There is no shortage of hapless, socially maladjusted male protagonists in the world of comics, whether it’s the solemn protagonists of Charles Burns, the unjustly egotistical Fante Bukowski, or even the presumably exaggerated autobiography of Jeffrey Brown.
Josh Pettinger’s Tedward is a worthy addition to that role call but screwed much further down into the distressingly absurd. Friendless, jobless, deeply misinformed about women and sex, Tedward’s an abject tailspin of a character who often finds himself unwillingly pulled into events just beyond his control.
Fantagraphics
The book begins with a breakup and ends in prison. The events between are a blur of cringing awkwardness held aloft by a character just oblivious enough to allow for a sort of maligned empathy from the reader—maybe we can feel for the guy, but his confused morality makes us hope he gets it in the end.
Tedward’s foibles most often come as the cost of his unwitting trust of others, whether that’s a man who offers him a job (which turns out to be hosing down the mess at sex parties) or simply a date that ditches him after he tells her to ‘wait right here’. Near the book’s end, the desperately lonely Tedward meets a man who shares his love of vintage mopeds, and what unfurls from that new friendship steadily descends from mild social discomfort to outright violence – and this is a standard day for Tedward, who briefly allows himself to trust another person.
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One could almost believe that it’s the outside world that’s terrible, not Tedward himself; the truth is hazier than that assumption. Tedward isn’t an outrightly vile man – his crimes tend more toward rudely projecting expectations on his dates and away from violence or abuse – but there’s an aspect of his ditzy obliviousness that make him an uneasy companion for the reader. He isn’t terrible, he’s designed to be maligned – we are meant to root for his downfall by way of his ridiculous nature.
Briefly, Tedward seems to be living a happy life, having discovered a young woman with whom he begins to share time – but when she commits the small crime of stealing television, Tedward reports her to the police; he is surprised, finally, when she breaks up with him. It’s this idiot simplicity that makes Tedward’s world a dangerous place, both to his ego and his safety.
Fantagraphics
Pettinger’s artwork tends toward the straightforward – his is a world with average apartments, plank fences, and frowny faces – which makes for a shocking, hilarious juxtaposition when Tedward’s misfortunes truly hit the fan. A shop window full of sex toys looks cleverly Saturday-Morning-stylized, body parts are drawn with simplicity of shape. While the rest of the world is drawn with a draftsman’s precision, Tedward’s missteps and maladjustments are delivered with soft lines, comedic curves.
Tedward is a delight of misfortunes, a sort of showcase of a downfall. It’s a hilarious collection of brutal shorts, custom-crafted to make the reader as squeamish as they are amused.
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