What was going through New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd’s mind when she visited President George W. Bush’s personal doctor? The president was paying an extended visit to the Middle East in 2008, and Dowd opted to join the press pool that was invited to attend. It’s no secret that the columnist never liked the former president—she didn’t diminutively refer to him as “W.” all those years just to raise a chuckle.
Once she landed in Jerusalem, Dowd fell so ill that she couldn’t even write her column. The press secretary at the time, Dana Perino, offered the services of Dr. Richard J. Tubb, the Air Force brigadier general in charge of the White House medical office who always travels with the president for doctoring purposes. Dowd resisted at first, but when her condition worsened, she bit her lip and sucked up her pride. In fact, the White House staff was so gracious that they even made room for her on Air Force One so she could have direct access to Dr. Tubb.
“I was thinking that if I ran into Bush, I would have to apologize for it not being a fatal disease… he was very generous to share his doctor—even if he didn’t know it,” Dowd said in an interview with the Washington Post. Though, she added, “I am not sure that his saving my life is going to be enough to save his.”
What a gal, and I think cartoonist Benjamin Marra of Traditional Comics will agree with me. Why, he almost has to, else why would he have spent his valuable artistic time creating The Incredibly Fantastic Adventures of Maureen Dowd, a comic book that Marra stresses is a “work of fiction and satire.” Of course it is, but we all know that satire is often more honest than life itself. What a paradox.
Marra renders Dowd as only he could: a busty, gun-slinging, shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later type of broad who will do anything, and I mean anything, to land a scoop and meet a deadline. We’re made amply aware of this from the first page: it’s a single panel that shows and tells us all we need to know from the onset. Marra’s Maureen is lounging in the kitchen of her D.C. townhouse, comfortably cloaked in slinky lingerie. Don’t mind the gun tucked into her left garter. She only uses it to protect herself—most of the time.
Here in Marra’s fictionalized world of Washington D.C.; people, places, and events are more or less how they are in the real world. Dowd is a popular anti-Bush columnist for the Times who is dating a humble roster of celebrities when she finds the time, the Bush administration houses in its ranks a withered cabal of bloated war schemers, and Thomas Friedman is an editorial tool without talent. (Seriously, try reading this guy’s work. It’s of junior-high quality at best, and that says nothing of his constant contradictions and waffling on important geopolitical issues, namely the Middle East.) It all seems in place. The differences are all of the firefights: there are shootouts in ballrooms, the streets amidst moving cars, and even hotels where Dowd is ready to show one of her lucky celebrity dates what kind of damage her other weapons can inflict.
This day in Maureen’s life, she is busy. Her column is due as soon as possible, and her blustery editor isn’t shy to remind her every chance he gets. But there’s more on her mind than just work: she’s got a big date with George Clooney later in the evening, which she doesn’t fail to remind us of every other page. While she doesn’t break the fourth wall and address the readers directly, she might as well. She has enough room in that big, lavish townhouse for all of us to sit a spell and chat.
But none of that really matters once her house is burglarized by a shadowy agent of Darkriver who promptly steals her laptop. Luckily, our heroic pundit of the pen is no dummy, and the laptop taken is a decoy. What’s to say—the career of a columnist is a hazardous occupation in this world. And Dowd knows it, but she’s willing to take every chance. In fact, when she hits a wall with her column, she’s not even above seeking help. In a ridiculously delightful scene, we see Dowd bouncing ideas off of Thomas Friedman at lunch, who suggests she hit up Scooter Libby for the proper information that will help bring down the administration and make her a political star for all eternity.
The only catch is Libby needs to be on the record. Luckily, our Maureen has plenty of feminine wiles to lure his name into print. But trouble is never far behind: Darkriver eventually figures out Dowd’s deception and hunts her down to end her column once and for all. Thankfully, she has a knight in shining armor to protect her—a CIA assassin codenamed “Shadow Wolf” (who is strangely as handsome as Marra himself… I wonder why that is) who has gone AWOL to protect her. And not far behind him—Hezbollah commandos that will stop at nothing until he draws his last breath!
I can safely declare that I’m in love, and the unfortunate recipient is Benjamin Marra’s imagination. I have a pornographic fascination with American politics and have watched enough cable news in the last few years to last me more than a handful of lifetimes. But our political system is often so frivolous and silly that it needs adequate mocking. Thanks to Marra, we’ve been given just that. Bless his heart.
There’s one question I walked away from this book with: what exactly are Marra’s feelings towards Dowd and her column? As it’s labeled, this book is a work of lovingly bombastic satire, but I don’t know if it’s playful jest or biting ridicule. Because who really reads these columns anyway, other than the authors and their close friends and family? I don’t mean so much Dowd; I do enjoy her work, but who truly divines wisdom from one of Friedman’s write-ups, or even worse, from the stuffy words of the plutocratic David Brooks—just for two examples? Political pundits and insiders sure bray a lot, but to who, other than their wealthy and (supposedly) powerful counterparts? Isn’t it all an insular, incestuous, and meaningless cycle without end?
That’s one notable quality about Dowd that separates her from her lesser colleagues: she writes for us while nearly everyone else writes for themselves and their pals.
These are all my own whines and ruminations, but every one was initiated by Marra’s work. The Incredibly Fantastic Adventures of Maureen Dowd is a witty and whimsical start to what I expect to be a fulfilling run. Marra sure does know what he’s doing. My proof: he knows who Mary Matalin is and namedropped her appropriately. Oh, and if this review ever finds its way to the eyes of the genuine Maureen Dowd, might I make a suggestion? Forget hanging off the arms of celebrities like Michael Douglas and instead give Marra a chance. I’ve met him. He’s a charming guy. I think you two would hit it off smashingly.
This comic book review originally appeared on Broken Frontier.
