It is hard not to compare each book I read in this course to those that preceded it and I have noticed an interesting arc in their formats and my perceptions of the stories they hold--from the accessible and accepted to the challenging and the hard to swallow.
The earliest works were the most accessible--equal parts quippy storytelling and sophisticated art styling that lent Bechdel, Bell and Sandell each a sort of currency to get my buy-in. There seems to be a sort of engineering of the story and art interplay that creates a kind of popular authority that works on me in part because they are designed to work on me--they are formulaic.
The last work by Kalamity / Gribnikova (Mother's Urn) departed from formulas and conventions completely. It is oubapo in the extreme. But I still had buy-in but from a different angle because it captured me with its intensity. Its artistry is in the design that allowed a complete separation of the art and the text for me. I barely could read them together and found my most profound meanings in allowing them to be separate.
Special Exits is a stealth read because even though it "looks" very much like a conventional graphic memoir (and even declares that it is one on its cover), I argue that it also embodies a quality of oubapo.
I entered the book. When I began reading I almost immediately noticed that the drawing captured much more of my attention than the text did. As I read along I found myself spending more and more time reading the drawings and less and less on the text. The text almost got in the way and sometimes I think I skipped or forgot to read parts of the text, engrossed in the imagery and the story it was revealing to me. In the conventional (not oubapo) graphic narratives that we've read, the art seems to take the role of illustration--drawing as a medium for expounding. But in Special Exits I found it was the opposite--the text was ancillary to the drawing.
For the first time this semester a book's drawing is much more powerful than its text. The text, in fact, is banal and at points boring. At its most compelling it can be poignant but ultimately tells a not very interesting story by itself. This is highlighted by the hyperbole of the title: Special Exits. In fact, Lars and Rachel didn't have very special exits. Their deaths are far from dramatic and their lives leading up to death are outwardly not very special. Of course, like all loved ones, they are loved ones and to Laura, Barbara, Nick, and others, Lars and Rachel are special but their story, to an outsider, is not so much.
The gorgeous story here is found in the grotesque drawing. It is in the facial expressions of the characters that the meaning behind the words is found. This and that happened and the text reports it but the drawing, particularly the facial expressions, is where the emotion and tension lie. Most of the action is also in the faces of the characters and not in their bodily movements or the pacing of the text. Lars and Rachel's story isn't very compelling but their anguish and their emotions are. The words in this book didn't tell me the story, Laura's face did.
Showing posts with label Darin. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Darin. Show all posts
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Sunday, March 10, 2013
glad that Margot is in Boston and can't see this...
I almost came to nonfiction as my genre by default. I cannot make up stories enough to write fiction and I cannot critique poetry enough to grasp it.
Mother's Urn: Memoir Dust has affected me intensely in at least as many ways as times I've read it this week. The first was blistering. Living a generation between my own gone mother who took too many pills and my baby's birth mother who is doing too much of too many things that prevent her from giving my baby a mom, I was blistered by the words and the art--which does have a blister quality about it.
After the first time, the effect was more specific and the second read left me lonely. Lonely for the mom that I should have been able to connect with in the end but couldn't / wouldn't / didn't. Lonely for the narrator who I think I know (but don't). Lonely for the white spaces most other pages in the world have.
The third time I didn't have use for words and recognized children more than mom, perspective more than escape. In graphic art terms there is a lot of bleed and in subject matter there is a lot of blood. And I notice the character that I take to be the narrator wears a white sweater with red stripes and cuffs and I wonder about the red cuffs symbolizing bloody wrists (if only metaphysically).
The fourth time I was looking for something new and got lost in pity or empathy but I don't know which because they often feel like each other to me but of course they're not and I am bad for getting confused by these. By the end of the fourth read I have turned on myself and wish I had only read this book three times.
Darin
Mother's Urn: Memoir Dust has affected me intensely in at least as many ways as times I've read it this week. The first was blistering. Living a generation between my own gone mother who took too many pills and my baby's birth mother who is doing too much of too many things that prevent her from giving my baby a mom, I was blistered by the words and the art--which does have a blister quality about it.
After the first time, the effect was more specific and the second read left me lonely. Lonely for the mom that I should have been able to connect with in the end but couldn't / wouldn't / didn't. Lonely for the narrator who I think I know (but don't). Lonely for the white spaces most other pages in the world have.
