Bandits and Opium Sellers

Kyril Bonfiglioli’s All the Tea in China and Peter Carey’s True History of the Kelly Gang are both rollicking adventure stories set in the past when men were men and skullduggery was a rip-roaring adventure rather than disreputable thuggishness.

Bonfiglioli’s hero is Karli Van Cleef, a Dutch Jew who swashes and buckles his way across the eighteenth century, peddling opium, eating prodigiously, and driven about equally by lust for gold and standard issue lust. Carey’s hero is the well-known Australian outlaw Ned Kelly, who has a heart of gold, the soul of a poet, and is persecuted, persecuted (as Karli, who is fond of repetition, might put it.)

Both books are built around the boys’-adventure-generating possibilities of imperialism. Karli can try his fortune thanks to the British empire and its gleeful trade in dangerous drugs (after trying opium himself and being brought to his senses only by a coffee enema, Karli tells his boy that the next time he requests opium, the boy is to hire a burly man to beat him until he falls unconscious. “This will be both cheaper and better for my health.”) Ned, on the other hand, is an Irish subaltern, hounded by the English police into banditry, violence, and murder.

The main difference between the novels is tone — All The Tea in China is a light humor novel; Bonfilioli has often been compared to P.G. Wodehouse. The True History of the Kelly Gang, on the other hand, is a serious work; it won the Booker prize in 2001, and its narration (by Ned Kelly himself) is self-consciously naif-profound in high modernist style — as you can see from the first paragraph.

I lost my father at 12 yr. of age and know what it is to be raised on lies and silence my dear daughter you are presently too young to understand a word I write but this history is for you and will contian no single lie may I burn in Hell if I speak false.

I think the conventional wisdom is that a serious book should have a more, thoughtful, serious take on serious issues. Not in this case, though. Carey’s prose is as graceful as his head is empty. He takes his epigraph from Faulkner, but his heart is with RL Stevenson. You’d think a Big Literary Novel about Ned Kelly might try to puncture the sentimental Robin Hood image, but you’d be wrong. Carey’s Kelly is wartless; a confused kid who only wants to do right for his family and his mum, led astray by both and, ultimately, by poverty and oppression. A multiple murderer, he remains always innocent, that naif prose, so simple and yet so clear, simultaneously absolving and elevating — lack of punctuation as the blood of the lamb.

Karli’s narration, on the other hand, is not only correctly punctuated, but is unfailingly cosmopolitan and witty. Much of it is devoted to describing at length his viands:

There was also a dish of hot buttered parsnips; they were very good. I ate them all, for Mr J. declared they spoiled his appetites for the meats. Then Batsay brought in a dish of things called “Poor Knighs of Windsor”: these were pieces of bread and jam fried. They do not sound good but they are. Mr. Jorrock’s Stilton cheese was even better than Mr. Creed’s; he pretended that it was “so werry frisky that he had to hold it down on the table as I scooped, lest it walk away.

For Carey, experience is an ongoing trauma; for Bonfiglioli, it is an ongoing appetite. Similarly, Carey’s imperialism is a tragedy; Bonfiglioli’s is more in the nature of a joke, as when the native Dutchman quips that Ireland is “an island off the coast of England, just as England is an island off the coast of Holland.”

It’s not that Bonfiglioli downplays the cost of oppression, exactly. One of the more shocking moments in the book occurs when Karli’s faithful child servant is dragged away by a lion…and Karli’s girlfriend, Blanche, tries to comfort him by reassuring him that she’ll wash his linen. It’s not that she’s a cruel person; it’s just that the boy is lower class, and for her that means he’s not really a human being. In Carey, oppression often seems to be a function of direct sadism. That happens in Bonfiglioli as well — but more often, hierarchies are perpetuated by a combination of thoughtlessness and self-absorption.

Karli is actually affected by his servant’s death. He sees him as human…perhaps in part because he is himself socially marginal in certain ways. As a Dutchman and a Jew, he’s not on the bottom rung of the class ladder the way Ned Kelly is, but he’s not exactly on the top either. From his anomalous perspective, the Chinese aren’t any more mysterious than the British — both, in fact, seem motivated mostly by naked self-interest and duplicity. The British sell the Chinese opium; the Chinese trade for the opium with stores of fresh water which turn out to be contaminated and undrinkable. Everyone fucks over everyone else to the best of their ability — which doesn’t make imperialism okay so much as it makes the Chinese (and other subalterns) able to get back a little of their own.

Carey’s earnestness and sentimentality means that Ned Kelly is defined by his victimhood; all his evil misdeeds, all his violence, is essentially blamed on his wounds. He’s a creature of his persecution. Bonfiglioli’s humor and cynicism, on the other hand, allows him to present the oppressed as genuinely wicked and amoral in their own right — which is a great relief. Ned Kelly dies a little inside every time he performs a dastardly act; Karli, on the other hand, is full of good cheer when he lies to the ship’s Captain about his religion in order to be accepted for passage. Being a Jew doesn’t make him a victim; it makes him a money-grubbing, intellectual sneak; an exotic daredevil who will deflower your women with his circumcised bits.

Of course, the flip side of this is that Bonfiglioli does make imperialism seem like rollicking good fun. Opium selling is obviously bad — but there are so many opportunities for riches! Kelly and Kiril encapsulate, perhaps, the difficulty in writing about oppression. Carey makes Kelly’s oppression so dire and all-consuming that it robs him of freedom of will — even his act of rebellion seems like a dour imposition from his masters. On the other hand, Bonfiglioli makes turning the oppressors tools against them seem like such a blast that it validates the system itself. Even the satirical moments (like the boy’s fate) seem like ratifying larks. It would be a shame to not have servants if that meant we couldn’t have jokes about them dying by lion.

So…witty heartlessness? Or lugubrious pathos? The Booker has already chosen the second, so I will take the first, thanks.

A Conversation about Habibi’s Orientalism with Craig Thompson

Around the time I was writing my critique of Orientalism in Craig Thompson’s Habibi a strange thing happened: I got to know Craig Thompson. Through a mutual acquaintance and a series of chance convention run-ins at San Diego Comic Con and the Alternative Press Expo in San Francisco, we became casual acquaintances. While writing up my honest reaction to Habibi I decided to burden our new friendship with the weight of criticism by calling to ask him a few clarifying questions. The result expanded the scheduled ten minutes of chat time in to a much longer conversation about Orientalism, feminism, cultural appropriation, the burden of relationships, and the thematic successes of Habibi. The only thing I’d like to add before presenting our conversation is something that should become evident to you while reading it: Craig Thompson is a supreme class act. Not only did he take time out of an extraordinarily busy schedule to directly confront my criticism of a book he spent over seven years making, but he did it with an amount of grace and humility that I didn’t know was possible.

 

Nadim Damluji: I want to start by talking about Orientalism, which it appears you were conscious of during the process of making Habibi. During the creation process, did you ever second guess your ability the distinguish between using Orientalism as a playground versus simply reproducing it?

Craig Thompson: I don’t want to repeat myself, but I keep saying that the book was a conscious mash up between the sacred medium of holy books like the Qu’ran and the Bible and the trashy medium of Comic Books. And I was keeping in sight this sort of unpretentious, self-deprecating, low-brow, motivation of comics.

