I believe Daniel Clowes is always working at another level as a creator. As a reader, though, there are times when I’m not able to meet him there.

“David Boring” is a story about sexual obsession, featuring an achetypal 90s slacker, he of a  morose and clinical bent. He lives with a lesbian roommate and keeps a half-pornographic scrapbook in which he tries, Truman Show-style, to chimera together his ideal woman.

David observes his own life with a kind of clinical detachment that seems very sophisticated to people in their early twenties. That vibe, and the book’s largely adolescent attitudes about sex and scoring, were off-putting, even if Clowes isn’t oblivious to the fact. As one of David’s later girlfriends says, “Just because you’re cold and distant doesn’t mean you’re smart.”

Still, “David Boring” has more to offer than just first-time-in-the-big-city longing. Society seems on the verge of collapse; there’s talk of terrorists and plague. Even if we don’t see that disorder firsthand, it’s enough to drive our characters to an isolated beach house, the very place where David had his first romantic experiences, the very one he’s obsessively trying to return to.

The larger mysteries become intriguing as they broaden to include affairs and murder. It builds to a fascinating read, with memorable moments and characters. Through it all, though, David remains too flat, at least outwardly, to really connect with.