In an early scene in Ducks, Kate is working at the tool crib in western Canada’s oil sands. It’s an autobiographical and sociological masterpiece, and I would like to talk about it. It’s 436 dense pages, drawn simply and impeccably. That was where I was at when Ducks came out. My grasp on what it is we’re supposedly doing here with this ‘comics’ thing has gotten distressingly tenuous. The internet, which once felt like a thrilling refuge (I was 24), is now a firehose of content impossible to parse (I am 39). For one, the world feels more fucked than it ever has before. Over the 15 years Kate and I have been industry friends, things have changed a lot. We made friends, another one of those weird internet friendships that feels both intangible and invaluable. Like everyone else in the world I became a fan of her work - the funny historical stuff and the (also funny, but serious too) autobio stuff.
Kate Beaton and I are the same age, and we hit the indy comics scene at roughly the same time.
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