Rorschach the Optimist

Watchmen
Alan Moore

To the winner goes the SPOILERS

Whoo! This is the week I've been looking forward too. My dad got me a copy of Watchmen when I was in high school, and I've loved it ever since.

Anyway, with this latest reread I noticed something sort of odd. Rorschach, probably the scariest character in the entire comic, is actually kind of an optimist. But not happy. Just an optimist. I mean, I'd be hard-pressed to think of a less cheery comic book character. But he really believes in what he's doing, and he believes it in a good way.

Witness this. In the second issue of Watchmen (I have to go by issue--my trade has no other page numbers), Rorschach goes to visit the Comedian's grave. He is busy pondering the case of the Comedian's murder, and provides us with this really amazing quote:

"So many questions. Never mind. Answers soon. Nothing is insoluble. Nothing is hopeless. Not while there's life."

Think about that. Rorschach is sketchy and violent and has a lot of prejudices. He does not get along well with others and never smiles. But he's the one who believes in the human race. Dan Dreiberg can't decide what he wants, let alone figure out what he wants for other people. Laurie Juspeczyk always hated the hero business. Ozymandias can only help people by doing things for them, and Dr. Manhattan doesn't care.

But Rorschach...he thinks things are going to work out. He thinks that things are probably going to work out all right. Which is kind of weird, given how much he dislikes most people.

I think I like Rorschach a lot more now.

Abrupt Endings

Pride of Baghdad
Brian K. Vaughan and Niko Henrichon

LOL spoilers

Some people in class have complained about the ending of Pride of Baghdad. It's really abrupt, and a lot of people didn't like that--they wanted more after the lions were shot, or more about their lives before the zoo bombing.

I think that might've been interesting, but I have to say that I like the ending as is. It's startling and freaky and moderately heart-wrenching, but I think that was the point. It's a comic about war. Note the phrasing--it's not a "war comic." I've always thought of those as being more about heroic soldiers and adventures. Pride of Baghdad is a comic about war, about what it is and what is does and how people are affected. And it's important to note that, like the ending of this book, war itself is frequently startling and freaky and heart-wrenching.

If there was more of the story, it feels like it would take away from the impact of the ending. More on the beginning wouldn't really be interesting. Yeah, it's about lions, but zoo lions lead fairly boring lives. Not so much goes on with an animal who lives at a zoo. More after the end, on the other hand, would risk A.I. syndrome. You know what that is. It's that thing that some books and movies and television shows do when they have a perfect ending and then continue to drag on for another fifteen minutes or three seasons or whatever.

Pride of Baghdad is a good example of Thomas Hobbes' comment on life during wartime: "No arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear and danger of violent death; and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish, and short" (Leviathan Pt. 1, Ch. 13). It may not be a comic about humanity, but that's pretty much what's going on here. An abrupt ending is appropriate to that. It's upsetting, and that's the point.

Dearth of Words

Pride of Baghdad
Brian K. Vaughan and Niko Henrichon

Again I find that I have trouble of thinking of what to say about this book. Not the same kind of trouble as American Born Chinese, of course. That was a trouble of being entirely satisfied, to the point where I couldn't find a criticism to make. With Pride of Baghdad it's more that there's a lot to say and I have trouble deciding what would be most interesting and deserving of discussion.

I suppose that yet again the best place to start would be with what we talked about in class. We did talk about a lot; there are a few decent jumping-off points. Education is always a good one, but as I'm not a teacher and don't intend to be one, I think I'd like to talk about this from the perspective of a librarian. I do work at a library, and I plan to be a professional librarian, so it's not such a bad place to start.

The subject of librarians first came up in class as a hypothetical situation. What if a librarian wishes to expand her library's graphic novel collection and comes across a catalogue listing for Pride of Baghdad? It's well-reviewed and reasonably topical--or, if this is in a couple of decades, not topical but historical. And hey, it's about a family of lions. Is this for children? If it's ordered for children, then what's the librarian going to do when it comes and she takes a quick flip through?

Well, first, I'd hope that a responsible librarian wouldn't immediately categorize a graphic novel as children's fare. That's irresponsible, and...well...stupid. It's a terrible idea to think that just because two things use the same medium, they have similar content. The Lord of the Rings is not Lord of the Flies, Memento is not The Court Jester, and Pride of Baghdad is certainly not a Superman comic.

