Reality as it is often depicted in fiction can, let's be honest, tend to become a bit much. Fiction, especially comics-medium fiction, is a place for the weird, wonderful, wish-fulfilling and dream inducing tales of new and old myth. Lately I have been thinking more and more about how the comics medium has grown to create spaces that are often over-reliant upon spatial and chronological realities-- realities which are often derived from cultural norms that are not balanced in our own world. The spaces comics can create have such greater possibilities as they are born out of the ideas of dreamers who create places that can be more surreal and inspiring than the state of our own realities. What these spaces in comics can (and in many cases have) create(d) and utilize(d), I believe, are elements that are often associated with magical realism. Therefore, magical realism is a very important element in the comics medium.
Magical Realism
The greatest thing about the concept of magical realism is that it has been a struggle to actually define it. This of course is the best thing about it--malleability. However, this malleability can be built from a grounded place (as all good ideas are). The one I want to focus on discusses magical realism as "characterized by a mixture of realistic and fantastic elements" that can have "realistic details and esoteric knowledge intertwined with dreamlike sequences, abrupt chronological shifts, and complex, tangled plots", while also "frequently incorporat[ing] fairy tales and myths into [the] work" (Murfin & Ray, 2003, p.242). Comics (when not hung up on being so "real") often exhibit all of those or some of those parts all the time.
The Waking Dream
In comics (and in most fictions), there is (or should be) the absolute and unmistakably dream-like quality of real versus non-real places. Magical realism is to a large degree already apart of the DNA of comics through not only our superhero and meta-human characters, but also in the dream-scape meta-realities of say a Marvel universe inhabited New York City. For example, think about perhaps a scene in an issue of The Avengers, or Amazing Spider-Man, where that deli in the borough of queens that your family and yourself have eaten at for two generations is where Peter Parker eats lunch with Tony Stark to discuss important plot points (which can also be argued as a meta-fictive quality). That is the beauty of Marvel's NYC (sometimes)-- it is there but it is not...it's really up to you.
A System Of Cultural Layers
Magical realism allows for a broader telling of stories through metaphor and allegorical cultural layers. This one is tricky, as it is important to broaden the "cultural" in that statement, something that has, while occurring, been very slow to continue along a greater development in mainstream comics. It's a big world, with a lot of untapped writers and artists of different nationalities and cultures who can blend a unique sense of place and the fantastical into the larger web of myth that the American superhero genre has created. The future of comics rests on the abilities of allowing the broadest spectrum to be represented and to express their own magical realities, either through established characters or new ones.
The Science Of Fiction
The worlds depicted in comics have their own physics and constructed realities. People fly. Gods of mythology walk amongst us. Large cities are destroyed and re-built. People can achieve speeds so high they can vibrate molecules--this list could really go on and on ( I actually encourage you to please continue it in the comments section!). Anything is possible. But for some reason, the abilities of approaching this idea are mostly squandered due to our over-relying on some need for reality. The beauty of how magical realism is functioning is that it doesn't need to be explained. It just is. Batman does not have to explain how he created a device that emits a low-frequency sound to stop Two-Face's wireless detonation signal. It's the fact that it works--that Batman helped stop destruction and death from happening. And somewhere, maybe it inspires someone in our own world to actually try to create that device to one day save lives.
It is hard sometimes, because of the way that we attach context and meaning to our fictions, to remember one of the great big rules about comic books (and fiction in general)-- None of it is real. This diversion from reality is part of the transformative appeal of comics--the ability to do anything means that they can do what we are not capable of, and thus gives us a window to wonder how we could achieve or build such things; How we can educate, save and/or empower people who need it; How we can develop pluralistic cultural understandings; How we can work together. This is achieved on a regular basis through crazy psuedo-science in places like a quasi-New York City on an alternate reality earth that magical realism works so hard to achieve. If we are able to achieve great dreams, create our ultimate selves and unite, then I will take the crazy over the real anytime. In the comments section below, please feel free to just write about the magical realism elements of comics that have inspired you or made you wonder.
