As I sit at the tiny breakroom table after work, I hear my friend ask me, “What comic book are you reading?” Resisting the urge to say, “This is more than just a comic book! It’s a work of art and literature combined!” I hold up the book, revealing the cover of Alan Moore’s Watchmen. Luckily for you, the time to rant about this gloriously dark tale officially begins now.

When I say Watchmen is a book about super humans and masked vigilantes, you probably have an idea of what that entails. Alan Moore, however, takes a totally different perspective on that particular genre, and questions many of the superhero tropes we’ve grown accustomed to through the use his very human characters.

Moore (also the author of the famous Batman comic The Killing Joke) begins his story at an admittedly odd point in the Watchmen’s history: 1985. The world is on the brink of nuclear war. Being a masked hero is now illegal, and those formerly part of the 1^st or 2^nd generation vigilantes are either dead or getting killed off by a mysterious puppet master. This writer uses news articles, letters, and book excerpts as a way to reveal the past and explain the present. He also adds a story within the story, Tales of the Black Freighter, which also brings a foreboding element to the plot. Taken together, these seemingly disconnected “plot cords” create a rope that binds all humans together: the fear of running out of time. This sense of urgency only escalates as the story continues, and keeps the audience engaged– without fully understanding why at first. His manipulation of time connects the reader throughout the whole of the novel with a goal to (in part) reveal the fallibility within ourselves that we often prefer to deny.

 As for the fallibility of our protagonists, well. Moore doesn’t pull any punches. The main characters in our little drama—The Comedian, Rorschach, Dan Dreiberg (the nerdiest name ever, can we just agree on that now?), Laurie Jupiter, and Adrian Veidt—are full of not just quirks but “life flaws”—along with motives that bring both hope and destruction. These people aren’t teenagers coming to grips with their powers or responsibilities. They are adults who were once part of something they thought would make a difference. Dr. Manhattan, someone who, due to genetic mutation, drifts away from his humanity more and more, questions the point of human achievement in the face of a seemingly uncaring universe. The Comedian sees life through a cynical, apathetic lens that strips him of compassion. Rorschach, viewing morality as only black and white, remains the only masked vigilante left and justifies his murders as “purging the city of its evil.”  Last but not least, Dan and Laurie bring their own baggage to the table—but their climaxes refer to the end of the story, and I’m not in the business of dealing out spoilers.

All of these characters might be caricatures of humanity as a whole, but they all began with beliefs that we the audience can not only understand but relate to. This is the genius of Moore’s protagonists, antagonists, and characters in between the “moral lines.”

Another theme this book contains is how far one is willing to go for what he or she wants. I’m not sure about you, but if someone told me that immortality, fame, and even world peace were all achievable, I would jump at the chance to make all of those things come true. We all want to be remembered, and eternal life is written in humanity’s code anyway, right? And as a peacekeeper, the idea of countries ending hostilities brings great joy to my heart. But all of these things come at a cost—and our protagonists experience its worth in full dose. What is the price for all we desire? Something much more valuable than money, that’s for sure.

“All right, fine,” You say (in a classic You fashion), “Let’s say I do pick this book up. You go to Cairn, right? What kind of biblical perspective might you give?”

That is something I have wrestled with while writing this review, and I realize that I am not prepared to answer. Watchmen’s ending remains somewhat ambiguous, and leaves the moral lessons to the reader. I experienced this novel as a story about both the best and worst (mostly the worst) humanity can offer. How the characters use their power, their gifts, remains entirely up to them—and I think that paying attention to these details and choosing the good despite the odds is something worth thinking about. Alan Moore is not a Christian, and his writing reflects the hopelessness that comes with unbelief. However, as someone who drove through the twisted tunnel and arrived on the other side, I can say that this book certainly gave me reason to rejoice in the hope our world contains all the more—possibly because of the lack of hope Watchmen contains.

So, if you’re looking for a happy little story about some super-powered people who fight a bad guy and have witty banter on the side, this one is not for you. If, however, you are willing to delve into the dangers of inhumanity and reflect on the flaws we all share—or if you’re looking for a story that makes satire of all the superhero tropes you’re tired of—give Watchmen a shot. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.