Secondly, talking animals. That shouldn't automatically fall into the category of children's books either. It's a little harder to convince people of, given the overwhelming avalanche of animal books for children, but the animal allegory is still a fine tradition. Animal Farm, for example, came up in class, and the Nun's Priest's Tale in The Canterbury Tales is all about animals. And then there are the modern not-necessarily-for-children animal comics, like the ones that got talked about in my boyfriend's blog, This is NOT a tie-in. Or, hell. Fritz the Cat.

Still, descriptions can be vague. If one wanted to be brief, one could describe Pride of Baghdad as simply a book about "a family of lions in wartime Iraq," and, as my favorite Buffy quote puts it, a vague disclaimer is nobody's friend. Although I'd hope it wouldn't be listed in any sort of catalogue of children's books.

Anyway, speaking from my own perspective as a librarian, I'd certainly have this in any library I may someday get to run. It's a great story. But if someone tried to order it for the children's section I would scold them for narrow-mindedness. I'd let a kid check it out, but I'd probably want some sort of parental permission, or at least a written recommendation from a teacher.

It's a great book. But it's not for kids.

Magic Bone

The Complete Bone
Jeff Smith

This week's reading was the immense tome that is Jeff Smith's glorious work of fiction, The Complete Bone. Much of the discussion had to do with the subject of "all-ages" comics--what makes them so, and things of that ilk. Several reasons were given, at least for Bone. No sex. Expressive character art. Lots of humor.

What I think is important, though, is the immensity of the story. It reads quickly, because of all the pictures, but it's still nine volumes long. It's a genuine epic fantasy, and it's for sort of for children, which is something I think we need more of. There are children's series, including long-running monthlies like Animorphs, but you can't buy most of those in one huge volume. That is restricted to books for grown-ups.

Bone comes in one huge volume, and yet I think I could provoke a child to read all of it. They're putting out color versions targeted just at kids, but I don't even think I'd need that. The art is cool without color, and honestly the coloring is a little weird. It has action and adventure and comedy and fighting and stupid, stupid rat creatures, and also romance that doesn't involve any kissing, which is a big selling point for children.

It is awesome for children in the same way that opera can be awesome for children; kids like stuff that's a little bit dark and scary and gross. Kingdok could probably give a kid nightmares, but then he gets defeated, and Briar is creepy but silly and weird at the same time. It's a story that's big and scary and intense, but then the good guys win. And it's good for teaching concepts, I think--at least, for teaching kids why it's good to be like Fone Bone and not at all like Phoney. It's like The Neverending Story, which is a beautiful epic story that children should read so that they can learn the value of retaining their imaginations and remembering who they are.

Someday I'm going to make my children read Bone. Children should read more. Bone is good for that.

Read This Book

American Born Chinese
Gene Luen Yang

Right. So I just posted about how little I felt I could really say about ABC. Well, then, I am forsworn. Or something. Anyway, here's something I can say.

This is why you should read American Born Chinese, and why it should be taught in schools:

• First off, it's just a good story. It's well-written and interesting, and in a student context would be an excellent example of "this is one person's writing style which works."
• It uses an unorthodox (for Western culture) story structure which is interesting to the casual reader and would lead very well in a classroom setting into a discussion of plot structure and how it can vary creatively.
• It's a good, easy-to-read example of a comic as literature. I think it'd be an excellent way to introduce graphic novels as a literary form--not too complicated or weird, but still an interesting story told in such a manner that the combination of art and words is really necessary.
• It's got a good message. I always like a be-yourself story that isn't heavy handed.
• As I said in my earlier post, it'd be a great intro to a study of Eastern myths and legends.
• It's a good set-up for, school-wise, an in-class discussion of racism and the implications of such.

So there. Six reasons why American Born Chinese is something worth reading. I think I'm going to print up a sheet of these now and start mailing it to schools around the country.

A Baffling Lack Of Commentary

American Born Chinese
Gene Luen Yang

I'm surprised to find that, having said what I have to say about education, I can't really think of much else to talk about for ABC, and honestly, I feel a little guilty. It's a wonderful book.

However, it's hard to discuss something in which the symbolism is so clearly explained. There are three plotlines, they all have the same moral, and they get tied up into a neat little bundle by the Monkey King at the end. That's oversimplified, I know. But still, it doesn't leave much room for commentary.