The third time I didn't have use for words and recognized children more than mom, perspective more than escape. In graphic art terms there is a lot of bleed and in subject matter there is a lot of blood. And I notice the character that I take to be the narrator wears a white sweater with red stripes and cuffs and I wonder about the red cuffs symbolizing bloody wrists (if only metaphysically).
The fourth time I was looking for something new and got lost in pity or empathy but I don't know which because they often feel like each other to me but of course they're not and I am bad for getting confused by these. By the end of the fourth read I have turned on myself and wish I had only read this book three times.
Darin
Monday, March 4, 2013
page 229 wraps it up
I am very interested in the way that Bechdel analyzed the Winnicott writings to tease out meaning in her relationship with her mother. Combined with Bechdel's musings and observations on Woolf, Plath, Rich (even Kumin and Seuss), Are You My Mother? is a dissertation on the mother / daughter relationship.
For most of the book the literary references were providing a guide to understand the narrator's relationship to her mother, like an academic paper citing sources as evidence of a logic-based analysis. But by the end of the book, there was a turn (somewhere--where did it happen?) and suddenly Bechdel's story became the evidence and citation for the analysis of Winnicott's work-- almost as if Bechdel's own story is secondary to the analysis of the literature.
I found the turn, better said--the fulcrum, by which the story and the literary analysis is supported and balanced. It is the exchange starting on 228 through 229:
***
narrator: Whatever it was I wanted from my mother was simply not there to be had. It was not her fault.
mom: I don't know why you can't understand me.
narrator: And it was therefore not my fault that I was unable to elicit it.
mom: Can you understand?
narrator: I know she gave me what she could.
She had just sent me another $1500 check, for god's sake, while I pursued a calling she was not happy about.
(hangs up the phone on mom) Yet I did not feel guilty about hanging up.
Her check would see me through until I moved and got a part-time job in September to supplement my cartooning income.
Mom had supported me for nine months.
The significance of this particular length of time does not escape me.
Things had once been much simpler between us.
***
The whole book was complete for me at the end of this passage. I was happy that there was more to read (because I was being entertained) but I didn't need for more after page 229.
For most of the book the literary references were providing a guide to understand the narrator's relationship to her mother, like an academic paper citing sources as evidence of a logic-based analysis. But by the end of the book, there was a turn (somewhere--where did it happen?) and suddenly Bechdel's story became the evidence and citation for the analysis of Winnicott's work-- almost as if Bechdel's own story is secondary to the analysis of the literature.
I found the turn, better said--the fulcrum, by which the story and the literary analysis is supported and balanced. It is the exchange starting on 228 through 229:
***
narrator: Whatever it was I wanted from my mother was simply not there to be had. It was not her fault.
mom: I don't know why you can't understand me.
narrator: And it was therefore not my fault that I was unable to elicit it.
mom: Can you understand?
narrator: I know she gave me what she could.
She had just sent me another $1500 check, for god's sake, while I pursued a calling she was not happy about.
(hangs up the phone on mom) Yet I did not feel guilty about hanging up.
Her check would see me through until I moved and got a part-time job in September to supplement my cartooning income.
Mom had supported me for nine months.
The significance of this particular length of time does not escape me.
Things had once been much simpler between us.
***
The whole book was complete for me at the end of this passage. I was happy that there was more to read (because I was being entertained) but I didn't need for more after page 229.
Monday, February 25, 2013
Believing
I track believing and not believing through the short to discover A truth.
pg. 1: The narrator says about Harriet's story of her mother being taken away to an alien planet: "at least that's what we she wanted to believe". The narrator believes the story of Harriet's mom that her own mother tells her before she divulges that Harriet told her what she, herself, believes in the last panel of page 1. It is interesting that the father "disappears" into a black box (doorway) in the illustration of that frame, showing how Harriet really lost both her parents into a "vacuum" - one of actual space (mom) and one of disengagement (dad).
pg. 2: "I learnt more from Harriet than whatever science lessons I got at primary school." The narrator has invested her believing in Harriet's knowledge even though that knowledge may be confusing or inarticulate (as depicted by Harriet's "noise" thought bubble in panel 2).