References
Murfin, R. & Ray, S.M. (2003). The Bedford Glossary of Critical and Literary Terms, 2nd ed. Bedford St. Martin's: New York.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Sunday, July 24, 2011
The Artist as Anthropologist: Graphic Narrative & Comics as Cultural Ethnography
"We live in the stories we tell ourselves"- Grant Morrison, Supergods, p.xvii.
Anthropology is one of those words that has the stench of higher academia all over it. Not quite the sexy associations of the archeologist (thanks Indy) nor the nobleness of exploration (thanks every history textbook ever), anthropology, even in the halls of the academy today, has a stigma of a person with a notebook living with gorillas or a dusty tribe somewhere recording history for no one in particular. It is the misfortune of connotation that has led our view of anthropology as passe while it is actually very much alive and thriving, especially in the medium of comics via the graphic narrative. The educational value of the stories presented in graphic narratives and comics are, therefore, of great value.
We Don't Need no Education
Hopefully, you didn't stop reading with the last sentence. Look, when I make a statement of educational value, it is more of an all encompassing idea. I speak of comics and graphic narratives as educational in a more far reaching connotative sense--we cannot begin to evaluate how we communicate unless we look at the different ways in which we attempt to make sense of the multiplicity of ways in which we, as a species as a whole, have created systems of communication. So what does that mean exactly? Well this requires looking at stories (for starters) in the following ways:
-Stories as transformative pieces of culture representation.
-Stories as communicative.
-Stories as symbols.
**For another angle on this, see my post on semiotics in Carey and Gross's The Unwritten
Spinning out of the above ideas about stories, I want to isolate an experimental way of how anthropology extends into the comics medium in a very effective and affecting way to help us understand various cultures, histories, ideologies, and viewpoints through experience.
Ethnographies of Experience
Anthropology utilizes a more qualitative means to present findings (data). One reason for this is that qualitative data gathering lends itself to deconstruction due to it being more of an experienced based record of events. Thus, the ethnography is a method in which written study is conducted to attempt a break down of an understanding of a culture or group. How an anthropologist can organize, validify and present that written account has been in a highly contested debate for decades. What cannot be denied, however, that more often the idea of what constitutes a qualitative ethnography has grown into other branches of study, more noticeably the narrative trappings found in English and History departmental writings. One that I have found in my readings that can be applied to comics studies is the ethnography of experience.
According to Marcus and Fischer (1999), the ethnography of experience is one that looks to "persuade the reader that culture matters more than [one] might have thought" (p.43). While you may at this moment be saying to yourself " that's just common sense", you may want to step back and ask yourself-- how well do I know a culture outside of my own? Odds are, even for the most educated, that we actually know very little. If this is so, how often then do you think are young people, the children in the schools, the young adults burgeoning out into the world, exposed to various cultures? While technology has allowed for new informational gates to open up, it is often overlooked that western culture has ignored actually teaching how to learn about different cultures even via the web- some could say there is a complete lack of any real media literacy (but that is for those much smarter than I in that field). But in digressing, the avenues of how we are exposing ourselves to cultures different than our own needs to be forever widening in the multiplicity of media that are available to us.
Graphic Narratives As Ethnographies Of Experience
While many still ( the public at large as well as many in academia) only think of the graphic narrative as a “comic”, many have argued for the applicability of them across a much broader and relative spectrum. For example, Mila Bongco (2000) believes:
While comicbooks themselves may be ephemeral ,the medium and the
form are not… Many mythologies, characters, anecdotes and forms of
humor which originated in comics are deeply ingrained not only in
American consciousness but have found their way into a world-wide
system of reference. The language, characters and narratives in comics do
not exist devoid of ideologies, doctrines, and biases. Given the ubiquity of
the medium and its influence on a large portion of the population, it is
difficult to imagine that sequential art [does] not, in an enduring way,
participate in or contribute to the cultural debates or struggles of the
medium’s surrounding social environment” (p. 24-25).