We spent the past week in class talking about this, so I know I've got things to say. But a lot of what we talked about involved things like racism in the book and Jin's own self-perception problems, and I don't think I could do those justice here without other people to talk with, bringing up their opinions and their interpretations. Besides that, I'm not terribly sure what I'd say. My opinions are not concrete. They're not even liquid.

The best way to discuss this, I think, is to tell anyone who might be out there that hey, they should read American Born Chinese. It's really good, and it'll give you things to think about, even if you can't articulate them.

L Is Denny Colt's Illegitimate Grandson

Death Note Volume 1
Tsugumi Ohba

We were meant to talk about The Spirit and Death Note in class this Wednesday. Unfortunately we had our fourth Wednesday snow day, thus cutting that out. But I figured I'd have something to say about it here. This can serve as my second post of the day about a specific Death Note character.

So far, having only read volume one of Death Note, I haven't gotten to see much of L the detective. I've heard a few spoilers and seen an episode of the anime, but I still don't know too much. Guessing about his identity is as much of a hobby in the actual comic as it is in the real world, too, so I think I can put in my two cents. I believe that L the detective is actually the grandson of Denny Colt, the Spirit, via an illegitimate child Denny Colt had with Silk Satin. Said child moved to Britain or wherever L's from, got married to one of the few descendants of Sherlock Holmes, and voila. L has arrived.

This may sound far-fetched, and don't get me wrong. It totally is. But at the same time, I'm talking about a comic, and it's something I think would be cool.

Anyway, my evidence for this is mainly L's general modus operandi. He acts a lot like a more circumspect version of Denny Colt--where Denny Colt just hides his identity from the public, L hides his identity from everyone. Both have a close relationship with the police and tend to get put on unusual, high profile cases. L has no sidekicks, but this is because he knows his grandfather's illustrious history, including all the incidents of inopportune betrayal.

It also explains why L can pull reckless tricks like the one with the fake news broadcast and then dare Kira to come get him. He's got just as much of a superiority complex as Light has, but his is backed up by a glorious lineage and a great deal of actual skill. He's the world's best detective and he knows it, and he's descended from another great crime fighter.

Despite this, I doubt Denny Colt would quite approve of L's methods. Even with his own desire for secrecy, he's very much about the trust. L, with his hidden lair and super-concealing ways, is not exactly one to inspire trust, even if he is brilliant. Also, besides the trust issue, L solves crimes, but he isn't active--he doesn't actually go out and collar the crook, he just tells the police how to. I doubt Denny Colt would be able to stand it if all he could do was watch and give directions.

I wonder if Tsugumi Ohba's ever read The Spirit. It'd be awesome if he has.

Shinigami Have Feelings Too

Death Note Volume 1
Tsugumi Ohba

This is the first time I've really read Death Note, after hearing about it for ages and ages. For the most part, I have to say, I'm impressed. It's an interesting story, the art is pretty, and it contains characters who, even if I don't like them, are still fascinating. I'll probably talk about a few of said characters, but the first I'd like to look at is Ryuk, the shinigami.

First off, I think he's really quite cool. I don't know if I trust him, but he's at least interesting. His character design is creepy and original, and I like people who are amused by everything.

Anyway, I'm curious about why he keeps talking to Light. I know he has to hang around until Light dies, and that he's amused by the things Light does. But besides the entertainment value, Light's not a particularly enjoyable guy to be around, especially not acting how he does in private. He's arrogant and manipulative and generally unpleased. Does Ryuk enjoy this sort of thing, or what?

Also, Light has, on at least one occasion, used Ryuk to further his own ends--there may be more, but I've only read volume one. Remember the drug addict on the bus? Light's instructions for the death included the man seeing a "horrifying phantom," which with Light's help ended up being Ryuk. I know Ryuk has a totally different perspective on life than any human, but I'm still curious as to whether that bothered him. He does spend a great deal of time musing on Light's cleverness.

I'd like to read more of this manga. It's weird and interesting, and I want to see how the characters develop, particularly Ryuk.

Name Game

The Best of the Spirit
Will Eisner

I think one of my favorite things about reading all these old Spirit stories was learning the names of all the characters. They're wonderfully descriptive, for the most part. Then there's the font of awkward that's Ebony White, but we're not going to get into that.