As Harriet pursues proof of extraterrestrial life, the narrator's increasing interest in science and a transforming read of "The Demon Haunted World" by Carl Sagan, the narrator's "belief structure vanished": "I Learnt what it takes for ideas to be verified, and I became happy to not believe." I paused here for a long while and wondered if this could also mean "believe in nothing" - and that believing and not believing really mean the same thing.
Back to the elephant in the piece (mom's disappearance by extraterrestrial abduction OR running away) and I think the narrator can't quite believe the former and doesn't want to believe the latter for the obvious reason that no child or teenager would.
pg. 3: Mysterious Harriet wanders to the outskirts and people speculate and a boy claims to have followed her and watched her. Harriet shares her photographic proof of extraterrestrial life with the narrator, who laughs at her, THEN Harriet disappears. No one knows what happened but the opening panels on page 4 describing the search for her belies what everyone believes - she was abducted by a stranger.
pg.4:The narrator states the truths she believes: Harriet was a defenseless sixteen year old; Harriet went into the countryside alone at night; there's no evidence of extraterrestrials. And then the narrator says, "Still; sometimes I lie awake at night, trying to believe." One read implies that she wants to believe that Harriet was abducted by extraterrestrials. Another read (since believing and not believing can mean the same) leads me to the narrator lies awake trying to NOT believe that Harriet fell to the probable fate of human-stranger abduction.
But what I actually believe the narrator is telling us in the last panel, through the art and not the words, is that she wants to believe that Harriet escaped it all and fled of her own accord. She is carrying a satchel, she has a determined expression set on her mouth and her fist is clenched in resolve. It's the only image of Harriet where her hair is in her face--she usually has a clear view (focus) on a task or thought--but here, her hair tousled in the night, reads as a women hitting the road. I choose to believe that Harriet escaped, got her degree from MIT and works at NASA. She is going to be so surprised if she ever stumbles across this short that features her!
Darin
pg. 1: The narrator says about Harriet's story of her mother being taken away to an alien planet: "at least that's what we she wanted to believe". The narrator believes the story of Harriet's mom that her own mother tells her before she divulges that Harriet told her what she, herself, believes in the last panel of page 1. It is interesting that the father "disappears" into a black box (doorway) in the illustration of that frame, showing how Harriet really lost both her parents into a "vacuum" - one of actual space (mom) and one of disengagement (dad).
pg. 2: "I learnt more from Harriet than whatever science lessons I got at primary school." The narrator has invested her believing in Harriet's knowledge even though that knowledge may be confusing or inarticulate (as depicted by Harriet's "noise" thought bubble in panel 2).
As Harriet pursues proof of extraterrestrial life, the narrator's increasing interest in science and a transforming read of "The Demon Haunted World" by Carl Sagan, the narrator's "belief structure vanished": "I Learnt what it takes for ideas to be verified, and I became happy to not believe." I paused here for a long while and wondered if this could also mean "believe in nothing" - and that believing and not believing really mean the same thing.
Back to the elephant in the piece (mom's disappearance by extraterrestrial abduction OR running away) and I think the narrator can't quite believe the former and doesn't want to believe the latter for the obvious reason that no child or teenager would.
pg. 3: Mysterious Harriet wanders to the outskirts and people speculate and a boy claims to have followed her and watched her. Harriet shares her photographic proof of extraterrestrial life with the narrator, who laughs at her, THEN Harriet disappears. No one knows what happened but the opening panels on page 4 describing the search for her belies what everyone believes - she was abducted by a stranger.
pg.4:The narrator states the truths she believes: Harriet was a defenseless sixteen year old; Harriet went into the countryside alone at night; there's no evidence of extraterrestrials. And then the narrator says, "Still; sometimes I lie awake at night, trying to believe." One read implies that she wants to believe that Harriet was abducted by extraterrestrials. Another read (since believing and not believing can mean the same) leads me to the narrator lies awake trying to NOT believe that Harriet fell to the probable fate of human-stranger abduction.
But what I actually believe the narrator is telling us in the last panel, through the art and not the words, is that she wants to believe that Harriet escaped it all and fled of her own accord. She is carrying a satchel, she has a determined expression set on her mouth and her fist is clenched in resolve. It's the only image of Harriet where her hair is in her face--she usually has a clear view (focus) on a task or thought--but here, her hair tousled in the night, reads as a women hitting the road. I choose to believe that Harriet escaped, got her degree from MIT and works at NASA. She is going to be so surprised if she ever stumbles across this short that features her!