Bongco (2000) sees the intertextual possibilities of using graphic narratives, one that I also believe exists in presenting subject matter to audiences that are looking for connection with the subject matter (e.g. anthropological studies/findings/writings). In using the graphic narrative for such purposes, it is , as educator and writer Rocco Versaci (2007) points out, a medium that provides another important contrast towards “ a common thread: however beautifully or ineptly or movingly or lifelessly conveyed, these works are someone’s interpretation of how the world in which we live either is or was or should be or might be or might have been” (5). It is the interpretation that is the conversation that we need to come into, and if a graphic narrative can provide a part of that common thread, it needs to be utilized.
Cruse takes the reader, via his protagonist Toland Polk, through a journey of self-discovery as Toland comes to embrace his own sexuality and identity, while simultaneously giving us the experience of this discovery through the historical socio-cultural turbulent time of the 1960's in the deep south. Topics such as racism, homophobia, identity confusion, and spirituality (just to name a few) are funneled through Cruse's narrator as he experiences normative hetero-sexual christian white culture (of which he is raised), african-american culture, and homosexual culture. Cruse is also placing not only the voice of his narrator into the text, but uses Toland of the story present to break into specific points of the narrative to actually address the reader, as if he is having you over on an evening to just relax and tell a story. This type of narration is also found in a number of feminist theories concerning the power of the individual storytelling experience. But don't artists just come up with places and people in their head? Isn't that what ostensibly makes it fiction and cannot really make it anthropology due to some of it may not really have ever happened or existed?
Well, yes and no. Artists use references often to create the people and places. No fiction is not without some type of grounded context in our own reality, therefore, experience and reference always gives the story and art relevance/context to the reader as channeled through the artist/storyteller. Also, the amount of research and time that goes into creating these exploratory stories rivals any traditionalist sense of anthropology and or field based research and writing. Cruse himself discusses the four year process of creating his story at his website in more detail, which is filled with detailed journal entries, photo reference and other tidbits worth further investigations. http://www.howardcruse.com/howardsite/aboutbooks/stuckrubberbook/longroad/index.html
The extensive nature of how Cruse constructs his story is anthropology. Cruse's narrative is no different and just as valid as a field researcher who compiles data through experience and observation and then presents the findings. If people are going to continue to grow in understanding cultures as the exposure to them expands in the twenty-first century, the conceptions of what constitutes representations of cultures needs to be expanded to be more inclusive of peoples learning abilities and interests through an already available multitude of accessible media and re-tooled notions of research.
References
Anthropology is one of those words that has the stench of higher academia all over it. Not quite the sexy associations of the archeologist (thanks Indy) nor the nobleness of exploration (thanks every history textbook ever), anthropology, even in the halls of the academy today, has a stigma of a person with a notebook living with gorillas or a dusty tribe somewhere recording history for no one in particular. It is the misfortune of connotation that has led our view of anthropology as passe while it is actually very much alive and thriving, especially in the medium of comics via the graphic narrative. The educational value of the stories presented in graphic narratives and comics are, therefore, of great value.
We Don't Need no Education
Hopefully, you didn't stop reading with the last sentence. Look, when I make a statement of educational value, it is more of an all encompassing idea. I speak of comics and graphic narratives as educational in a more far reaching connotative sense--we cannot begin to evaluate how we communicate unless we look at the different ways in which we attempt to make sense of the multiplicity of ways in which we, as a species as a whole, have created systems of communication. So what does that mean exactly? Well this requires looking at stories (for starters) in the following ways:
-Stories as transformative pieces of culture representation.
-Stories as communicative.
-Stories as symbols.