As for the charge of Orientalism, I knew it was going to come up no matter what, so why not embrace it? More broadly, I’ve always liked genres that have a degree of exploitation to them like horror films. They play on these really crass and appealing elements that also exist in 1,0001 Nights or French Orientalist paintings. It was fun to think of Orientalism as a sensationalized genre like Cowboys and Indians, which is a very poor representation of the reality of the American West, but fun to think of as a fantastical genre. And at this point in history, most people who watch things in the Cowboys and Indians genre totally realize it paints an inaccurate image of what the West was like … well actually you know there are people who watch cowboy films and think that’s what it must have been like. In fact, I’m pretty sure George W. Bush is one of those guys whose political beliefs are shaped by those films.

 

ND: I’m familiar with French Orientalist paintings and it feels that you are expanding on the snapshots those painting provide — like the scenes of Habibi that take place in the Slave Market or in the Sultan’s Palace — but those images are very loaded with this implicit “White Man’s Burden” element. In other words, we need to save the Arab women from the Arab men, and that’s how the French imagined “the Orient.” Did you ever fear that you were carrying the baggage of the medium by imitating that style? Specifically, I’m curious to know how you set a limit for yourself when sexualizing Dodola to avoid reducing her to simply another exotic Arab woman in Western literature?

CT: I wanted to sexualize Dodola, because I wanted the reader to experience her through the lustful gaze of all men, and primarily the gaze of Zam. Hopefully the lust of Zam is transmitted in those drawings, and maybe at times the reader identifies with it or other times feels disgusted by it or ashamed by it, which mirrors the experience Zam was having. Throughout the book even the Orientalism is a commentary on exoticization. Which isn’t just about any specific culture or ethnicity, but a stereotype of what men do in general or what a lot of people do in romantic relationships. I’m examining American guilt and I’m examining male guilt. In male guilt there is so much of this energy of objectification and idolatry and eroticization. When I think of those French paintings I don’t see the “White Man’s Burden” of the French needing to save the beautiful Arabic women from their oppressors, I see the opposite: French men swarming in a perverted sort of way and trying to make fantasy reproductions of what those ladies look like under their hijab. I don’t think it paints the colonists in a positive manner, it makes them seem like these creepy little voyeurs.

 

ND: Especially because so many of those paintings were created without the painters actually going to the Middle East…

CT: Yes, exactly.

ND: Which makes those paintings problematic because those landscapes are imagined but purporting to portray reality. You’ve talked previously about trusting your subconscious in the creative process to guide you in navigating taboo. That makes for two distinct parts of Habibi: the subconscious imagined landscapes element that is the bedrock of Zam and Dodola’s love story, which you’ve noted was created aware of Orientalism, and then the research heavy elements of the book which deal more with the Qur’an. What I’m afraid of is that readers will take the more imagined and playful parts and give them the same level of plausibility as the clearly research heavy sections of your book. Now obviously you can’t be responsible for all your readers…

CT: That’s an understandable concern. For me it seems, on some level, a little silly that people keep talking about and examining Habibi as if it were some academic book, which it definitely isn’t. I keep labeling it as a “fairy tale” because that is definitely my intent. As much as an artist I want to strive to create comics as art or as literature, I’m still at my core just a cartoonist. Cartoonists want to make these exaggerated caricatured playful ridiculous irreverent drawings in some ways. I do feel reverent and respectful to elements of Islamic faith, but through the whole book there is a sense of play and self-awareness around the fact it’s still just a comic book. It’s super heroes in some ways. It’s Star Wars. But maybe the energy to focus on Habibi as an academic text is coming from outside the comics medium, where people are surprised to see more mature elements in a comic. In some ways the dialogue should also revolve back to the medium itself, which still has a satiric intent. I hesitate to say that, because I don’t want to say that Habibi is satiric towards any faith or religion. But comics are this sort of a self-deprecating medium inherently.

 

ND: I can speak to the academic tendency! For me, a lot of that has to do with the packaging. It’s this big tome and it’s by “Craig Thompson, author of Blankets,” and it feels a lot more “literary” just by virtue of packaging and the Pantheon label than more crass comics do. Do you ever feel a burden as one of a very few comics artist that is sold in Barnes & Nobles as well as local independent comic shops? You have those two worlds of fans that you have to appease and respond to.

CT: I feel privileged to be in that position. Since I’ve started my career in comics I always wanted to extend to a broader audience. I always felt that comics as a medium was untapped in terms of audience potential and that I was being held back by a lot of the retailers, distributors, and the attitude of fans in the industry. I definitely wanted to embrace this little fad in publishing of “graphic novels” because it feels like a window to extend comics to a bigger audience. I was excited to bring comics outside of the weird collector’s world. You know there’s been these different explosions in comic’s history of interest in the medium, but they’ve always seemed real tied up with the speculator culture. For me the bookstore is taking it back to the mass arts roots, like the Daily Newspaper, something that a common reader has access too and stumbles on and not just sequestered to a little cult Indie following the way an obscure punk record store would be. And I love buying a lot of those “tome” like products…

 

ND: Me too! When you’ve talked previously about about the goal for Blankets being 500-pages before you even had the story, I get that as a collector and fan of books in general.

CT: But I would like to create more modest projects too. Maybe naturally Habibi had to be this kind of book as a follow up to Blankets, because there was so much expectation of this as my “sophomore effort.” I don’t know, I think it also happened because of the emotional space I was in at that point in my life. I was being reclusive and in my Salinger phase. It would have been strange to emerge from that with something less.

 

ND: You’ve mentioned Joe Sacco as an influence. I don’t know if you understood it this way, but I found a lot of the Qur’anic elements to be a more Sacco-like project that had you looking at the footnotes of Suras and Haddith to pull out a really interesting research thread. Those are the parts of Habibi that I felt were most in your voice. I wonder if you ever had more of a desire to work in that vein as opposed to fiction? And jumping off that, our mutual friend Edward Said writes about the need for authors to “catalogue personal inventory” which in a very basic sense is a call for the author to put themselves in relation to the text in writing which creates a space for readers to know where the author is coming from. This is especially crucial in writing about the “East” from the “West,” which Sacco seems aware of by putting himself in his comics with obscured glasses; he is drawing in his subject position. Have you ever thought more about if post-Habibi you’d attempt a project more explicitly like that?

CT: You know what they say about dream analysis is that every character in your dream is a role that is played by yourself. You have to look at your dreams like “why am I stabbing myself with a butcher knife?” and you can’t judge any character because they are all representations of you. I feel similar about fiction. I can see parts of myself in pretty much every character in Habibi, even the ugly ones. For example there is one of the eunuchs that is creepy, more bad cop hijra, and I tried to draw that as a gross drag version of myself. I thought, what would I look like if I was a hijra and I focused it on my features. So there you have a character who is supposed to be a ridiculous hijra version of myself. Elsewhere I certainly saw myself in the fisherman, Noah. The Sultan, a lot of my female readers are disturbed and disgusted by him, but most of my male readers think he’s hilarious and identify him as a caricature of male sexuality in general. I can see that. I was playing that up for laughs for myself, like this is the way guys think a lot of the time.

 

ND: It’s really illuminating to hear that. The Sultan’s one of the more problematic characters for me so it’s interesting to hear you recast him in that light. With the fisherman, and the recurring focus on the Abraham story from both the Bible and Qur’an, it seems that Habibi is a way for you to explore sacrifice and the role it plays in our lives. It might be hard to articulate, but why was that such an important thread for you at the time you were making Habibi? I mean the role of sacrifice in relationships must have been important if you agreed that you were going to spend 7 years on a project dwelling on it.

