In THE FART PARTY, her collection of confessional comics, Julia Wertz does only one thing wrong: calling it THE FART PARTY. It’s an off-putting title that belies the actual content. It’s kinda like referring to sex as, say, “misery razor time.” It just doesn’t fit.
Wertz herself acknowledges this in an introductory letter to the reader: “If you are expecting a book full of fart jokes, I’m sorry. If you are expecting a well drawn, artistically informed and poignant book, I’m sorry.”
So then, what is THE FART PARTY? Damn good.
It collects a year’s worth of webcomics from last year, chronicling Wertz’s relationship with her first love Oliver, in San Francisco. He tolerates her cranky spells – which sometimes, via Wertz’s pen, expand into fantasy furies of bloody, limb-severing rage – and her many quirks, including an obsession with watching LOST on TV and eating lots of cheese. They appear to be a happy couple, but that relationship is tested when he has to move to Vermont for law school.
In the supplementary pages, a reader’s letter takes Wertz to task for her art, which he likens to “4th grade SIMPSONS tracings.” That’s overly harsh, but what’s wrong with that? The cuteness of her characters only makes their bluntness funnier, particularly her own (sample dialogue to the pharmacist: “Cream for my crotch rot, please.”).
As far as indie comics go – and with me, that’s pretty damn far – THE FART PARTY is one of the better ones currently out there. Alternately funny and sad, sweet and sour, Wertz’s work earns your goodwill mostly by being real. –Rod Lott
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