**For another angle on this, see my post on semiotics in Carey and Gross's The Unwritten
Spinning out of the above ideas about stories, I want to isolate an experimental way of how anthropology extends into the comics medium in a very effective and affecting way to help us understand various cultures, histories, ideologies, and viewpoints through experience.
Ethnographies of Experience
Anthropology utilizes a more qualitative means to present findings (data). One reason for this is that qualitative data gathering lends itself to deconstruction due to it being more of an experienced based record of events. Thus, the ethnography is a method in which written study is conducted to attempt a break down of an understanding of a culture or group. How an anthropologist can organize, validify and present that written account has been in a highly contested debate for decades. What cannot be denied, however, that more often the idea of what constitutes a qualitative ethnography has grown into other branches of study, more noticeably the narrative trappings found in English and History departmental writings. One that I have found in my readings that can be applied to comics studies is the ethnography of experience.
According to Marcus and Fischer (1999), the ethnography of experience is one that looks to "persuade the reader that culture matters more than [one] might have thought" (p.43). While you may at this moment be saying to yourself " that's just common sense", you may want to step back and ask yourself-- how well do I know a culture outside of my own? Odds are, even for the most educated, that we actually know very little. If this is so, how often then do you think are young people, the children in the schools, the young adults burgeoning out into the world, exposed to various cultures? While technology has allowed for new informational gates to open up, it is often overlooked that western culture has ignored actually teaching how to learn about different cultures even via the web- some could say there is a complete lack of any real media literacy (but that is for those much smarter than I in that field). But in digressing, the avenues of how we are exposing ourselves to cultures different than our own needs to be forever widening in the multiplicity of media that are available to us.
Graphic Narratives As Ethnographies Of Experience
While many still ( the public at large as well as many in academia) only think of the graphic narrative as a “comic”, many have argued for the applicability of them across a much broader and relative spectrum. For example, Mila Bongco (2000) believes:
While comicbooks themselves may be ephemeral ,the medium and the
form are not… Many mythologies, characters, anecdotes and forms of
humor which originated in comics are deeply ingrained not only in
American consciousness but have found their way into a world-wide
system of reference. The language, characters and narratives in comics do
not exist devoid of ideologies, doctrines, and biases. Given the ubiquity of
the medium and its influence on a large portion of the population, it is
difficult to imagine that sequential art [does] not, in an enduring way,
participate in or contribute to the cultural debates or struggles of the
medium’s surrounding social environment” (p. 24-25).
Bongco (2000) sees the intertextual possibilities of using graphic narratives, one that I also believe exists in presenting subject matter to audiences that are looking for connection with the subject matter (e.g. anthropological studies/findings/writings). In using the graphic narrative for such purposes, it is , as educator and writer Rocco Versaci (2007) points out, a medium that provides another important contrast towards “ a common thread: however beautifully or ineptly or movingly or lifelessly conveyed, these works are someone’s interpretation of how the world in which we live either is or was or should be or might be or might have been” (5). It is the interpretation that is the conversation that we need to come into, and if a graphic narrative can provide a part of that common thread, it needs to be utilized.
Finding the Common Thread In The Outsider Narrative
The comics medium has been utilized by artists/writers as outlets to tell stories of experience, therefore sometimes conducting very potent and powerful ethnographies. Many times, these personal stories extend into something greater to provide a larger cultural significance. These stories of personal reflection and insight have been a window into some of the most interesting and turbulent times in American history. One major example is Howard Cruse's Stuck Rubber Baby. Cruse takes the reader, via his protagonist Toland Polk, through a journey of self-discovery as Toland comes to embrace his own sexuality and identity, while simultaneously giving us the experience of this discovery through the historical socio-cultural turbulent time of the 1960's in the deep south. Topics such as racism, homophobia, identity confusion, and spirituality (just to name a few) are funneled through Cruse's narrator as he experiences normative hetero-sexual christian white culture (of which he is raised), african-american culture, and homosexual culture. Cruse is also placing not only the voice of his narrator into the text, but uses Toland of the story present to break into specific points of the narrative to actually address the reader, as if he is having you over on an evening to just relax and tell a story. This type of narration is also found in a number of feminist theories concerning the power of the individual storytelling experience. But don't artists just come up with places and people in their head? Isn't that what ostensibly makes it fiction and cannot really make it anthropology due to some of it may not really have ever happened or existed?