CT: Well that definitely coming from a more Christian angle. That’s something I was thinking about while working on the book. Other than obviously the core Abraham story, sacrifice overall is a bigger theme in Christianity and the shame and guilt associated with having someone sacrifice their life for you. But, personally at the inception of Habibi I was processing being a caretaker in a relationship. I was in a long romantic relationship where I was also a caretaker and those are conflicting roles: to be a parent and a lover simultaneously, which is what Dodola is to Zam. I’m getting off track… I was thinking a lot about how much these sort of guilt feelings that shape my spirituality are purely about coming from a Christian background. As I talked with a lot of Muslim friends I didn’t find they shared that same core guilt and shame and sense of martyrdom in their faith. Of course, if you look at Islamaphobic observations of Islam people think of suicide bombers and jihad. So there it becomes an idea of sacrifice and martyrdom.

 

ND: As a Muslim myself, I feel the Qur’an is more about exploring love than extreme sacrifice. Although, there is Ramadan. Either way, I do really like that thread and how you weave it throughout Habibi. I want to switch gears to talk about Wanatolia and the decision to make it a timeless city, and how that factors into the end of the comic. I was hoping you could articulate how you had the decision for Dodola and Zam to return to Wanatolia and the reveal that it is modern in the western conception, even though at the heart of it is this palace which is backwards.

CT: In earlier drafts of the Sultan’s palace, I was mediating on the Bush administration and feeling like it was this sort of clueless world that existed outside of our own society. That was in the aftermath of 9/11 when you would see Bush off golfing somewhere. And certainly some Sultans during the Ottoman Empire have been critiqued historically for being clueless what was happening in society. That’s how the Ottoman Empire fell, the Sultans were living in a hedonistic cushion. By hedonistic I don’t mean they were sleeping with all their courtesans … it’s just the role of Americans and rich people in general that are totally oblivious of the state of the world. In terms of that clashing of the new and old world, that exists everywhere. If you travel to a developing country, you see people living in incredible poverty and living very simple lifestyles similar to 100 years ago brushing up against modernity and global trade. You can see how obviously our consumerist society is feasting off of poverty in their countries and how all our waste is there. Here we just consume and produce a lot of waste and then it sort of disappears and we don’t have to deal with it precisely because we are heaping it on to other people. And that’s a reality… I’m doing a fairy tale or parable version of that, but I don’t feel like it’s dramatically abstracted from the world we live in.

 

ND: For me the way it does feel abstracted is that there are no time markers and there are key fairytale elements. But then there’s that page in the book where you write “The proximity of the site of both our separation and reunion disrupted the boundaries within me” when Dodola and Zam see the Sultan’s palace from their new makeshift condo. The problem I had with this moment is the extent to which the backwardness of the “timeless palace,” as a place where they are both slaves, and the spot of their freedom, evidenced by that moment when Dodola takes off her hijab, are so close; I find it somewhat disrupting. And you don’t have to account for why me or any reader should feel disrupted by this revelation, but it is a shocking thing to have a modern city fueled by such tremendous backwardness that I don’t see justified in the text. Hearing the George Bush analogy at least helps put Wanatolia in a better context.

 

CT: Being in a city is about being in America basically. Having all these creature comforts and material comforts, but Dodola and Zam are coming from a place where they are also aware of suffering elsewhere. Which is sort of an adult experience, becoming more aware of the privileges you have compared to the rest of the world. It’s developing a sense of how you’re a passive participant in taking advantage of other cultures. And someone else has brought up the hijab thing to me, and for me the only real moment Dodola removes her hijab is when she does it to wrap up and clothe this little child at the end. For me that’s the only real moment and any other moment is incidental. If she has a hijab in one panel and off in the next, it mostly has to do with the comfortable space between her and Zam.

 

ND: The scene I’m specifically referring to is when she sees the “modern women” shopping in the city and there is a moment she takes it off then she gets accosted by lustful men a page later and she puts it back on…

CT: For me that scene is not “Oh! I realize I can be free like this women,” but more that she wants to fit in in this new context. She feels like an outsider, which I think the reader will perceive the other women that way because they seem to be from another world. And she does cover herself up because of this male gaze.

 

ND: This brings us back to how Dodola’s body functions primarily as a commodity, how even when the resources run out her body remains a marketable asset. I’m curious about if you ever felt aware of the baggage of her being sexed the whole time, even if that is purposefully through Zam’s perspective. If you ever felt wary of the contradiction between putting a feminist character into a societal position where there is perpetual forced sexualization of her body. I understand you as a “feminist” by putting Dodola out there in a way readers can sympathize with her, but then there’s an aspect of some readers maybe living out their own perverse sexual fantasies through the ways she’s treated. Do you see a danger in that?

CT: I don’t see a danger in it, but I definitely see a contradiction in it. So when you define me as a feminist, I’m OKAY with that, but there’s an irony in men claiming to be feminist to some degree. You can be sort of intellectually feminist, or claim to be, but there’s still a more primal animal instinct. You know, it’s the irony that some men who claim to be so intellectually feminist are the exact same people who are womanizers. Every time I meet another sensitive male it just bores me. And there’s nothing more painful than hearing a guy say he’s a lesbian trapped in a male body. So I’m exploring that contradiction: any man claiming he’s feminist is bullshitting, because your still animalisticly male. Again, I’m talking about heterosexual desires, but this crosses over to all sexual genders from transsexual people to homosexuals. That’s what I was exploring in my own life, that your sex drive is in conflict sometimes with ethical beliefs and you have to recognize both energies. If you put all the negative aspects of your sexuality in the shadow, then you’re probably going to fuck up and make some sort of mistake in your life, the way that politicians and televangelists do when we hear about their sexually deviancy. It’s the classic Catholic Priest scenario: if you don’t own up to your own shadow elements then they’ll emerge anyways and much more destructively.

 

ND: Without a doubt that sounds like a contradiction worth exploring. The problem for me is that for much of Habibi we go for long stretches of only seeing the shadow and then it becomes an issue of who’s casting that perverse shadow. When I hear you talk about it it makes a lot more sense holistically, but when I’m reading it as a stand-alone piece there is this disembodied voice of the author that makes it harder to accept those narrative choices. I guess that you exploring your own sexual contradictions gives readers a space to explore that to and maybe what I’m responding to is how uncomfortable that makes me as a reader feel…

CT: GOOD! That makes me happy I think. Maybe not happy, but it means the art has done its job if it makes the reader uncomfortable.

 

ND: When I heard about the project of Habibi I was expecting maybe a lighter fairy tale, but then as a reader you get confronted with slavery and rape and it’s all at the service of this endearing love story, but it’s pretty jarring throughout.

CT: And when I think of fairytales I think of those dark elements. It seems that all the great nursery rhymes, fairy tales, and children’s stories are full of those exact same dark twisted elements. It’s the tradition of the genre. And I’m not speaking of 1,001 Nights even, but Hansel and Gretel or Little Red Riding Hood.

 

ND: Well to pick up on that it seems that in order for you to call it a fairy tale it has to have a more happy ending. And you provide that by having Dodola and Zam reunited and creating a safe space for a new child, but did you ever have the impulse for it not be happy at the end? To just be brutal?