Anyway, like I said, descriptive. Not really of who the person is--we haven't got any tacky Jack-Chick Lew Siffer characters here--but it says a lot about the culture here. For example, from "The Postage Stamp," we've got two lovely ladies, Dulcet Tone and Skinny Bones. Doesn't tell you much about who they are personally, does it? But given the euphemistic names we can tell that they're probably crooks, and it also hints at what life in their criminal underworld might be like for women. Skinny Bones may be a great name, but complimentary it's not.

Actually, I liked women's names in particular. P'Gell is a wonderful example, because it means nothing, but it sounds sort of sexy and exotic. Lorelei Rox (of Odyssey Road) has sort of a wonderful pun for a last name, and I'm a sucker for anyone who knows what a Lorelei is. There's Miss Cosmek, the visitor from Mars. Autumn Mews sounds lovely and dangerous, and Sand Saref is just really cool. It's a font pun! And then there's Silk Satin, whose name is wonderful particularly because it's so girly and she's so tough.

Men mostly get more...well, name-like names. Like Gerhard Shnobble, the man who could fly. Not much of a name. But doesn't it sound hapless to you? Or Carboy T. Gretch and Cranfranz Quayle, the crook and the henpecked husband who switch places accidentally. Great rhythm, and again. Hapless. I appreciate names with real qualities to them. Then there's the main character of "Fox at Bay," Reynard, which is cool because, like Lorelei, it's another reference to a fairy tale--Reynard the fox was a European trickster figure.

But I particularly like Quadrant J. Stet, the accountant. It makes me think of The Rocky and Bullwinkle Show, like he should be friends with another accountant named...oh...Fiduciary Blurt, or something. I think that's from there. Or maybe I'm just stealing it from Neil Gaiman.

Say what you like about Will Eisner (and I can't really say anyone saying anything bad), he certainly had an appreciable flair for naming. Even Denny Colt paints a picture. It's short and sensible. And probably secretly awesome.

The Glorious Pulps

Best of the Spirit
Will Eisner

This entry will be brief, because at the moment I'm rather busy writing a paper, but since it's been a week I figured I should check in.

This week in class we are reading Best of the Spirit, a collection of particularly remarkable stories from Will Eisner's rather remarkable comic. Reading them through the first time, I found them enjoyable, if not terribly surprising. Reading them through again, I found them interesting and well-written. And of course I have a weakness for this sort of thing.

I will make a confession. I love me some pulp fiction.

Now, my pulp fiction interests mainly run to sci-fi, but I like The Spirit because of my deep and abiding love of crime fiction a la Raymond Chandler and film noir. The Spirit and the police are nearly as cynical as Philip Marlowe, but they seem cheerier about it; that they take it for granted that eighteen-year-olds might take to crime is sad, but they run with it. Nothing they can do about it, hey?

I think I'd like to read some more of the Raymond Chandler novels lying around my house and compare them to the Spirit. It'd be fun. But for now I've got a paper to write.

Jean Grey Syndrome

The Dark Phoenix Saga
Chris Claremont

Spoilers ahead, maybe

I am no fan of Jean Grey.

I mean, it's a character with potential, I suppose. Jean Grey and Phoenix both. A telekine and weak telepath, with vast reserves of power which, when tapped, slowly take her over. There are things you can do with that. Cool things. Megalomania is an entertaining plot device when handled properly.

However, over the years, the writers who have taken on the story of Jean Grey and Phoenix have gone far past proper handling and into the realm of death, shark-jumping and general headachey terror. The original Dark Phoenix Saga is a fantastic story with a lot of impact. It's a story about someone learning self-control, and ultimately also about a superhero committing suicide. And that's intense, and the sort of thing that people sometimes have difficulty dealing with.

But really. I wish she'd stayed dead.

...I know. Comic Book Death. Nobody stays dead except Barry Allen, and even that might be in doubt. But there's a difference between dying and coming back once, and dying and coming back every few years. Like I said, it's a character with potential. It's a compelling idea. But it's overdone. Hey, Grant Morrison did some cool Dark Phoenix stuff in New X-Men, which I love like crazy, and I still found it tiring.

Also, I don't like characters whose primary purpose seems to be rescuing writers who have written themselves into corners. Wolverine's dead? Whoo! Phoenix saves the day! World ending as you ride a meteor into the sun? Phoenix! Sublime is destroying all of civilization in a horrifying alternate future? Phoenix!