Well, yes and no. Artists use references often to create the people and places. No fiction is not without some type of grounded context in our own reality, therefore, experience and reference always gives the story and art relevance/context to the reader as channeled through the artist/storyteller. Also, the amount of research and time that goes into creating these exploratory stories rivals any traditionalist sense of anthropology and or field based research and writing. Cruse himself discusses the four year process of creating his story at his website in more detail, which is filled with detailed journal entries, photo reference and other tidbits worth further investigations. http://www.howardcruse.com/howardsite/aboutbooks/stuckrubberbook/longroad/index.html
The extensive nature of how Cruse constructs his story is anthropology. Cruse's narrative is no different and just as valid as a field researcher who compiles data through experience and observation and then presents the findings. If people are going to continue to grow in understanding cultures as the exposure to them expands in the twenty-first century, the conceptions of what constitutes representations of cultures needs to be expanded to be more inclusive of peoples learning abilities and interests through an already available multitude of accessible media and re-tooled notions of research.
References
Bongco, Mila (2000). Reading Comics: Language, Culture, and the Concept of the Superhero in
Comic Books.
New York: Garland.
Versaci, Rocco (2007). This Book Contains Graphic Language: Comics as Literature.
New York: Continuum, 2007.
Tuesday, July 19, 2011
Why GLBTQ In The DCnU Will Continue To Be A Positive Step, And How We Can Help It Succeed
"Literature is indispensable to the world. The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimeter, the way a person looks at reality, then you can change it"- James Baldwin.
Why GLBTQ Content In Comic Is Important for Young Readers
According to a report in 2009 from the Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network (GLSN), Kosciw, Greytak, Diaz, and Bartkiewicz (2010) found that in high schools in the last ten years, hostility towards GLBTQ youth has manifested in ways such as “88.9 % of students heard “gay” used in a negative way (e.g., “that’s so gay”) frequently or often at school; and 86.5% reported that they felt distressed to some degree by this; 72.4% heard other homophobic remarks (e.g., “dyke” or “faggot”) frequently or often at school; and 61.1 % felt unsafe at school because of their sexual orientation and 39.9% because of how they expressed their gender” (p.xvi). Those are but a few of the numbers the Kosciw et.al. (2010) study uncovered. With so many of our GLBTQ teenage public school students having such limited access to materials, persons, and conversations that allow for context in their personal lives, one would at least assume there were a plethora of books made available for them. However, this is not the case the majority of the time, as research by Cart And Jenkins (2006) indicates that “Books with GLBTQ content remain among the most challenged titles in America’s public and school libraries […] and it appears that the pressure will not be abating anytime soon” (p. xvii).
Even with such staggering odds set against GLBTQ literature for young adults from public institutions and cultural ignorance, the number of books and other forms of media dealing with issues and concerns of the GLBTQ community have risen in the last few decades, albeit slowly (Cart & Jenkins 2006), and of course at a near crawl in the comics industry in regards to the direct market, which has the most accessibility and availability in the comics medium.
Why The New 52 Is A Good Thing
Flipping through through the recent news stories and solicits for the 52 DCnU come September, I have encountered a few titles (Stormwatch, Batwoman) that show the possibility for the continued step towards a more transformative approach culturally in the medium of the direct market comics. As a medium, comics are one of the avenues in which young adults can find comfort in identifying with stories and characters that reflect who they are. Should it be really any different than the revolution of Marvel's everyperson of the 60's? While that was an anomaly, this does not have to be.