CT: Oh yeah. Definitely. I never wanted the book to have a cinematic Hollywood ending, and I wrote variations that were more cynical, but ultimately the end that was the most truthful was the far more optimistic one. That said, people see what that they want to see in the endings. With both Blankets and Habibi I’ve heard people say both that they were either super depressing or super hopeful. I find it very interesting when the reader imposes their own experience onto the endings.

 

ND: In Habibi there are these moments were you get a completely new character, like Noah the Fisherman, that feel part of their own complete story. Was that a product of the amount of time you were spending on Habibi and needing a new narrative voice to take a break?

CT: Noah was there from the very first draft. As I was working on the book a lot of people wanted me to remove him. They felt he was too much of a total aside and irreverent basically. But I really enjoyed writing him for my own sake and felt he was a necessary dash of levity in the midst of all the darkness and heaviness. For me he made me laugh a lot and there’s a lot of pleasure writing that character even though there’s an intense sadness to him. I did want the chapters to feel like their own graphic novels to some degree. I was very aware that Zam and Dodola would be apart for hundreds of pages, I wanted it to feel that way almost to the point you forgot about the other character at times. They only existed in this idealized memory. I like that in books where things wander for quite a while and you lose site of where you began.

 

ND: It’s definitely a powerful element that they go through so much change on their own and have to reconcile that when they are reunited. I’m interested in your fan’s reaction to Habibi and what readers have said to you about Dodola and Zam. Are they taking to them the same way they do a cute Chunky Rice?

CT: I think so actually! Yeah! Which is the greatest compliment as an author. I felt really attached to them and they felt like real people to me and that is the sort of response I’m hearing from readers.

 

ND: So if this book is coming from a place of post-9/11 guilt, which I interpret as Islamaphobia in the US, then do you think that Dodola and Zam were the direct product of that? 

CT: No no no! They are unrelated to it at all. They don’t even seem like they’re created. They just kind of arrived from the subconscious fully realized. And they predate anything else in the book. They’re of their own making. Laughs.

 

ND: So they came with their geography and their own history?

CT: I knew they were child slaves from the start, but I didn’t know what kind of world they inhabited. And my research of slavery and randomly reading books about slavery pointed me in the direction of the East African/Arab slave trade that predated the cross-Atlantic slave trade by 700 years. As I was reading some of those research books they eluded often to 1,001 Arabian Nights which drew me towards that, and while reading Nights I became aware of the Orientalism in the Richard Burton anthology. Around the same time I started studying Islamic Art. But I did attach myself fairly early on to the Arabian Nights landscape. Right away I could see it for both its strength and weaknesses, but I thought of it as a genre that would be fun to work in like Superheros, Science Fiction, or Noir.

 

ND: But is just such a loaded genre…

CT: Yeah! Bring it on, right!

 

ND: And I think that’s ultimately my response: it’s hard separating you as a creator who’s clearly very sympathetic and is so good at humanizing characters — which comes across so well in the Qur’anic parts — and the fact that you are swinging around in this playground that is so deeply tied up in a history of otherizing.

CT: And ultimately I like the conflict between those two elements.

___________
This is part of an ongoing roundtable on Habibi and Orientalism.

Bound to Blog: Wonder Woman #25

The Marston/Peter Wonder Woman #24 was mediocre enough that it’s taken me more than 6 months to pick up number 25. And…yeah.

Witness Harry Peter phoning it in. Wonder Woman sitting looking at mug shots, oblivious to the baddies behind…Marston didn’t approve that shit. In the first place, it’s boring. Wonder Woman doesn’t just sit there; she chases villains across bizarre cosmic bridges or battles Brobdinagian pirates. And, in addition, it makes WW look like a fool; the villains are tricking her.

Of course, Marston probably didn’t approve the cover; he was dead by the time this went to print. Peter’s doing the best he can…and the best he can includes drawing some delightfully expressive collar bones and some lovely black and white artwork on those mug shots. But it doesn’t include figuring out something to draw that would be fun and heroic and an inspiration to little girls and boys who wanted to be little girls everywhere. Figuring that out was, I suspect, Marston’s job. And no one else at DC, apparently, was up for it.

When I talked about issue 24 (and some of the earlier issues as well) I speculated that the stories weren’t by Marston (some possibilities include DC editor Sheldon Mayer and Marston’s assistant Joyce Murchinson.) I have some doubts about these as well. The second story especially…

is all about a mischievous little orphan boy named Teasy with a heart of gold and oh will he ever find a mother to call his own? Marston cared about mothers, of course, but he really didn’t care about orphan boys on the entirely reasonable grounds that they were not girls. It’s true that WW does get tied up by an evil villainess, which I’m sure Marston would have appreciated. But I’m convinced he would have found whole pages devoted to Teasy’s big adventure as tedious as I did (albeit perhaps for slightly different reasons.)

The other two stories seem like they might be Marston. The third features WW and the Holiday girls fighting a purple goddess who uses purple gas to control others’ wills.

Which…okay, that’s kinky. But the story as a whole doesn’t fit together; the first panels reference a backstory that we don’t get to see, as if part of the story has been left out. Moreover, at the end, the likable but not very effective indigenous male ruler…is still in charge. If this was by Marston, he must have been feeling awfully ill if he didn’t have it in him to establish a matriarchy at the story’s conclusion.

The first story is the one that is closest to having the old pizzazz:

Yeah, you’ve got that right. That’s evil alien corn. Peter is thoroughly enjoying himself drawing both the cartoon corn men and the cornfields with all those lovely undulating ears. Plus…sky kangas chasing balloons!

And there’s also some great gratuitous mother/daughter bonding:

WW wearing that giant obtrusive hat, then kissing her mother and handing over said hat as Hippolyta blesses her daughter in the name of the uber-matriarch — it’s just a nice encapsulation of Marston’s ideas about why women should rule. Power and love aren’t in competition. Instead, love is power — the point of the crown is not to wear it and rule, but to take it off and submit with a kiss.

Also…check out Hippolyta’s shoulders. That’s one tough mother!

Despite moments like those, and despite the fun of fighting corn (with a giant corn harvester, naturally), the story still feels slight, though. The evil corn is fun, but it’s never really integrated into Marston’s obsessions the way the seal men were (for example.) The corn appears to be male (not to mention phallic) but there’s no contrasting female corn to be liberated. WW’s victory, then, ends up just being a vicotry; there’s no particular feminist message to it. Nor, despite the occasional inadvertent hilarious blooper:

are Marston’s fetishes much on display. Oh, sure, the Holiday girls get tied up…but as Marston scripts go, that barely registers. This isn’t a fever dream; it’s a cartoon goof. It’s funny and weird, but no more so than, say, a good classic Flash or Plastic Man story. And good Flash and Plastic Man stories are fine in their way, but I expect more from Marston/Peter.
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So we’ve got three more now. If 26 and 27 are similar to this one I may combine them…or maybe even combine them with 28 for a final post? The issue by issue thing just seems more and more superfluous. Marston’s creative oversight is clearly gone at this point. Without him at the helm, as six decades and innumerable creators have demonstrated, WW just isn’t all that interesting

Gay Ghetto Comics 1: Constructing a Dominant Gay Habitus

Sina Evil is a comics artist, best known for his self-published autobiographical comics series BoyCrazyBoy. He is also completing aPhD on the history of queer comics. He is a huge fan of the Golden Age Wonder Woman. His website is www.boycrazyboy.com.