Darin
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
word.
WORD.
I am assiduously avoiding (here) all the ways in
which this book spoke to me and am instead going off on a tangent and
dragging you with me. I have compiled a vocabulary list of the all the words in
Fun Home that I did not know, were
forms I did not recognize, and words I needed to be reminded of.
I was struck by Bechdel’s strong use of vocabulary
that is not “everyday words” and recognize that the “new-to-me-word” ratio is
very high in this text. If anyone were
to consider the graphic memoir an easy read because of the pictures, this text deflates
that argument. Not just by the vocabulary,
but also by the literary references that span from Greek mythology to the 20th
century.
legerdemain |ˌlejərdəˈmān, ˈlejərdəˌmān|
noun
skillful use of one's hands when performing
conjuring tricks.
Daedalus |ˈdedl-əs|Greek Mythology
a craftsman, considered the inventor of carpentry,
who is said to have built the labyrinth for Minos, king of Crete. Minos
imprisoned him and his son Icarus, but they escaped using wings that Daedalus
made and fastened with wax. Icarus, however, flew too near the sun and was
killed.
simulacrum |ˌsimyəˈlākrəm, -ˈlak-|
noun ( pl. simulacra |-ˈlākrə,
-ˈlakrə| or simulacrums )
an image or representation of someone or something:
a small-scale simulacrum of a skyscraper.
• an unsatisfactory imitation or substitute: a
bland simulacrum of American soul music.
buss |bəs| archaic or informal
noun
a kiss.
verb [ with obj. ]
kiss.
ORIGIN late 16th cent.: alteration of late Middle
English bass (noun and verb), probably from French baiser,
from Latin basiare .
suffuse |səˈfyo͞oz|
verb [ with obj. ]
gradually spread through or over: her cheeks
were suffused with color | the first half of the poem is suffused with
idealism.
DERIVATIVES
suffusion |-ˈfyo͞oZHən|noun,
inure |iˈn(y)o͝or|(also enure
)
verb
1 [ with obj. ] (usu. be inured
to) accustom (someone) to something, esp. something unpleasant: these
children have been inured to violence.
2 [ no obj. ] (inure for/to)
Law come into operation; take
effect: a release given to one of two joint contractors inures to the
benefit of both.
carom |ˈkarəm|
verb [ no obj. ]
make a carom; strike and rebound.
-valent
comb. form
1 having a valency of the specified
number: trivalent.
qualm |kwä(l)m, kwô(l)m|
noun
an uneasy feeling of doubt, worry, or fear, esp.
about one's own conduct; a misgiving: military regimes generally have no
qualms about controlling the press.
• a momentary faint or sick feeling.
DERIVATIVES
qualmish adjective
doleful |ˈdōlfəl|
adjective
expressing sorrow; mournful: a doleful look.
• causing grief or misfortune: doleful
consequences.
noblesse |nōˈbles|
noun
the nobility.
PHRASES
noblesse oblige |nōˈbles ōˈblēZH|the inferred
responsibility of privileged people to act with generosity and nobility toward
those less privileged: there was to being a celebrity a certain element of
noblesse oblige.
discomfit |disˈkəmfit|
verb ( discomfits, discomfiting , discomfited
) [ with obj. ]
make (someone) feel uneasy or embarrassed: he
was not noticeably discomfited by her tone.
epistle |iˈpisəl|
noun
formal
a letter.
• a poem or other literary work in the form of a
letter or series of letters.
effloresce |ˌefləˈres|
verb
1 [ no obj. ] (of a substance) lose
moisture and turn to a fine powder upon exposure to air.
• (of salts) come to the surface of brickwork,
rock, or other material and crystallize there.
• (of a surface) become covered with salt
particles.
2 reach an optimum stage of
development; blossom: simple concepts that effloresce into testable
conclusions.
DERIVATIVES
efflorescence |-ˈresəns|noun,
fecund |ˈfekənd, ˈfē-|
adjective
producing or capable of producing an abundance of
offspring or new growth; fertile: a lush and fecund garden | figurative : her fecund imagination.
• technical (of a
woman or women) capable of becoming pregnant and giving birth.
