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A review by brucefarrar
Nuts by Gahan Wilson
5.0
As (grotesquely but realistically) magnified by the mind of the child, Wilson portrays the fear and obsessions of childhood along with a few serene moments of happiness. An unnamed boy grapples with adjusting to the often incomprehensible world around him. It’s filled with adult expectations, school, summer camp, friends, relatives, comic books, scary movies and places, imaginary monsters and real death.
I about laughed myself sick reading numerous strips. My prime example is the strip on page 37. The reader is invited to “Remember how the people who ran you kept putting you in places you didn’t want to be such as Cub Scout meetings, and birthday parties of people you hated, and summer camps?”—I can’t speak to Cub Scout meetings or birthday parties, but Wilson captures the essence of summer camp in six panels—A day at Camp Lone Tall Pine Tree: the Klang! Klang! of the wake-up bell and shout, “Breakfast time! No lazy boys! 5:30! Everybody up! And then breakfast itself: “What is this horrible red stuff I’m drinking? I bet it costs about two cents a gallon” as the boy next to you chokes and spits his out. Then the hike up Dead Pine Tor as the sweating boy thinks to himself, “What the hell are we doing this for?” Now his fellow camper is pleading, “Honest. Mr. Knudson—I twisted my ankle! It really does hurt!” He’s comforted by Mr. Knudson’s motivational reply, “Don’t be a Sissy, there!” The penultimate panel is swimming in the lake. One boy examines a strange dark something dredged from the depth, in the distance someone is calling for help because he can’t swim, and the protagonist is hauling himself up onto the raft while choking on “that green slime” he swallowed. The final panel is the campers copying the obligatory letter home telling the folks, “I’m having a good time here at Camp Lone Tall Pine Tree. Mr. Knudson said I was doing well. Love”
My sides hurt after read this, even after repeat readings, but extracts from the word balloons only without Wilson’s distinctly creepy art fail to convey the full experience.
I about laughed myself sick reading numerous strips. My prime example is the strip on page 37. The reader is invited to “Remember how the people who ran you kept putting you in places you didn’t want to be such as Cub Scout meetings, and birthday parties of people you hated, and summer camps?”—I can’t speak to Cub Scout meetings or birthday parties, but Wilson captures the essence of summer camp in six panels—A day at Camp Lone Tall Pine Tree: the Klang! Klang! of the wake-up bell and shout, “Breakfast time! No lazy boys! 5:30! Everybody up! And then breakfast itself: “What is this horrible red stuff I’m drinking? I bet it costs about two cents a gallon” as the boy next to you chokes and spits his out. Then the hike up Dead Pine Tor as the sweating boy thinks to himself, “What the hell are we doing this for?” Now his fellow camper is pleading, “Honest. Mr. Knudson—I twisted my ankle! It really does hurt!” He’s comforted by Mr. Knudson’s motivational reply, “Don’t be a Sissy, there!” The penultimate panel is swimming in the lake. One boy examines a strange dark something dredged from the depth, in the distance someone is calling for help because he can’t swim, and the protagonist is hauling himself up onto the raft while choking on “that green slime” he swallowed. The final panel is the campers copying the obligatory letter home telling the folks, “I’m having a good time here at Camp Lone Tall Pine Tree. Mr. Knudson said I was doing well. Love”
My sides hurt after read this, even after repeat readings, but extracts from the word balloons only without Wilson’s distinctly creepy art fail to convey the full experience.