This paper was originally given at Transitions 2: New Directions in Comics Studies”, a symposium at Birkbeck College, on Saturday November 5th 2011. It is the first of two posts on Gay Ghetto Comics. The second is scheduled to appear next week.
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This post focuses on North American gay comics, especially the sub-genre I call “gay ghetto” comics. In this post I will discuss the ways in which gay ghetto comic strips construct a dominant gay habitus, representing the gay community as relatively stable and unified; and, related to this, how certain types of gay male bodes are represented as desirable and acceptable – as representing a “typical” gayness – whereas others are devalued and excluded.
 
The Gay Market
 
In her book Business Not Politics: The Making of the Gay Market, Katherine Sender explores how the professional routines employed by lesbian and gay professionals working in media and marketing serve to shape the ways in which LGBT identities and the LGBT community are represented in media images.

The gay community and gay culture are often perceived and represented as unified and homogeneous, both by people “outside” of LGBT communities and those “within”. However, because of differences in terms of (at the very least) gender, race, class and generation, the tastes and practices of LGBT people are segmented into a number of discrete and overlapping clusters. Yet as Sender emphasizes, “each of these clusters does not have equivalent opportunity to appear as – and speak for – the gay community” (2004: 15).

Sender draws on Bourdieu’s concept of the “habitus”, which describes how tastes shape the relationship between the body and its symbolic and material contexts; “Habitus embodies the lived conditions within which social practices, hierarchies, and forms of identification are manifested through an individual’s choices, but signals that those choices are already predisposed by an existing social position” (2004: 14).

Sender argues that the most visible and socially sanctioned gay collectivity is not particularly diverse in terms of race, class, and to some extent gender: “This constituency is identified in part by its participation in a dominant gay habitus” (p. 15). The identities and practices associated with a dominant gay habitus are displayed “in bars, music clubs, parties or on the street” (Fenster: 1993, 76-77). They are also represented in cultural products such as magazines, advertisements, films – and comics.

In his essay on queer punk fanzines, Mark Fenster (1993) argues that dominant positions within gay communities tend to be held by “middle class adult homosexuals who are more assimilated within dominant economic and social structures”, and who are thereby better equipped to represent themselves and to circulate those representations through various forms of commercial media (p. 76-77).

The gay habitus constructed through marketing and in gay publications serves to make visible such gay and lesbian individuals – that is, those who are already otherwise empowered. Sender argues that gay marketing practices focus on members of a dominant gay habitus, obscuring the less “respectable” – and therefore less marketable – members of the LGBT communities, including people of colour and poor and working-class queers.

Sender argues that such conditional visibility effectively limits the choices LGBT people can make without forfeiting their visibility, and occludes the diversity of LGBT communities. Media images of LGBT people not only structure a visibly gay consumer culture, “but also how the participants in that culture are seen” both by heterosexuals and – in many ways more importantly – within LGBT communities (2004: 138).

Such media images depend on “representational routines to construct a recognizable gayness” (p. 123) such as “using recognizably ‘gay’ or stereotypical images, showing same-sex couples, using gay iconography, and making appeals to gay subcultural knowledge” (p. 124). Precisely because being gay does not always show, gay cartoonists have wielded the same or similar signs and symbols in order to construct recognizably gay characters in a recognizably gay cultural and social milieu.

“Gay ghetto” cartoons and strips serve as an archive of such gay signifiers – locations, fashions, body types, slang – all of which may be deployed to convey an invisible sexuality. Gay ghetto cartoons and strips started to appear in early gay newspapers and magazines from the 1960s onwards, with a wider range emerging throughout the 1970s and 1980s as more gay magazines were published throughout the United States. Indeed, many gay ghetto comic strips continue to be published today either in commercial gay magazines as well as, increasingly, online.
 
The Gay Ghetto
 
Gay ghetto cartoons and strips are often set in a recognizably “gay” location – one of the well-known gay urban enclaves in major (usually American) cities, such as West Hollywood, LA, the Castro, San Francisco, and various Manhattan gay neighbourhoods including Chelsea and Greenwich Village. The explicit or implied locations of gay ghetto comic strips are of course the first important signifiers that signal that this comic is gay, since certain urban centres – San Francisco, LA, New York in particular – have come to “stand for” the “gay community” in the popular imagination of Americans particularly (Chasin 2000: 169).

The main action in “gay ghetto” comics tends to take place in and around certain “gay community” institutions – a gay boarding-house (as in Kurt Erichsen’s Murphy’s Manor), a gay bed-and-breakfast (Gregg Fox’s Kyle’s Bed and Breakfast), the offices of a gay news-magazine (Howard Cruse’s Wendel), as well as gay bars, gyms, dance clubs, beaches, bathhouses, and Gay Pride festivals (many of the strips.) Characters in gay ghetto comics will often use gay slang when speaking to each other, and the strips will include both verbal and visual references to various gay “types” or “tribes” such as gym queens, drag queens, leather men, bears and so on.

Gerard Donelan’s It’s a Gay Life cartoons are an early example of the gay ghetto genre: they feature gay men who are for the most part young, white and middle-class, and conventionally attractive and fashionable in accordance with the dominant gay trends of the late 1970s and the 1980s; the characters typically tend to be portrayed hanging out in gay bars and dance clubs, going shopping, and in private spaces such as the homes of domesticated couples or casual sex partners. The captions accompanying Donelan’s single-panel illustrations tend to parody or make reference to stereotypically “gay” preoccupations with cruising, fashion and body image, and humorous sexual scenarios – that is, all of the signifiers of a commodified gay identity and lifestyle as it emerged in the urban enclaves of American cities in the 1970s and throughout the 1980s.

Cartoonist Jerry Mills writes that “Donelan captured perfectly the smugness and self-satisfaction that later came to be known as the ‘clone look,’ but done with affection, not malice” (Mills 1986: 11). The affection – noted by Mills – with which Donelan depicts the gay milieu he focuses on, is one of the most prominent features of the “gay ghetto” sub-genre; this affectionate portrayal of the gay ghetto and its mores is apparent in the majority of cartoons and strips that began to appear in gay and lesbian publications from the 1960s, and into the 21st century.

The focus of the gay ghetto comics is on the creation of an emphatically and openly gay culture that is often positioned against dominant heterosexual culture; as Sewell describes in his essay “Queer Characters in Comic Strips” (2001), characters in these strips are sometimes shown feeling uncomfortable with having to hide their sexuality in the straight world, and experience their gay community as a place of refuge but also as a space where problems like internalized homophobia can be discussed. In spite of such confrontations and disagreements between characters in gay ghetto strips, the characters in these gay micro-communities are ultimately represented as being very much “at home” with one another and within their specific social milieus. The gay community in these strips tend to be represented as something of a haven, in contrast with the “straight world” – a place where one is safe, where all members of the community – underneath any conflicts – essentially understand and support one another and where disagreements over contentious issues, “far from being dangerous or destructive, enable the community to develop and to improve itself” (Sullivan 2003: 137). Here the gay community – and the concept of “community” more generally – is represented as “a safe place you share with others like you, a ‘home’” (p. 137) – sometimes quite literally as in Kyle’s Bed and Breakfast.