Let's be honest, a transformative change is nearly impossible than a reformation of any kind. While as fans we like to believe often that the power of our voices will save a beloved television series or get a movie made that we want to see ( and it does happen), the bottom line asked often, as is true in a capitalistic market, is the idea going to help profit? Even as allegorically and subjectively wonderful as the comics medium is, and has shown great glimpses of underground sensibilities and marvelous moments of sensitivities, the direct market will not take many chances. Note that I say they will not take many chances. But they do. And when they do, the hope is that the right people are helping to develop a series or idea along that seems to confront our norms, unconscious biases, and provide an outlet for those that are under-represented. Again, this historically has not always been the case, but this does not mean that the future is bleak. But even in the face of the bottom line, that does not mean that the comics buying/reading collective need be silent.
I want to suggest that we, as comics lovers, geeks, critics, artists and educators to take a look at the titles of the DCnU through a lens of literary and cultural criticism know as gay assimilation and queer consciousness. This is not to say that these two methods of evaluation and critique are finite, far from it. Part of enhancing good scholarship is the testing of our ideas to see what works and what doesn't. Essentially, I propose an evaluation of the upcoming new line of comics that are going to be published by DC that will deal with GLBTQ characters and situations and compare and contrast them to other types of not only within the medium (independent and not), but in other mediums as well that tell stories through these two types of established critique. Basically, I am making a call to action-- a call to radical blogging, tweeting, and social networking to stretch towards helping to get a medium that helps to communicate so beautifully with everyone into a larger arena with more readers and creators working together to improve how our beloved medium can begin to reflect this new century better.
Gay Assimilation and Queer Consciousness
Gay assimilation and queer consciousness are two lenses of literary critical analysis currently being used in somewhat nascent stages in evaluating young adult literature. In my own research as an English educator, and having worked with others dealing with GLBTQ issues in media, these two lenses are a great starting point for evaluating storytelling mediums.
According to Cart and Jenkins (2006) “ “Gay assimilation” assumes the existence---at least in the world of the story---of a “melting pot” of sexual and gender identity. These stories include people who “just happen to be gay” in the same way that someone “just happens” to be left-handed or have red hair”(p.xx). Cart and Jenkins (2006) believe that this assimilation is not an overwhelming positive, but I believe that this idea of assimilation can carry both a positive and negative aspect depending upon how the author handles the content. The idea of assimilation is a positive to me in the sense of using the word assimilation as more of a learning or growth experience for the individual. This assimilation as experience is one that can feed not only the idea of visibility, but also utilizes tapping into the familiarity of themes that are the cornerstones of good literature.
Along with Gay Assimilation, Queer consciousness could be utilized. According to Cart and Jenkins (2006) queer consciousness shows "characters in the context of their communities of GLBTQ people and their families of choice (and in recent years, often their families of origin as well)[...]the audience for "queer consciousness/community" books [e.g. comics] is not limited to readers form within the culture; rather, these titles are---at least potentially---for readers from all points on the sexual orientation continuum" (p.xx). This lens is very important in that it is the ultimate goal of the story being presented--its the idea of context through universal emotions/ideas (e.g. love, pain, fear, hate). I also believe this lens to be a positive as choosing content and specific pieces of literature, prose, or poetry (all of which can be utilized in the comics format), both composed by students and authors alike, that allows for conversations and awareness concerning the normalizing of a culture that most mainstream culture has never been able to see as other than a stereotype or in a negative fashion. Don Gallo (2004) echoes a similar sentiment in expressing why GLBTQ literature is important “First, the easy part—gay teens are interested in the same things all teens are: getting an education, being accepted, developing social skills, going to homecoming and the prom, making their parents proud” (p.126). Again, sometimes the simplest explanation (e.g. the universal needs) are the obvious answers.
