The Pitch: In this graphic novel, what begins as an affectionate reminiscence of the author's 1990s teenage infatuation with the late actor River Phoenix morphs into a remarkable, sprawling account of the city of Portland and the state of Oregon's dark history of white nationalism.
As pitches go, this has to be one of the most unique: A book that begins as an account of Murphy's teen infatuation with the actor River Phoenix, circa his time in Portland filming 'My Own Private Idaho' for director Gus Van Sant, that gradually becomes a history of Portland's history of white nationalism. To be honest, I knew very little to nothing of either subject going in. I'd seen Idaho but had been too young or ignorant to 'get it'. And Portland? Well, I have friends who'd lived there, so knew a little. The rest was gleaned from reading Chuck Palahniuk's excellent Fugitives and Refugees, an underground tour through Portland. The irony that the alt-right seems to have adopted Palahniuk's works is not lost on me, although I find it baffling having read his books. Portland genuine seemed like a cultural swirling point, a place where art is made and lives. Somewhere, in short, I'd like to visit or even live. Having read Murphy's book, I'll settle for just visiting, thanks.
The book itself is beautifully presented. A diary of Murphy's obsession, in cursive hand and marker pen reproductions of photographs. This at once gives the effect of reportage and yet distances you from the events. You become emotionally worn down without having to live through the events themselves, which all good journalism does. At first, it might seem as indulgent as any autobiographical OGN filling up the shelves, but it soon gives way to the facts of life in Portland. It's grim reading. More than once I had to put the book down for a bit and go get some air. The narrative is complex, weaving across decades even centuries. The players in the modern portions of the book are real people that seem like characters in a movie, especially Ken Death and Tom Metzger. Like good movie villains, they seem charismatic and powerful. Reminiscent of cult leaders. And their hearts and minds are just as dark. What one gleans from the book is that there is genuine evil in the world and it can be insidious, living in the blood and bones of people and places, rising up all too often, with very few able to smack it back down.
Of course, that's tough to do when racism and white supremacy are baked into an area the way it's baked into Portland. The kids who carried the torch for these terrible views infiltrated much of the punk scene, the gay scene and in turn, Van Sant's movie. Van Sant seems drawn to these kids like a moth to a flame, which casts a pall over his films somewhat for me. I can't imagine what it's like to be a person of colour or genderqueer and therefore not a target for the hatred of the people that Murphy writes about. But I can say that these people don't speak for me and my views. Even saying that it's hard to believe that any of these people are real and yet they are. They exist and sadly thrive. For me, reading Murphy's highly personal book, there's a sense of a magical-realist fable. The ink from her marker pens bleeds through pages, making them seemingly kink and bend, the way memories bleed through into your life and won't go away, even if they're memories you don't want to give air to. I wonder if it's the same for Portland's past, bleeding through the pages, bending your views and warping the future. As you read it, you realise it's best to remember, lest history repeats itself. Of course, the most startling thing about the book is that these movements show no sign of going away. The future seems as terrifying as the past. All we can do is promise ourselves we won't let this darkness creep into our lives. Murphy won't forget her time in Portland. Read this book and you won't either.
I Never Promised You A Rose Garden is available from your comic book shop now.