“Typical” Gayness and Its Discontents

Through all the signifiers and codes discussed, these comics construct a dominant gay habitus, a visible and “typical” gayness. In doing so, these strips also naturalize and reify certain (culturally and historically specific) gay scenes, lifestyles, and mores as exemplary of “what the gay community is really like” – and hence they present an image of the gay community – and gay identity – as relatively unified and stable. They also, often, represent an idealized version of the gay male body as typical, valuable and desirable, while often marginalizing or devaluing gay male bodies that fail to conform to this ideal.
It must be emphasized that all of the “gay ghetto” comics are by no means homogeneous or uniform in their approach to representing gay community, and are rarely altogether simplistic. A number of these strips feature characters who are depicted at times as feeling uncomfortable within their community. Interestingly, this discomfort often revolves around the characters’ issues around body image, beauty and sexual confidence, and what gay critics like Michelangelo Signorile have referred to as the “body fascism” of the gay male scene – that is, the conformity demanded to certain activities that Michel Foucault might describe as “disciplinary regimes” or “normalizing practices” – activities such as gym routines, dieting, waxing and shaving the body, as well as other fashionable body-management practices.

Yves in Poppers, Nathan in Chelsea Boys, and the eponymous main character of Troy are affected by mainstream gay culture’s body fascism to varying degrees. Yves, Nathan, and Troy are depicted as less confident and/or less fashionable, and possessing less athletic physiques, than most of the other gay characters in their respective strips. In each of the strips, these “average” characters stand in counterpoint to a much more sexually confident and/or conventionally attractive character – blonde hunks Billy and Sky in Poppers and Chelsea Boys, respectively; Latino bartender Rigo in Troy. These more confident and attractive characters are usually muscular and above-average in height, smooth rather than hairy, and tend to dress in a “typically gay”, fashionable way. In many strips, the more beautiful, sexually confident characters embody the qualities that the less confident, less stereotypically attractive characters aspire to possess, or wish they were like. Sometimes they try – and fail – as in the Poppers story in which André dyes Yves’ hair blonde and advises him to “act blonde” in order to compete with Billy; ultimately however Yves fails because, as he puts it, André “forgot to dye my brain blonde!”

All of the principal characters in Troy engage in Focualdian disciplinary regimes of going to the gym, and they all have muscular bodies. Troy’s eponymous lead character is by no means “unattractive” – he is represented as slim and fit, but never the less is shown in early strips feeling anxious that he is not “hot” or “buff” enough to attract sexual partners or a boyfriend.

Over the course of the strip he is shown going to the gym and beefing up so his already fit physique matches the muscled bodies of virtually all the other characters in the strip. Troy’s friend, bar-boy Rigo, is portrayed in early strips as handsome, extremely muscular, and hence very sexually active; however, in later strips he is shown gaining weight and because of this is portrayed as not being “hot” enough to attract the many sexual partners he had previously enjoyed. Rigo’s new belly – a sign of his lack of discipline and failure to manage his body – is portrayed as a source of horror and disbelief not only to himself but also to the other, slim, muscular characters in the strip.

A similar attitude to the gay male body is evident in many stories by Joe Phillips, collected in his Joe Boy books. The story “Club Survival 101” follows its main character, college guy Cam, as he visits a gay club for the first time, where his friend Trevor sees him, and is quick to criticize the way he is dressed. A stranger comes up behind Cam and leads him to a back-room where a complete transformation of hair and clothing takes place, before Cam is returned to the dance floor.

In his essay “Queer Characters in Comic Strips”, Sewell praises the story for depicting the central character’s transition from straight to gay culture; as well as being “restyled and recreated into an appropriately queer image that fits into the queer club scene”, Sewell writes, Cam now also “behaves in a manner appropriate to the gay club scene” (2001: 266). For Sewell, “Club Survival 101” is an authentic and accurate depiction of gay male experience and identity.

However, Phillips’s strip could be interpreted quite differently, as a glorification of the dominant gay habitus and propaganda for its normalizing disciplinary regimes. The “gay world” represented in “Club Survival 101”, populated by youthful, slim and/or muscular, fashionable (and predominantly white) clubbers, is not so dissimilar from the glossy, marketable images of the gay community found in the advertising and editorial of numerous other gay magazines. Sewell is correct to point to the important role played by clothing in queer subcultures; however the story “Club Survival 101” does not simply document a variety of existing styles but actually functions as an advertisement for a specific fashion retail company – at the bottom of the last page of the strip is the notice: “Character clothing and merchandise can be found at http://www.xgear.com”, an especially blatant example of “product placement” within a comic. It is not particularly surprising that is happens in a gay comic commissioned by and published in a glossy gay lifestyle magazine like XY, which like the majority of fashion and lifestyle magazines (gay or not) exists primarily to provide a “nurturing environment” for its advertisers. The strip is essentially an advertisement for fashionable clothes aimed at young gay men.

If a character in the Joe Boy comics does not conform to the dominant gay habitus they are either “clueless” and simply in need of a makeover; otherwise they are doomed to be mocked for not being fashionable, ignored because they are too fat, and/or stood up by their dates – and this is all presented as “fun”. What Signorile describes as “body fascism” is presented as the norm in Joe Phillips’s comics.

Alternative Gay Comics

Gay ghetto comic strips have existed since the 1960s and continue to be published to the present day. However since the late 1980s and particularly the early 1990s other, alternative gay comics genres have also emerged.
Throughout the 1980s and into the 1990s various queer people felt alienated from the “official” gay and lesbian community and culture – but nevertheless desired some sort of gay community/culture. In the late 1980s and early 1990s many of these people responded to their feelings of frustration and exclusion by creating their own culture and a variety of different media – this came to be known as the “queercore” subculture. By the early 1990s a number of LGBT cartoonists began to emerge against the background of the new, often aggressive, “queer” approach to identity and politics, and influenced by the alternative comics and zine scenes that had been growing throughout the 1980s.
Often feeling that their work would not “fit in” with the glossy, mainstream gay magazines, and inspired by the burgeoning zine culture’s “do-it-yourself” ideals, new LGBT cartoonists began to produce and distribute their work through self-published comics or small independent presses. These cartoonists were of course critical of homophobia, but far less interested in affirming a sense of shared gay identity and community, and much more concerned with focusing on their personal lives and identities, with critiquing mainstream gay culture as conformist and commercialized, and with creating alternative visions of gay and/or queer life and culture.

Gay alternative cartoonists take three main approaches to representing and critiquing the mainstream gay community. Firstly, many cartoonists would set their narratives outside of any recognizable contemporary gay context, thus avoiding depicting the gay scene directly – by setting their stories in mythic, fantastical or surreal contexts.

This second main approach to dealing with the gay community involves representing the gay community – either using fantastic metaphors or more directly – in a more or less negative light. Whereas the gay ghetto comic strips mocked gay culture with affection, from an “insider’s” perspective, gay alternative comics present much more pointed, satirical, often caricatured representations of “mainstream gay clones”, created from the point of view of artists who very clearly see themselves as “outsiders”, who are rejected by gay culture and therefore reject it. These comics are clearly motivated by the desire to present a more serious, substantive critique of gay culture than the gay ghetto cartoonists do. The cartoonists who portray gay culture in this negative light will also often simultaneously present an alternative vision of gay life: this is the third main approach gay alternative cartoonists take, and is often done by depicting small groups of queer characters who are not presented as “typical” of the entire LGBT community, who do not “stand” in some way for the whole community in microcosm (as is often the case with comics set in the gay ghetto) but are intended, rather, as distinctive, quirky, localized, and idiosyncratic, intended to tell personal rather than universal gay stories. Many of these comics will focus on quirky, “nerdish” gay “outsiders” – characters who feel alienated from the mainstream – and their adventures on the margins of the dominant gay culture.

