Not too long ago, I read Watchmen, the graphic novel by Alan Moore and Dave Gibbons, which is “one of Time magazine’s hundred best novels.” I confess that part of my motiva­tion for doing so was that there was this suppos­edly awesome book out there, and I couldn’t form an opinion on it until I had actually read it.

To describe Watchmen in one sentence: imagine that you are falling deeper and deeper into a well, and as time passes you start becoming more desperate, losing hope. Then, all of a sudden you wake up and realize it was all a dream, but then you realize you need to get ready for a long day of work ahead and wish you were — well, back in the well. (No apolo­gies for the pun; deal with it. And yes, I know I used two sentences instead of one.)

To put it in more meaningful terms, the story starts with a gloomy backdrop where it seems like the world is starting to fall apart, with nostalgic yet rosy scenes from the past being the standard to compare present day against. From there, it proceeds into darker terri­tory, with a violent and strangely compelling narra­tion “on the side” to set the appro­priate mood. It eventu­ally climaxes in what I would term a “moral muddle” — a situa­tion where there’s no “right thing to do” and every avenue leaves the reader with a bad taste in the mouth. Being power­less as a silent audience doesn’t help much, either.

Of all the charac­ters, Rorschach is portrayed as the most contro­ver­sial, and yet, he is, in my opinion, the most straight­for­ward, coura­geous and honest super­hero in the story. It is said that Rorschach sees the world in black and white, but I disagree. The whole argument for accepting “shades of gray” stems from the fact that people think differ­ently and believe differ­ently; it does not preclude an individual from having absolute personal opinions. From that point of view, Rorschach has certain princi­ples that he always stands by, and he takes it upon himself to “save the world” as he sees fit.

Dr. Manhattan, the only real super­hero, is an enigma of sorts, because the novel hints that it is impos­sible to truly under­stand his point-of-view until we see time and events the way he does, connected in a single, complex and intri­cate pattern. Even so, I would have respected his indif­fer­ence towards humanity if he had shown the same indif­fer­ence towards the rest of Universe (including Mars). That human life and humanity in general is point­less is a perfectly sound argument (see Note 1), but valuing dust storms on Mars over human life, or billions of years over thousands is not an argument I am willing to consider without justification.

In an odd twist, Dr. Manhattan’s position also subtly points out that real power is to have the strength without having to actually use it. Having to use it would mean that you are a slave to that power, and (unless you are omnipo­tent) you are likely to eventu­ally find yourself in a situa­tion where your opponent cannot be destroyed by any power that you possess.

In conclu­sion — find some time to read the book.

Note 1: People tend to believe that it is their moral oblig­a­tion to convince others that human life is not point­less, or that the argument in its favor is somehow taboo. I find it perfectly reason­able for one to agree that human life is point­less, but move on and be happy nevertheless.