DERIVATIVES
fecundity |feˈkəndətē, fiˈkən-|noun
onomatopoeic
onomatopoeia |ˌänəˌmatəˈpēə, -ˌmätə-|
noun
the formation of a word from a sound associated
with what is named (e.g., cuckoo, sizzle).
• the use of such words for rhetorical effect.
prestidigitation |ˌprestəˌdijəˈtāSHən|
noun
formal
magic tricks performed as entertainment.
humectant |(h)yo͞oˈmektənt|
adjective
retaining or preserving moisture.
noun
a substance, esp. a skin lotion or a food additive,
used to reduce the loss of moisture.
succor |ˈsəkər|(Brit. succour )
noun
assistance and support in times of hardship and
distress.
• (succors) archaic
reinforcements of troops.
postlapsarian |ˌpōstlapˈse(ə)rēən|
adjectiveTheology or literary
occurring or existing after the Fall of Man.
lissome |ˈlisəm|(also
chiefly Brit. lissom )
adjective
(of a person or their body) thin, supple, and
graceful.
crepuscular |krəˈpəskyələr|
adjective
of, resembling, or relating to twilight.
• Zoology (of an
animal) appearing or active in twilight.
bathetic |bəˈTHetik|
adjective
producing an unintentional effect of anticlimax:
the movie manages to be poignant without becoming bathetic.
solipsism |ˈsälipˌsizəm|
noun
the view or theory that the self is all that can be
known to exist.
DERIVATIVES
solipsist noun,
solipsistic |ˌsälipˈsistik|adjective,
autodidact |ˌôtōˈdīˌdakt|
noun
a self-taught person.
mori
onerous |ˈōnərəs, ˈänərəs|
adjective
(of a task, duty, or responsibility) involving an
amount of effort and difficulty that is oppressively burdensome: he found
his duties increasingly onerous.
• Law involving
heavy obligations: an onerous lease.
deracinate |diˈrasəˌnāt|
verb [ with obj. ] literary
tear (something) up by the roots.
DERIVATIVES
deracination |-ˌrasəˈnāSHən|noun
dishabille |ˌdisəˈbēl|(also deshabille
)
noun
the state of being only partly or scantily clothed:
the relaxed dishabille of Lely's portraits.
mien |mēn|
noun
literary
a person's look or manner, esp. one of a particular
kind indicating their character or mood: he has a cautious, academic mien.
disport |disˈpôrt|
verb [ no obj. ] archaic
or humorous
enjoy oneself unrestrainedly; frolic: a painting
of lords and ladies disporting themselves by a lake.
approximant |əˈprɒksɪm(ə)nt|
noun
1 Mathematics
a function, series, or other expression which is an approximation to the
solution of a problem.
2 Phonetics
a consonant produced by bringing one articulator (the tongue or lips)
close to another without actually touching it, as in English r and w .
fricative |ˈfrikətiv|Phonetics
adjective
denoting a type of consonant made by the friction
of breath in a narrow opening, producing a turbulent air flow.
lacuna |ləˈk(y)o͞onə|
noun ( pl. lacunae |-nī, -nē| or lacunas
)
an unfilled space or interval; a gap: the
journal has filled a lacuna in Middle Eastern studies.
• a missing portion in a book or manuscript.
• Anatomy a cavity
or depression, esp. in bone.
tautology |tôˈtäləjē|
noun ( pl. tautologies )
the saying of the same thing twice in different
words, generally considered to be a fault of style (e.g., they arrived one
after the other in succession).
• a phrase or expression in which the same thing is
said twice in different words.
• Logic a
statement that is true by necessity or by virtue of its logical form.
divagate |ˈdīvəˌgāt|
verb [ no obj. ] literary
stray; digress: Yeats divagated into Virgil's
territory only once.
DERIVATIVES
divagation |ˌdīvəˈgāSHən|noun
Scylla |ˈsilə|Greek Mythology
a female sea monster who devoured sailors when they
tried to navigate the narrow channel between her cave and the whirlpool Charybdis.
In later legend Scylla was a dangerous rock, located on the Italian side of the
Strait of Messina.
Charybdis |kəˈribdis, CHə-|Greek Mythology
a dangerous whirlpool in a narrow channel of the
sea, opposite the cave of the sea monster Scylla.
obtund |äbˈtənd|
verb [ with obj. ] dated, chiefly
Medicine
dull the sensitivity of; blunt; deaden.
consubstantial |ˌkänsəbˈstanCHəl|
adjective
of the same substance or essence (used esp. of the
three persons of the Trinity in Christian theology): Christ is consubstantial
with the Father.