Just as the gay comics of the 70s and 80s worked to construct a dominant gay habitus, the independently-produced comics that emerge in the 1990s strive to create an alternative.
 
Bibliography

Chasin, Alexandra, Selling Out: The Lesbian and Gay Movement Goes to Market, New York: Palgrave, 2000.

Fenster, Mark, “Queer Punk Fanzines: Identity, Community, and The Articulation of Homosexuality and Hardcore”, Journal of Communication Inquiry, vol. 17, no. 1, Winter 1993.

Mills, Jerry, “Introduction” in Leyland, Winston, ed., Meatmen: An Anthology of Gay Male Comics, Vol. 1, San Francisco: GS Press/Leyland Publications, 1986.

Sender, Katherine, Business, Not Politics: The Making of the Gay Market, New York and Chichester: Columbia University Press, 2004.

Sewell, Jr., Edward H., “Queer Characters in Comic Strips” in Matthew P. McAllister, Edward H. Sewell, Jr., and Ian Gordon, eds., Comics & Ideology, New York: Peter Lang, 2001.

Sullivan, Nikki, A Critical Introduction to Queer Theory, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2003.

13 Assassins

This first ran at Splice Today.
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13 Assassins, directed by Takashi Miike, is a samurai movie dedicated to giving you what you expect in a samurai movie. Disturbing scenes of hari kari? Check. Old sparring partners reunited on opposite sides of an apocalyptic showdown? Check. Intense discussions of honor, honor, and also honor? Yes. Final endless battle scene between a very few and a whole bunch? Of course!

In addition, the film also has a truly dastardly villain: Lord Naritsugu Matsudaira (Gorô Inagaki). Naritsugu is brother to the shogun, and he uses his high standing to be extraordinarily unpleasant. How unpleasant you say? Well, of course, he rapes defenseless women. And then kills their husbands. While staying as a guest in the home of the guy’s father!

For most purposes, that would establish Naritsugu as a villainous villain and worth getting rid of. But! This movie is not sure that you are convinced, so it has him cut off a woman’s limbs and her tongue and then use her as a sex slave… and even that’s not enough. As a bonus, we get to watch him tie children up and make them watch their parents die before he shoots arrows into them.

The idea here, presumably, is to make Naritsugu’s crimes so heinous that eliminating him justifies virtually any amount of carnage. And diagetically, it works—cutting off an innocent girl’s legs and arms and tongue is pretty impressively vile even in the jaundiced post-Saw filmoverse. I was convinced that Naritsugu was a really bad guy, and that letting him get anywhere near the throne was a bad idea. If the shogun won’t act against his brother, somebody in authority should commission as many assassins as possible (sure, 13, if that’s all that’s available) to bring the bastard down. So good for the writers. They have achieved buy in.

Still, as the film rolled along towards its inevitable giant pile of stinking corpses, I couldn’t help but notice some… uncomfortable facts about our arch-nemesis. Specifically, Naritsugu isn’t a standard issue power-mad, scheming kind of villain. He doesn’t need to scheme for power, after all; he just needs to sit around and wait to inherit. He’s not Machiavellian. He just, as one character mentions, has a taste for “flesh.” He’s a dissipated sadist. He likes to hurt people because it gives him sensual pleasure.

As the film moves along, Naritsugu’s decadent sadist starts to drive the plot. Of course, as I’ve already noted, his evil nastiness sets the plot in motion in the first place. But at a couple of points he stops being merely the instigator of the carnage, and starts to actively push it along. His chief bodyguard, Hanbei Kitou (Masachika Ichimura), for example, urges Naritsugu to take the threat from the 13 assassins more seriously. But Naritsugu is having none of it… in part for reasons of honor, but mostly just because he thinks it would be fun to have a big battle. Do the “foolish” thing, he urges Hanbei, who looks as if he’s just been asked to swallow his elaborate hat.

Even in the final battle, Naritsugu behaves less like a man in danger and more like a man… well, like a man watching a movie. As his soldiers die around him, he declares the spectacle “magnificent”—which there’s no doubt it is, visually—and muses on how wonderful the days of war must have been before the shogun established the peace. He tells Hanbei, with an air of dreamy enthusiasm, that when he’s on the shogun’s council he’ll bring those days back. And when the fight is over and he finally realizes things may not turn out all that well, Naritsugu is still enthusiastic about the spectacle. “Of all the days of my life,” he declares to his conqueror as he bloodily expires, “this has been the most exciting.”

It’s hard to escape the conclusion that Naritsugu is more than just the villain of the piece. He’s also the audience surrogate. Like the audience, Naritsugu is deliciously entertained by blood, sadism, and death. Like the audience, Naritsugu anticipates and yearns for the apocalyptic final battle. Like the audience, he is swept away by the glorious reconstruction of the days of war. And, like them, he would like to see those days reenacted again and again.

Perhaps most importantly, Naritsugu is like the audience in enjoying the pageantry of honor while being utterly without honor himself. He is happy to deal death, but faced with death himself he screams and whines—which I presume is what most of my fellow audience members and I would do in his place.

I doubt Takashi Miike necessarily intended Naritsugu to be a portrait of his public—or of himself for that matter. It seems like it’s just an unavoidable structural serendipity. The audience of a war film wants to see war, and is, indeed, the reason the war is being staged. That aligns the viewers with the bad guys; the ones causing the trouble. It’s for our amusement that people get their limbs hacked off and the noble die terrible (but honorable!) deaths. All in make believe, of course. We’re not really as bad as Naritsugu. If we could bring back the age of war, we wouldn’t. Which is why, naturally, we are not fighting any wars at the moment.

Utilitarian Review 11/12/11

On HU

Featured archive post: Lilli Carré’s animation for a Wallace Stevens poem.

Dan Kois on Lynda Barry’s pedagogy.

Marguerite Van Cook talks about comic book crowd scenes and the Kantian sublime.

Caroline Small on comics, writing, and reading.

Joy DeLyria on reboots and retrogarde representations of women, looking especially at Star Trek and Nolan’s Batman.

I talk about natural creativity and wearing your mother’s skin.

I talk briefly about Wonder Woman’s new origin. Extra fun: see me get slapped about in comments.

Richard Cook on Argento’s Deep Red.

I review an anthology of stories in Kafka’s spirit which for that reason aren’t really in Kafka’s spirit.

Vom Marlowe talks about the ALA and rubber chickens.
 
 

Utilitarians Everywhere

At Splice Today I argue that Khruschev was more honorable and courageous than Obama.
 
 
Other Links

Laurie Penny talks about harrassment of women on the internet.

Why Andy Rooney is an idiot.

Goodbye to the Giant Squid.

Matthias Wivel on the crisis at L’Association.

Eric Berlatsky reviews the new anthology of Charles Schulz’s prose.

Anja Flower pointed me in the direction of this pretty great essay by Susan Stryker about Frankenstein and transgender people.

James Romberger interviews Gary Groth about the new Fanta collection of Barks comics.

 

The Celebrated Rubber Chickens of Dingo Dizmal and Ms. Olive Rootbeer

I am not sure how I came to this. It may be that I should blame the friend of mine who first told me about litho prints of poetry off Etsy. Or maybe I should blame the person who insisted I go into librarianship and thus installed in me a fondness for searching into strange nooks and corners, looking for bookshaped objects. Or maybe I should just blame Noah. Yes, let’s do that. It’s Noah’s fault that I am here today, writing to you about rubber chicken comic book art. Yes.

