero, and I think for a long time I just wasn't particularly excited about reading about a gay superhero. As I think back on the kind of person I was in my 20's, I feel like I was a modern and accepting dude the way that Kevin Smith characters are modern and accepting. Like, the dudely dudes of his films are basically tolerant, and they vote right and intellectually believe in the things they know they should -- but the abrasive humor also masks a lot of insecurity about gender and sexuality. I don't know if I really got to work on chipping through that until grad school, to be completely honest. Nowadays I'm REALLY excited to read about gender and sexuality in the comics. And while part of me is sad that I took so long to read a comic that, jesus, might actually be one of my new favorite comics, I'm also pretty happy that I waited to read Enigma until I was interested and excited to do so.
Like a Kevin Smith movie, Enigma exists in a very specific cultural moment in which its protagonist, Michael Smith, is the sort of liberal-minded straight man who a) seems to think its okay for gay men to exist and b) also thinks it's okay to punch a gay man in the face if he feels his masculinity being threatened. He's the kind of character who only really makes sense for the decade-or-so in which he's written -- any earlier, and his general tolerance of gay culture might seem unbelievable for such a blue-collar whitebread. Any later (as in now) and his individual intolerance codes too easily as bigoted and cruel.
In this, Enigma is not a timeless graphic novel, and has to exist in the early 90's when it was written. However, everything else about the book -- in which Michael Smith discovers that his favorite childhood comic book superhero, Enigma, seems to have come alive -- really moves beyond these temporal boundaries.
As Michael becomes convinced that he and Enigma are connected, he leaves his disinterested wife and his middle-class existence to track down the character's creator, Titus Bird -- an alcoholic ex-hippie who is just as surprised to learn that Michael isn't gay as Michael is to learn that Bird is. Meanwhile, the glimpses we see of the Enigma comic-within-the-comic suggest that Bird's original creation steals shades from subversive underground comix as much as it borrows from the land of capes and tights. Titus seems to be what you'd get if you mixed Denny O'Neil and Howard Cruse, and that in itself is fucking fascinating.
The dichotomy is exacerbated as Enigma and his evocatively-named villains (The Truth, The Head, Envelope Girl) begin to roam Michael's 'real' world of Pacific City (and how great is is that he lives in a clearly comic-book-named metropolis, instead of Los Angeles, which it seems to stand in for) (and how great that its initials are PC!) From the onset, Michael's obsession with Enigma clearly has romantic undertones that every character but Michael is able to see. As Enigma's battles against his foes cause increasing amounts of collateral damage to the city -- damage that Michael assumes the blame for -- there's an obvious, but artfully-crafted metaphor for the way that coming out can feel like a far-reaching destructive act.
As Michael clumsily tries to understand the nature of his obsession with Enigma, the book's early chapters similarly fumble with the overlap of gay culture and fetish culture (capes and tights, yadda yadda). However, it actually seems more accurate to say that Michael, as a character, is the one who fumbles. He moves through preconceived ideas about homosexuality, to the physical act of sex, to an understanding that the way sexual orientation is connected to identity as a whole is more important than how one dresses or who one fucks.
And on top of all this, there's a really great pseudo-superhero story (from the Enigma comic-within) and an even better 'real' superhero story (about the version of Enigma inhabiting Pacific City), all skillfully rendered as a meditation on narrative and existence that is truly broadening to read.
There's so much here that Milligan does well in making this story specific to sexuality, and also totally not. This very much feels just as much 'for' the gay community as it is a book that tries to universalize that community's concerns for a larger audience. It also happens to be skillfully and thoughtfully done -- never preachy for a single panel, and just horking beautiful to look at.
If anything, the craziest thing about Peter Milligan is that he is, by turns, the laziest writer and the most truly genuine one to come out of the British Invasion. So much of his stuff seems to purposely miss the mark, or to do so through lack of care, that it makes it all the more special when he nails it. I've really never read a comic quite like this. Having read it, I don't know why anyone else would even bother trying to write one.