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A review by hypops
Fante Bukowski Three: A Perfect Failure by Noah Van Sciver
3.0
The further (final?) adventures of the self-obsessed, pretentious, wanna-be writer Fante Bukowski. This third volume has less of the wry awfulness of the first Fante book and even less of the satiric bite of the second one. Instead, A Perfect Failure sets out to earn the otherwise-detestable Fante some sympathy points, making A Perfect Failure a much flatter, more crowd-pleasing volume than the prior two.
Flashbacks give us a version of how daddy’s little deadbeat son, Kelly Perkins, became comic fandom’s little deadbeat writer, Fante Bukowski. This backstory doesn’t do much for the character since we could all pretty much guess what kinds of personal cliches might go into making an egotistical, unproductive artist. There’s not anything at stake here. And the story in the present just feels like Fante’s character and story have entered into a steady holding pattern.
It’s all perfectly enjoyable reading, but there’s just not anything exceptional here, aside from a few panels showing Fante’s affection for a family of raccoons and a brief gag featuring John Porcellino. There’s nothing being risked, reimagined, or revealed about the character, about the art world, or about anything else. It’s like a forgettable episode of a perfectly serviceable sitcom filled with predictable jokes and story beats.
And I’m only speaking so harshly since I know Van Sciver is capable of much better. The prior Fante volume was fantastic, and Van Sciver’s ongoing Blammo anthology continues to be filled with some of the best new comics going. Unfortunately, this latest Fante book already feels like the character has run out of creative steam.
Flashbacks give us a version of how daddy’s little deadbeat son, Kelly Perkins, became comic fandom’s little deadbeat writer, Fante Bukowski. This backstory doesn’t do much for the character since we could all pretty much guess what kinds of personal cliches might go into making an egotistical, unproductive artist. There’s not anything at stake here. And the story in the present just feels like Fante’s character and story have entered into a steady holding pattern.
It’s all perfectly enjoyable reading, but there’s just not anything exceptional here, aside from a few panels showing Fante’s affection for a family of raccoons and a brief gag featuring John Porcellino. There’s nothing being risked, reimagined, or revealed about the character, about the art world, or about anything else. It’s like a forgettable episode of a perfectly serviceable sitcom filled with predictable jokes and story beats.
And I’m only speaking so harshly since I know Van Sciver is capable of much better. The prior Fante volume was fantastic, and Van Sciver’s ongoing Blammo anthology continues to be filled with some of the best new comics going. Unfortunately, this latest Fante book already feels like the character has run out of creative steam.