The Fiction of Douglas Lain
The Dead Celebrity
forthcoming
an excerpt:
I never could face death. That's why I started to draw comics, that's why I admired Charles Roth—I wanted to be famous, to leave my mark.
When I was younger I was more direct in my attempts to escape mortality. When I was five I decided I was Superman.
My parents were worried, this wasn't normal. I wasn't pretending, or at least I wasn't just pretending. I really thought, tried to convince myself, that I was the Man of Steel.
"Your tights are dirty, Ernie," my mother said.
"No, these are tights from Krypton."
"Well, they may be from Krypton, but they're dirty," my mother said.
"No. These are bullet proof. These are dirt proof. I want to keep wearing them," I said. "And I want my cape. Where is my cape?"
"If we don't wash those tights they'll get old faster. They'll wear out."
"They won't, they're from Krypton."
"Everything gets old, even on Krypton."
"No. I don't want them to," I said.
I never had anything other than an ordinary facility for drawing, and I didn't start drawing comics in order to communicate any artistic vision.
I started drawing cartoons because I wanted to be Superman and live forever. But when it started to actually happen, when I discovered that Barnes and Noble had my 'zines for sale in trade paper, for instance, when I found a cardboard cut-out of Ernie Becker pointing to the merchandise, I was no better off than before.