Godsdamn, people. Phoenix is not the answer to all your problems. In fact, at this point, she's not really the answer to any of them.

Please stop. For the Professor's sake.

Liking Superheroes Is Nothing To Be Ashamed Of

Essex County Volume 1: Tales from the Farm
Jeff Lemire

Possible spoilers

Something I mentioned in my last post that I think warrants further discussion is Lester's comic, the one originally drawn and written by Jeff Lemire at the age of nine. Mainly I think it's worth looking at because it's good evidence of where he started from, comics-wise.

First off, the art. Even here he doesn't use a lot of shading. Not that nine-year-olds often do, but his art now is still very much like this--more competent, more abstract, but primarily just line art, with all shadows in one shade of black. The people aren't that bad either; this child is in need of an anatomy book, but given the shapes of the muscles and the poses in which they stand, at least he's been observing and absorbing the world around him. Can't say much for consistency, but it's no worse than, say, a low-budget cartoon from the Seventies. Inconsistent enough to be noticeable, but not enough to really make someone wince.

The writing is...well, it's a kid-written superhero comic. It's not terribly complex. Villain escapes from jail, superhero fights him, villain is sent back to jail. But I always like to see a kid writing something.

Mainly it just makes me sad that this is the only real example of a superhero comic that comes up in a story about a child obsessed with superheroes. Combined with Lester's abandonment of his mask and cape at the end of the story, it serves to imply that superhero stories are only for children, and that once you grow up you can't really think they're cool anymore. I mean, Jeff Lemire obviously started off liking superheroes, given that he drew that minicomic too, but in his interview this week on the podcast Indie Spinner Rack, he seemed almost ashamed to admit that he still does.

And that's sad. Superheroes are really pretty awesome, and can themselves be vehicles for wonderful, serious stories--witness The Dark Knight Returns, for example, or anything by Alan Moore with superheroes in it (like Supreme: The Story of the Year or the Top 10 books).

Caped crusaders and men of mystery are not just for children. I mean, I may act childish sometimes, but most of the really enjoyable serious literature discussions I've had with people were about comics. Superhero comics. Just as I've had other cool analytical discussions with friends about, say, books I read for the first time when I was eight.

Just because it gets marketed to kids doesn't mean it's for them.

Things Like This Are Why I Hate Realism

Spoilers. Maybe.

Essex County Volume 1: Tales from the Farm
Jeff Lemire

So first off, let me say that I think this was a very good comic. It was beautifully written, well-plotted, and very moving. I loved the art style, which was very minimalist and intense, and I always like black and white. And I also like Canada.

However, I can't say that I actually liked the comic. When I finished reading it for the first time, I wanted to curl into a little ball of misery. It was beautiful, like I said, and I appreciate beauty, but beauty doesn't equal love, and I can't love something so unrelentingly bleak. I read it a couple of times, yes, and if asked to describe it, the first word I'd probably use is "realistic." And by realistic, I mean from the life-is-misery school of realism. There were a few happy moments--for example, the scene in which Lester shows Jimmy the comic he drew--but for the most part it was unrelentingly depressing.

This isn't a problem I have just with this book. It's a problem I have with "realistic" fiction in general. I don't see why stories of any sort, to be both realistic and a serious work of literature, must by necessity be intensely depressing.

I don't, of course, demand that everything realistic be funny, because that wouldn't itself be realistic. That'd be comedy. But I would like to see people acknowledge that life can actually be something other than gray drudgery, alienation, and death. Sometimes things end happily. Sometimes the good guys win and the nice guy gets the hot girl. Or hot guy, as the case may be. Closest thing to realistic I've read recently that actually made me smile was American Born Chinese, and that has the goddamn Monkey King in it. American Born Chinese got sad and painful, but then in the end things turned out all right--and this is what so many realistic authors I've read don't seem to realize.

...I suppose that besides the general depressingness of it, the other reason I didn't like Tales from the Farm was because, in the end, it strikes me as a story about the death of imagination. It could be some sort of Tempest allegory, some weird little-Canadian-boy version of a wizard who breaks his staff and throws away his books. But mainly it seems to me like a story about a boy who has a fantasy that he loves, and which may in fact be reality, and who has to give it up in the face of life sucking.

And that...that just makes me sad.