Sunday, February 10, 2013
Lucky Again
Lucky Again
The first thing that struck me (and drew me in) as I began reading Lucky is the recursive quality it has, referring to itself as it does, telling stories about the stories. Bell starts the first book with a mention of her journal and throughout all three books she refers to drawing comics and making books (and having to redo work constantly because of water damage or losing them!). Tell them once, tell them twice, telling about the telling.
The endpapers are very telling. At the front, Tom is right there, watching Bell as she works. He is a constant. Lucky #1 (also at the front of the book) is all about Tom and his quest for a room or an apartment in NYC even though the business he owns is in Boston. The whole first book takes place in 5 weeks - signaling to me (by duration and time-stamping) that this time was very important to Bell--a sort of watershed period in Bell's life (or love life).
In Lucky #2, Tom and Bell experience heightened tensions, culminating on page 56 with Bell helping T with laundry and then T helping Bell with her books but when Bell gets defensive with T's helpfulness and remarks, "You know, I can do this myself!", T drops Bell's stuff on the sidewalk, turns and walks away, saying, "Fine." (p 56). This is *almost* T's last appearance in the book but definitely signals their breakup. It is of interest that "fine" and "final" are both derived from the latin "finis" (end) - it is the end of their romance. Eight pages later it is confirmed when Bell has a park picnic with Andy instead of Tom.
In Lucky #3, we see T one more time, being short with Bell on the phone as he cuts a pizza - he must be back in Boston at the restaurant he owns there. Then the back endpapers show Bell alone in contemplation. No Tom, not working--just sitting, seemingly in deep thought. The work is finished…nothing to do? The front and back endpapers are all actually frames from the book but without the words, maybe because pictures are really enough to tell the story?
In Lucky#3, I am particularly drawn to the noise in the art that follows the pages with high-saturations of black (that seem to work as a transition from Lucky #2 that used the same drawing technique of lots of heavy black spaces). Starting on page 88, the art starts be overrun by text and voices, sometime coming from all sides. Then graphic noise cuts in, especially on page 94, as the pictures in her head take over the frames. pages 95 and 96 have frames of almost total static noise and the frame on 96 about "monotony" uses a spiral (a design without end) as noise.
Tone:
color tone - there's black and white, which are toneless. Does this cue me that for G, life is black and white, maybe black OR white.
voice tone - Bell is almost flat, even bored. How unremarkable her stories are make them so real, their starkness giving them credibility--like black or white (and toneless)?
The humor in Lucky #2, particularly the deadpan reaction to the art museum (pages 49-51) is absolutely hilarious and also a sort of holistic picture of Bell's world view. As if she is saying to the reader through the art museum experience, "Can you believe how ridiculous this city, this world, this book, is?! - I mean, a whole book (Lucky #1) with story, plot, action, characters, emotion and all the rest is carried by my boyfriend's quest for a room to rent." And again, making me believe in the narrator.
Darin
The first thing that struck me (and drew me in) as I began reading Lucky is the recursive quality it has, referring to itself as it does, telling stories about the stories. Bell starts the first book with a mention of her journal and throughout all three books she refers to drawing comics and making books (and having to redo work constantly because of water damage or losing them!). Tell them once, tell them twice, telling about the telling.
The endpapers are very telling. At the front, Tom is right there, watching Bell as she works. He is a constant. Lucky #1 (also at the front of the book) is all about Tom and his quest for a room or an apartment in NYC even though the business he owns is in Boston. The whole first book takes place in 5 weeks - signaling to me (by duration and time-stamping) that this time was very important to Bell--a sort of watershed period in Bell's life (or love life).
In Lucky #2, Tom and Bell experience heightened tensions, culminating on page 56 with Bell helping T with laundry and then T helping Bell with her books but when Bell gets defensive with T's helpfulness and remarks, "You know, I can do this myself!", T drops Bell's stuff on the sidewalk, turns and walks away, saying, "Fine." (p 56). This is *almost* T's last appearance in the book but definitely signals their breakup. It is of interest that "fine" and "final" are both derived from the latin "finis" (end) - it is the end of their romance. Eight pages later it is confirmed when Bell has a park picnic with Andy instead of Tom.
