I Never Liked You

Chester Brown

Run! Teen angst!

Well, okay, maybe... don't run. I Never Liked You is, in fact, a stew of teen angst, it's true, and even more, an autobiographical stew of teen angst. The words "recipe for disaster" are all over this project like flies on October zucchini. And yet it manages to avoid devolving into either cheesy goth poetry or smarmy nostalgia.

This is, of course, a huge mark in I Never Liked You's favor. What Brown is doing here, he's doing well-- easily as good as artist du jour Craig Thompson or the king of this particular hill, Harvey Pekar. If you're a fan of either, I have little doubt you're going to enjoy this book a great deal.

The biggest problem with it, on the other side of the same coin, is that no matter how well it's done, it's been done, and it's been done in a charming, sensitive, mature way, and as much as the personal nature of the work might make you want to get all fluffy-bunny-and-cuddly-puppy, the reason you're identifying with Chester Brown's shy, awkward teenaged self is that we all went through the same stuff, sunshine.

Many writers have trod this road. Some have done it better, or as well. Others have done it considerably worse, and there are many of them. This is in no way a bad book, and if you enjoy memoir-style writing and illustrating, it'll be right up your alley.