'Bradley Of Him' Is A Surreally Fun Desert Run

So there's this pale, gawky, bald guy in mirror shades running through the desert. That's the central image of Connor Willumsen's graphic novel Bradley of Him, and it's also a kind of seed. From the image of a stubborn runner in an inhospitable landscape, Willumsen has built up a hilarious and philosophically challenging meditation on individuality, capitalism, celebrity, connection — and, under it all, absurdity.

Willumsen seems to have shaped his story the are spun off from the iconic figure of the desert runner. With his smooth pate (shaved and covered with a skintight cap to ward off the sun) and reflective specs, he's got a definite Hunter Thompson vibe — especially since he's not just in any desert, but the desert outside Las Vegas. But he's kind of an anti-Thompson. Rather than getting high and tormenting the squares, he devotes himself to pointless, excessive physical discipline until he's vomiting and desperately stripping off his clothes. His pale skin, so unsuited to the blazing heat, is a potent sign of the absurdity of his endeavor — and of human endeavors in general. Willumsen underscores the point by having him stumble into a hippie enclave, a fenced hideaway whose posted rules include "Nudity Optional." The sunbathing denizens look as uncomfortable and out-of-place as he does. When he goes back to town, the remembered presence of the surrounding desert mocks the city plopped down in the middle of it. Everything in Vegas is the opposite of the desert: Crowded, off-kilter and discordant, full of mirrored surfaces (echoing the mirror shades) and potted plants.