Enigma

© Grant Morrison 1995

ENIGMA - Peter Milligan & Duncan Fegredo (DC Comics/Vertigo, 1995)

Introduction by Grant Morrison

SERIES

Originally, this i introduction to the collected edition of Enigma was to have been written by none other than Goody Two-Shoes, the Dandy Highwayman himself, Mr. Adam Ant. When, however, Ant was unable to meet the brutal deadline, glamorous editor Art Young was forced to plunge downmarket in search of some shameless tart who’d be willing to write anything for a couple of bucks – Hence me, scant seconds before publication, harassed but immaculate, trying to put together something which at least smells and looks like an Introduction, even if it doesn’t taste like one.

NAKED

Believing, as I do, that no introduction ever want to make anyone buy or read a book, I will simply attempt to get this business over and done with as quickly as is humanly possible and using any means necessary. If this involves adopting the oily, unconvincing tones of a practised toastmaster residing over yet another “celebrity roast”, then so be it. This book is about the truth, The Truth even, and isn’t it the truth of things that introductions to books are designed solely to place undue stress upon the saintly heads of those condemned to write them? The truth is that it’s far too challenging to a proposition to have to fill this space with some kind of critical appraisal of Enigma, so instead I prefer to take this opportunity to pull aside the shower curtain of fame and reveal a glimpse of the naked Peter Milligan, the private man behind the public mask.

STRANGE

Perhaps I should begin my ramble by stating my credentials in this area: I’ve been enjoying Peter for some time now, in a manner of speaking, having followed his work – as day follows night and Chapman followed Lennon – from the glorious visionary sprawl of Strange Days, through his various collaborations with the Divine Brendan McCarthy and on to Shade, The Changing Man etc. Etc. During that time it has been my privilege (or perhaps “fate” would be the more appropriate word), to have come to know the man himself and if not to have actually shared his triumphs and tragedies, to at least have heard about them on the phone via some third party or other.

BOWEL

My most charming memories of Peter date from that haunted spring of 1992, when he and I were invited to attend the Lucca Comics Convention in Northern Italy. As foreign guests, flown across Europe and housed in the finest of hotels, we were naturally expected to repay the hospitality of our hosts by making some effort to attend the convention. As incorrigible layabouts, of course, it was our intention to do nothing whatsoever which had about it the slightest whiff of comic bookery. Somehow we managed to convince our Italian friends that the short flight from London to Pisa had so crippled us with jet lag that we were all but incapable of speech and movement. We found that the word “dizzy” worked best when working our way out of our obligations. We learned to invest the concept of “dizziness” with that sense of dread and fatality normally reserved for bowel cancer.

Another drunken day lazing in the hotel. A hopeful Italian voice on the telephone.

“We have a film crew waiting here to interview Pete Milligan. It’s for Italian TV. It’s really quite important...”

I look across to where Peter lounges. He shakes his head, waves a dismissive hand, picks up his drink.

“I’m afraid Pete’s not feeling too well right now. He’s very dizzy today.”

“Ah... Dizzy... I’m so sorry to hear that...”

Down goes the phone.

Or what of Milligan, deranged by drink and drugs, standing on the rocks at Lerici, where the poet Shelley drowned in 1822? I don’t believe I shall ever be free of the poignant memory of my friend, staggering onto the rocks, shaking his fist at the insensible waves and screaming, “Do your worst, you bastards! You’ve had Shelley but you won’t have me!” Nor can I overlook his work with charity, his gentleness, generosity and chastity...

STRIP

But you want The Truth don’t you? And i can’t keep up this Peter Ustinov bollocks for very much longer. The Truth is that lies are often more honest than they’d like to be. The Truth is that fiction often tells us more about ourselves than we’d prefer to know. The Truth is that Enigma is one of the greatest comic strip series ever written because, with vicious glee, it exposes the absurdities and inadequacies of our lives and holds all of our ludicrous hopes and fears up to the harsh light of The Truth. It shows us the Human Condition as a condition very much like dandruff, but it doesn’t just stop there. Enigma has been described as an existentialist comic but I think it’s more than that; let’s face it, when was the last time you had a grin with Jean-Paul Sartre? The gleeful viciousness of the humour in Enigma is such that not only does it make us laugh, not only does it make us cringe in recognition at the paltriness of human desires and ambitions, it also shows us how we can become free, like Michael Smith, by not being afraid of The Truth.

And all this in a comic too!

BOTTOM

In terms of sheer technical bravado, which I don’t expect anyone but other writers to give a flying fart about, Enigma breaks new ground in every chapter. I could go on all day about the innovative scene transitions and character bits made possible by the brilliant device of an omnipresent cynical narrator (who, despite his contempt for it, cannot disentangle himself from the text in which he is as deeply embedded as the characters he ridicules so exquisitely). The identity of the narrator, concealed until the closing pages, is finally revealed in what is, for me, the series’ transcendent moment; a moment which lifts the lid off the fictional world just as surely as the sky is torn from the Enigma’s world at the bottom of a well in Arizona.

VIBRANT

Let’s not forget that Enigma is also a Super-Hero Comic and proves that, despite insistences to the contrary, there is still endless possibilities open to anyone willing to put some time and intelligence into grappling with the ideas raised by one of The Great American Artforms. Enigma is about super-heroes and the ordinary people who make super-heroes and about the reasons why they do it. It’s working within a marginalized artform and uses the clichés of that artform to produce something that’s more vibrant, more relevant, more incisive, and, frankly, a good deal more funny than the latest hyped-up novel from the latest thin-blooded literary sensation.

AROUSING

And just in case Duncan Fegredo’s feeling left out as I near the end of my Picaresque journey , here’s a bit about him:

I have worshipped the bust of Duncan Fegredo since 1991 when he painted my Kid Eternity series for DC (no mean feat for the hopelessly colorblind Fegredo, who lives in his own mad world – a world nothing like our own where fire engines are royal blue and the sky is a blushing pink). His pen and ink work, showcased for the first time in Enigma, is every bit as sexually arousing as his Kid Eternity art but with the added brilliance of increasingly skilful draftsmanship. Duncan reinvented himself in the pages of Enigma and produced his most expressive, most explosive work to date. There’s enough libido here to light up Broadway, and I seriously urge the governments of the world to consider using Duncan Fegredo as an alternative energy source. Cheap, clean and friendly? Well, one out of three’s not too bad.

CLIMAX

And having done that, I should also bring to your attention the coloring of Sherilyn Van Valkenburgh, which brings Duncan’s artwork to even more vivid and writhing life, if such a thing can be countenanced. The apocalyptic climax of Chapter 7 shows just how much of the credit for the mood of this series can be laid at the door of Sherilyn and her magic brushes. Add to that the elegant lettering of John Constanza and the distinctly louche editing of Arthur Young, and you have a landmark, mate, a bleedin’ landmark, of a comic series and surely the only contender for next year’s “Best Collection” award.

SHAME

And so I reach the end. I had a duty, which I discharged to the best of my ability, and must now withdraw. It would be a shame to stand in the way for even a second longer, and this scholarly tone of voice can become so annoying sometimes.

Enigma is much, much better than I could ever make it out to be. Stop reading this now. Read Enigma instead and discover The Truth.

Would I lie to you?

Grant Morrison

Home, May ‘95