The Private Eye #4 – Review

By: Brian K. Vaughan (story), Marcos Martin (art), Muntsa Vicente (colors)

The Review: With all the drama of the past couple issues, I very nearly forgot that this is a detective comic we have in our hands (read: on our screens).  So far, a lot of the developments in Patrick’s newest case have fallen into his lap, though at the cost of a middle finger.  If this is karmic revenge for his initially refusing to take on the case in the first place, but at least he has some incentive to take control of the situation by putting his nose to the ground again.

His first attempt doesn’t bring him quite the results he might have been hoping for, however.  Smooth as he is, he has the misfortune of plying his skills against an equally slippery vendor of “Fine Nyms & Alternate Identities.”  Like any good gumshoe, however, Patrick doesn’t let a flabby woman with a face mask nor her knight in shining armor (literally) stop him.  Raveena sees it as a “total dead end”; Patrick calls it “just a cul-de-sac.”

What the exchange with nym-seller does tell us is that there’s a pretty wide respectability gap between the legitimate press and the “low-life paparazzi fucks,” which in turn is a reminder of how the nation’s institutions have been reappropriated, post-bursting of the cloud.  Like any good writer, Vaughan knows that the most valuable parts of a story are the ones that bridge Point A to Point B.  He thus keeps a tight lid on the details of how this anonymity-obsessed society came to be, rationing out hints and clues only as needed.

We get one such tidbit when Patrick negotiates the cooperation of a librarian to look into the late Taj’s search history.  As heartening as it is to see that libraries remain an integral part of the country’s public systems, they too have become suspicious and closed spaces.  But, as Patrick’s library source explains, the changes have been for good reason:

“[I]t wasn’t people’s private letters or chat transcripts that destroyed lives.  It was their search histories.  All we do is lie to each other, but when we’re alone, looking hard for what we actually want most in life…that’s when we reveal what pathetic wrecks we really are.”

Of course, Chester projects his own self-loathing in that little speech, but he makes a good point about how much a person’s search history can reveal.  For Taj, her interest in international politics after reading DeGuerre’s autobiography reveals an important piece of the villain’s motivations.  His tirade against America’s status as a melting pot and how it “boil[s] away all its original flavors until everything tastes like the same bland shit” reveals a disgust with the country’s loss of individuality, no doubt made worse by everyone’s true identities getting subsumed by their Nyms.  Yet, as Nebular points out, DeGuerre’s choice of civilian business makes him complicit in this homogenization; maybe that’s why he needs to ensure that once he makes his next move, it’s as blunt and irreversible as possible.

That seems to suit Vaughan’s style to a tee.  He tends to spare nothing and no one in the hard realities of his stories, and if you ever read Runaways, you know that extends to kids as well.  Under Vaughan’s pen, Melanie gets the benefit of reading like a true-to-life teen, meaning petty and challenging, but sharp as a tack and fully capable of making her own choices, the cautions of adults like Patrick or Raveena be damned.  But Melanie must also pay the price of that kind of independence, reaping the consequences of her impulsive actions just like anyone else, with no narrative loopholes available to save her.

There’s a bit of Frank Quitely’s motion-detail in Martin’s art this issue, particularly in the pains he takes to draw every piece of rubble left flying in the wake of a brutal car accident.  He almost revels in every moment of damage, pacing out what would be a near-instantaneous tragedy into a drawn out sequence of wince-inducing woe: the unraveling of a hover-tire, the fender crunching into the resemblance of a stamped soda pop can, the engine heaving itself through the air.  This is just one sample of the kind of care Martin puts into every issue of this series, if his efforts to personalize very individual’s disguise and costume didn’t tell you that already.

Conclusion: Smart and biting, with plenty of heft, this issue continues Private Eye’s tradition of being both imaginative and substantial.

Grade: A

-Minhquan Nguyen

Some Musings: – When Nebular refers to the “Paul administration,” do you suppose he means Ron or Rand?  Given the size of the missile he’s working on here, probably Rand, right?

– When was the last time anyone ate McDonald’s fries in one of those ruffle-topped boxes?  I kind of miss those things.

– Oof.  A period when Scientologists have become as prevalent and intrusive as Jehovah’s Witnesses.  This is a rough age indeed.