In Lucky #3, we see T one more time, being short with Bell on the phone as he cuts a pizza - he must be back in Boston at the restaurant he owns there. Then the back endpapers show Bell alone in contemplation. No Tom, not working--just sitting, seemingly in deep thought. The work is finished…nothing to do? The front and back endpapers are all actually frames from the book but without the words, maybe because pictures are really enough to tell the story?
In Lucky#3, I am particularly drawn to the noise in the art that follows the pages with high-saturations of black (that seem to work as a transition from Lucky #2 that used the same drawing technique of lots of heavy black spaces). Starting on page 88, the art starts be overrun by text and voices, sometime coming from all sides. Then graphic noise cuts in, especially on page 94, as the pictures in her head take over the frames. pages 95 and 96 have frames of almost total static noise and the frame on 96 about "monotony" uses a spiral (a design without end) as noise.
Tone:
color tone - there's black and white, which are toneless. Does this cue me that for G, life is black and white, maybe black OR white.
voice tone - Bell is almost flat, even bored. How unremarkable her stories are make them so real, their starkness giving them credibility--like black or white (and toneless)?
The humor in Lucky #2, particularly the deadpan reaction to the art museum (pages 49-51) is absolutely hilarious and also a sort of holistic picture of Bell's world view. As if she is saying to the reader through the art museum experience, "Can you believe how ridiculous this city, this world, this book, is?! - I mean, a whole book (Lucky #1) with story, plot, action, characters, emotion and all the rest is carried by my boyfriend's quest for a room to rent." And again, making me believe in the narrator.
Darin
Saturday, February 9, 2013
Thursday, January 31, 2013
The Imposter’s Daughter
Darin Jensen
I had never read any graphic prose before and when I got the
books for this class I have to admit that they didn’t look very
serious—especially those with vivid colors like The Imposter’s Daughter. I read Darkroom
first because it is the one I was most drawn to and then I turned to The Imposter’s Daughter. I was
immediately taken aback by the use of the carrot to insert the word “true” into
the subtitle—as if memoir as a genre is not necessarily true. Sandell somehow
felt the need to inform the reader that this memoir, unlike so many others (?),
is TRUE. Of course a lot in any memoir needs to be constructed from bits of memory
or pieced together from research, and memoir is inherently loaded with dialogue
and description that is not precise but is a representation of what happened. I
set aside my discomfort with the subtitle and plunged in. I did return to the
cover when I discovered in Sandell’s story that she was an interviewer and
editor. Her job was to retell people’s stories as she heard them—to tell the
truth. If she felt the need to qualify her memoir as true, does this mean that
even the stories of other people that she wrote or edited she knew not to be
true?
The body. I am grateful that we will be reading several
books in this genre because I think it takes reading training to find a flow
for this kind of work. The short text blocks read as micro-paragraphs and feel
jilting and dissonant. I trust that I will learn to read graphic prose and it
will become easier.
The conclusion. It was sooo short. I was literally shocked
upright (I mostly read in bed) and starting looking for what I had missed. It
seemed so abrupt and easily wrapped up but with no finality. Yes, getting sober
and seeing life with new eyes to move forward “finishes” what was before and
coming to the conclusion that your Dad is never going to be available to you
again (even the good things about him) is “final”—but it seemed like their was
no reconciliation in her own mind about the past. Rereading the last chapter
(which I studied but still only spent 7 minutes with) did give me clues of an
ending—but only because I was then looking for an ending. I felt left hanging
about her relationship with Ben.
I think I have not touched on the topics for this lesson
(per the syllabus).
Craft: I appreciate the short versions or chaptering. They
signal a shift in direction or theme. I think they are necessary because the short
blocks of text need to be compartmentalized to avoid a rambling text. The
primitive art is great—a relief. It helped me believe that Sandell doesn’t
(hopefully) take herself too seriously.
Content: If Coming of Age means throwing your dad under a
bus, I suppose Sandell is grown up. I think Sandell could have given a more balanced
picture of her dad, delved into what might have made him become the liar he
was. Hard to do when he shut her down and is a proven liar, but she didn’t give
much of his backstory for context. Not because I’m a dad but because I’m a son,
I found this book disappointing.
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