"I mean, there's gotta be somebody lookin' out for us, right?"

In Watchmen Alan Moore imagines what superheroes would be like in the real world. For this thought experiment to work they won't be leaving the environment where they traditionally operated. Since they are still confined to the pages of comic books, the essential differences will emerge more distinctively.

In the real world it would be truly remarkable if people decided to put on some costume and go out at night to fight injustice. Maybe some people would applaud their efforts, but more conservative circles would certainly call them nutjobs. Maybe that's what you called some individuals roaming your neighborhood. Moore's characters are just as broken. And their individual personalities and flaws are similarly complex.

So don't be fooled by the presentation. The story is not about fighting crime, let alone some mad supervillain. In fact, in the main timeline the days of superheroes are long gone. The few that remain are primarily fighting their own personal demons. For some it's only through recent events that they even find the courage to reflect on their past and to come to terms with who they are and where they are going.

The melancholic and at times existential tone deeply resonated with me. It's especially through long passages of prose interspersed between the chapters (or issues) that the reader gains access to who our heroes and anti-heroes are at heart. From the very first entry I knew this wasn't just a gimmick, it would be genuinely meaningful.

It's the introduction to the original Nite Owl's autobiography of the original Nite Owl, a costumed vigilante who was active back in the golden age. The author took up the advice given to him by an elderly woman who keeps on writing romance novels though she never actually published one. That is, he began by telling the saddest story he knew.

When he was 12 his father worked at Vernon's Auto Repair. Young Hollis loved Moe Vernon. The passionate fan of opera was the kind of guy who loved to pull people's leg. You know, the kind who isn't genuinely funny, who's even a bit annoying at times, yet whose too charming not to like. The kind of person you wouldn't be surprised to learn has a drawer full of toys originally marketed at horny boys. Anyway, one day he receives a letter from his wife that she took their money and left with his senior employee.

He was just to pull a prank on the mailman. So, there he stood, with this pair of oversized boobs tucked on, completely crushed about what he learned. As his favorite opera is playing, Wagner's Ride of the Valkyries, he stumbles out of his office and in front of his workforce. The sad clown must have been such a ridiculous sight, and sure thing everyone's laughing. Just like he always wanted.

Why am I repeating all this? Moore is obviously telling it much better. My point is, the book is full of emotionally powerful moments like this. When this happens with traditional novels (or even gifted storytellers) people tend to say that they vividly saw the scene before them. Here we find them beautifully illustrated. The art renders the moments even more tangible, somehow suggestive of how they would present themselves in reality.

Dave Gibbons's art is absolutely amazing throughout. Here I have to admit that when I first read the book about 15 years ago it didn't fully resonate with me. It's somewhat lacking in detail. I think it results from the conscious decision to evoke the colorful visuals of Superman? What I appreciated much more this time around were the moments of genuine grandeur, the instances when the comic goes way beyond what is possible in our world.

Which brings me to Doctor Manhattan. He's the reason why most superheroes fully lost faith in themselves. Sure, society already lost its trust in them, not the least because of some well-covered scandals. But even the most righteous didn't see the point anymore. Why go on with something if there is someone who is so much better at it than you are? It sure is overblown but the symbolic significance is plainly evident.

Not everything needs to be so heady. For the avid science-fiction reader there is much to love about Doctor Manhattan. He's somehow present in all instances of his existence. From our perspective he might be all-powerful; from his point of view he's trapped by the knowledge of what is to come. In some aspects he's still the man he used to be. Yet, he cannot bring himself to care for the insignificance that is the people around him. And it's not for the lack of trying.

I haven't yet talked about the character that to me and I'm sure to many will be the most memorable. To be honest, it's because I wouldn't know how to adequately talk about Rorschach. He's such a twisted individual. Maybe you could say that he's relentlessly moral. Or that he's so firm in his moral principles that he won't compromise one bit. Only that his principles are what we would call right-wing American to the bone. Yet he's somehow likeable. You don't want him to succeed, but it's incredibly painful to see him fail.

His journal is one great example of how on-point the writing is. The emotional depth and darkness that is expressed in those elliptical lines genuinely goes under you skin. His subject matter is so very much distorted that the murder mystery fades into the background. There is no doubt that he is a very lonely man, and there are strong signs that for him this is an insufferable situation he endured for decades. This is th reason why it's genuinely moving when in the end an old friend treats him with respect.

The political climate throughout is pointing towards the end. With every chapter, the Doomsday Clock is ticking. At the beginning Russia is invading other countries and from what we can gather from the media things are getting worse. At some point World War III seems imminent. For the most part the geopolitical developments form only the backdrop to the main events. Until the mysteries suddenly ties into what is happening all around them.

The conclusion presents us with two reveals. Eventually we learn why the Comedian had to die. In the bigger scheme of things his role is almost insignificant. Actually, it is primarily in the early chapters that we learn what kind of man he was. He committed horrible deeds in the name of America's chauvinist cause for global justice. The macho that he is he even casually tried to rape the original Silk Spectre. Maybe we came to believe that he deserved what happened to him.

Yet even his role in the narrative is more complex than you would originally have imagined. When we learn that he is the father of her daughter we naturally believe that the story we heard wasn't faithful to what really happened. It's almost choking to think of the implications. The first reveal is that her origin isn't as violent as we came to believe. What this means is perhaps even more difficult to comprehend.

The other reveal presents us with a familiar moral issue expanded to the most epic scale. Does the end justify the means? The means turn out to be genocide and the end the potential avoidance of total annihilation. Now that's an awesome supervillain plot. Part of his brilliant plan is that our heroes cannot even act against him. Their hands are tied by similarly utilitarian concerns. I wonder whether it takes a comic-book anti-hero like Rorschach to adhere to non-compromising Kantian principles to break free from ethical shackles.

What impressed me the most was an observation of Doctor Manhattan, at once witty as it is telling of the kind of being he is: "I did the right thing, didn't I? It all worked out in the end." - "'In the end?' Nothing ends, Adrian. Nothing ever ends." It's in moments like this that Alan Moore proves himself to be one of the best writers in any medium.

Rating: 5/5