The Naked Artist

I was unaware this book even existed until I came across it while mindlessly browsing Amazon one day. It’s not even listed on the official Bryan Talbot page, for god’s sake! It’s a collection of anecdotes, some true, some possibly apocryphal, that recount embarrassing and sometimes near-unbelievable stories about comics creators.

It’s split into sections: conventions, signings, fans, drunken escapades, and so forth. Some of these are only mildly entertaining, while a few seem to have strayed in from other urban legends: the story of the creator who gets locked out his hotel room naked, and has to hide behind a potted palm, is a scenario I’ve read several times before, attributed to a different celebrity each time.

The majority though are amusing: some are hugely amusing. A large amount seem to be caused by the undue influence of alcohol. Favourites include the moment that Talbot sets Jeanette Khan alight with a hastily discarded fag; the comics festival that ends with a mock Jihad-style execution and a blow job; and the annoyingly insistent child that gets his comeuppance at a comics signing.

Perhaps inevitably, the tales that carry the most weight are the tales in which Talbot himself was either participant or witness. He has an easy, unpretentious style which lets the events take front stage. It’s the equivalent of standing in a pub while one of your mates tells you an entertaining story: which is exactly what this book aims for.

It’s lightweight stuff, but also highly pleasurable. I read it beginning to end in a single evening in one of those frenzied readathons where events make you want to read more and more until you realise…you’ve reached the end.

And that’s the problem, really. It’s a bit short, and you suspect that there are many more anecdotes out there that could have resulted in a longer and perhaps more satisfying book. It’s a snack rather than a filling meal. Perhaps there’s a sequel in the offing.

The physical production is a bit disappointing too. It has a flimsy cover, and is printed on thin, pulpy paper, the sort that you used to find the likes of the Comics Journal printed on. The end result is somewhere between a book and magazine, and in these days of inexpensive, customisable printing, it’s a bit inadequate.

It’s illustrated throughout by Hunt Emerson who creates his usual reliable and entertaining caricatures. It’s strange perhaps, to have another artist illustrating Talbot’s work, but caricature isn’t perhaps Talbot’s strong point.

Still, these defects aside, it’s a fine, frivolous distraction. And if you buy it, you’ll read about FA’s own Martin Skidmore, and his escapades in New York. I’d heard that story before, but it still made me laugh out loud, in a similar fashion to many of the stories recounted here.