Ha. Let us blame Noah.

See, several years ago, I wandered off to ALA’s national conference. If you’ve never been to ALA before, it’s a bit strange. You get a wonking great conference hall and fill it with booths and stock the booths full of free books.  Not just any books, but beautiful, well-made interesting books that have been newly published or just won awards.  And then you tell a bunch of book-junkies librarians that they can enter.

It is not unlike those Christmas store shopping rampages on Black Friday where people want Cabbage Patch Dolls.

Except that all the shoppers have about three advanced degrees and pretty much everyone is wearing glasses and sensible shoes.

In any case.  So there I was, a young librarian on her first ALA National Conference, and I went into the exhibit hall with shining eyes and a hopeful heart.  I was certain that I’d be able to find something for work, perhaps learn about some new non-fic, but I was also hoping to find a few new comics.  The brochure that I clutched tightly to my chest mentioned that several comics publishers would be there.

I worked my way slowly through the exhibit hall (I had to detour around a whole block of booths where I suspect an award winner of being), being accidentally elbowed by cheerful women who had stacks of books so high they had to peer around them.

And then I got to the comics section.  Hurray, I thought, I have arrived!

Now let me be clear.  The purpose of all this free loot is not to make a lot of random booklovers happy, the purpose is to get samples into the hands of the people who have the power to acquire the goods.  Free books at ALA are the grease in the wheels of publishing capitalism.  Because librarians don’t just buy books, we talk about them, a lot, to everyone.  The biggest marketing tool for books is word of mouth, and that can’t happen unless some first person, somewhere, acquires a copy.

While I was at ALA, I saw not just marketing people in the publishing booths, but also big name editors.  See, the other thing that greases the wheels of capitalism is knowledge about consumer desires.  So an editor can talk to a circulations manager, who might tell her that the line for the latest Siamese Kitten book is two months long.  Or that right now, SciFi books are being culled for lack of readers.  Or whatever.

In between the passing around of ARCs, there’s a lot of questions.  Some booths had surveys, some did things more informally, but everywhere it was like a mutual explosion of book pimping and lit glee.

I quite enjoyed it.

Until I got to the comics section, where suddenly I was expected to actually pay for anything.  Want a brochure?  Pay.  Want a sample?  Pay.  Want a keychain?  Pay.  Mug?  Pay.  Pay pay pay.

And I know that this stuff ain’t cheap, but that really wasn’t the point.  I didn’t mind paying.  In fact, several times I did try to pay, but the booth folks wouldn’t look up from their internal conversations.  (The ones at Viz were very nice, though.  I had a very nice talk with them–they recommended a bunch of new manga to me, that I ended up either trying or buying, as well as giving me a few free ones to try.  And I note, by the way, that Viz?  Is still in business.  Ahem.)

I did eventually get a brochure for a comics collective thing, but the stuff inside didn’t give me enough information about whether I’d want to buy it or not.  And I’m sorry, but I’m not splashing out twenty or thirty bucks on a brand new work that’s never been reviewed and which may or may not be any good.  I want to, well, at least check it out from the library first.  See it online.  View it off youtube. See a sample chapter.

I finally staggered out of the exhibit hall with three free cloth bags full of free books.  Or maybe it was four bags.  I forget.

What I do remember, besides Chicago’s inexplicable habit of naming every restaurant with single-syllable words (Toast, Fresh, something else) was Noah’s complete lack of surprise at the horrible way that comics was marketed.  He even looked gloomily at the few small flyers I’d managed to get and said that they’d probably have only gotten Jeff Brown to do the covers (one of them had).

But before I left, he gave me a bunch of small-press comics, mostly published the old way with a xerox machine.

That’s not nearly as nice as some of the beautifully produced advanced readers copies I’d gotten off the big guys, but it was plenty to give me a taste and let me know whether I’d want the whole entree.

And that’s all I needed.  Of course I enjoyed having free books (who wouldn’t?), but what I really wanted was new-to-me joys that I wouldn’t have discovered any other way.  Or to read, and love, and tell others about them so that they could have a joyful new book-crush and go out and buy the second volume and the third and so on and so forth, spreading out the happiness like some kind of literary artistic oil spill.  Or virus.  Yeast bowl?  Whatever.  You know what I mean.

But the publishers of comics mostly did not want to give me such joy, either because it had never worked for them or because they liked having a teeny tiny market of books practically nobody buys, I’m not sure.

The thing is though that I still wanted new comics like that.  Wanted to find new comics the way I’d come across a strange but pretty funny kids book that I’d never have bought.  I’d done my own work in small press comics, helping tone a manga some friends did, but beyond getting lots of recs for big press stuff everyone was discussing, I didn’t meet a lot of small press comic makers who were doing things I really wanted to read.

I’ve been keeping a sharp eye out, though.  During some discussion of how people can find small-press comics, I poked around Etsy (because of the aforementioned friend who buys her litho’d small press poems there).

And I discovered The Celebrated Rubber Chickens of Dingo Dizmal and Ms. Olive Rootbeer. A Coloring Book.  2010.

It’s only sixteen pages long, so I’m only showing the cover, but it is awesome.  Yes, yes, it is about rubber chickens.

But they are awesome rubber chickens.

I don’t remember the last time I read a comic book and actually laughed.  Usually, it’s either a tired joke told in a dull way that leaves behind a feeling of sadness and ennui or it’s actually a volume of Peanuts and I’ve read it before.

This comic is both irreverent (as you can see, the chicken is peeing on the fire hydrant) and charming.  There are some strange artistic statements, like the gladiator with the rubber chicken shield or the pilgrim-hatted (and turkey looking) rubber chickens in a boat at what might be Plymouth Rock (but if so is labeled with the wrong year).

The illustrations are well-done.  Linework varies beautifully, as a good coloring book should, with a nice balance between blocked in shapes and spaces where there’s more detail.

And because it’s a coloring book, it’s interactive.  I don’t just get to read the rubber chickens, I get to muck about with them.  (I have decided, by the way, that my rubber chickens will be purple and you cannot stop me.  Their waddlez may be orange or blue or magenta, I have not yet decided.) It’s so utterly different from the longboxophobia of comicdom that I’m used to that it’s a relief.

Some of the images, such as the snail of life rubber chicken, don’t have words.  Other images, such as the sad looking guy and the mummified rubber chicken do, “If “Ramontep fucks up the mummification of another one of the pharoh’s chickens  ….it was commanded he be entombed with it.  Being constantly watched and never trained didn’t help.”  [sic]

My favorite, of course, is the fronticepiece where two rubber chickens, ridden by paladins, joust.

The thing is, I have no idea who Dingo Dizmal is.  No clue about Ms. Olive Rootbeer.  I do not now nor have I ever owned a rubber chicken.  I’d never seen this artwork before I stumbled upon it.  I’ve got no ties to the artist or the publisher (which was probably Kinkos).  I’m not sure what terms I even entered into the Etsy search box, besides maybe ‘comic’ and even that might be in the sense of comedic.

And yet I found it and I bought it and I read it.

This is exactly what I’d hoped for from that ALA booth.  It took me several years to find, granted, but in the end, I managed it. New, funny, smart, well-inked.

The Rubber Chickens of Dingo Dizmal and Ms. Olive Rootbeer, a Coloring Book, is only four dollars, with two additional for shipping and handling.  I commend it to your attention.

And now I really must find where I put my crayons….