With recent promotion of GLBTQ culture in programs such as Glee and campaigns such as "It Will Get Better", this new century has such opportunity to be a more transformative place to live in regards to our ideas, dreams, and aspirations. I love comics. I love the stories they tell and the way they make me and others feel connected to each other. I'm tired of mass media marginalization (unconscious and conscious)-it hurts me, my students and my fellow peoples. The purpose of this post is not to be negative, there is enough negativity out there as it is, and I refuse to contribute to it (and I will continue to battle it when it is encountered). Come September, fans of the DCnU (and comics in general) have a chance to start engaging the stories that are challenging norms on new and more critical levels from the so-called ground floor as new readers are invited in. Even if you do not wish to engage in what I am proposing here, find the critical perspectives in which you feel confident to continue to evaluate so that conversation and creativity can continue to grow.
References
Cart, M., & Jenkins, C.A. (2006). The Heart Has It’s Reasons: Young Adult Literature with Gay/Lesbian/Queer Content, 1969-2004. Scarecrow Press: Lanham, Maryland.
Gallo, D. (2004). Bold Books for Innovative Teaching: The Boldest Books. The English Journal, 94 (1), 126-130.
Kosciw, J. G., Greytak, E. A., Diaz, E. M., and Bartkiewicz, M. J. (2010). The 2009 National School Climate Survey: The experiences of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender youth in our nation’s schools. New York: GLSEN.
Why GLBTQ Content In Comic Is Important for Young Readers
According to a report in 2009 from the Gay, Lesbian, and Straight Education Network (GLSN), Kosciw, Greytak, Diaz, and Bartkiewicz (2010) found that in high schools in the last ten years, hostility towards GLBTQ youth has manifested in ways such as “88.9 % of students heard “gay” used in a negative way (e.g., “that’s so gay”) frequently or often at school; and 86.5% reported that they felt distressed to some degree by this; 72.4% heard other homophobic remarks (e.g., “dyke” or “faggot”) frequently or often at school; and 61.1 % felt unsafe at school because of their sexual orientation and 39.9% because of how they expressed their gender” (p.xvi). Those are but a few of the numbers the Kosciw et.al. (2010) study uncovered. With so many of our GLBTQ teenage public school students having such limited access to materials, persons, and conversations that allow for context in their personal lives, one would at least assume there were a plethora of books made available for them. However, this is not the case the majority of the time, as research by Cart And Jenkins (2006) indicates that “Books with GLBTQ content remain among the most challenged titles in America’s public and school libraries […] and it appears that the pressure will not be abating anytime soon” (p. xvii).
Even with such staggering odds set against GLBTQ literature for young adults from public institutions and cultural ignorance, the number of books and other forms of media dealing with issues and concerns of the GLBTQ community have risen in the last few decades, albeit slowly (Cart & Jenkins 2006), and of course at a near crawl in the comics industry in regards to the direct market, which has the most accessibility and availability in the comics medium.
Why The New 52 Is A Good Thing
Flipping through through the recent news stories and solicits for the 52 DCnU come September, I have encountered a few titles (Stormwatch, Batwoman) that show the possibility for the continued step towards a more transformative approach culturally in the medium of the direct market comics. As a medium, comics are one of the avenues in which young adults can find comfort in identifying with stories and characters that reflect who they are. Should it be really any different than the revolution of Marvel's everyperson of the 60's? While that was an anomaly, this does not have to be.
Let's be honest, a transformative change is nearly impossible than a reformation of any kind. While as fans we like to believe often that the power of our voices will save a beloved television series or get a movie made that we want to see ( and it does happen), the bottom line asked often, as is true in a capitalistic market, is the idea going to help profit? Even as allegorically and subjectively wonderful as the comics medium is, and has shown great glimpses of underground sensibilities and marvelous moments of sensitivities, the direct market will not take many chances. Note that I say they will not take many chances. But they do. And when they do, the hope is that the right people are helping to develop a series or idea along that seems to confront our norms, unconscious biases, and provide an outlet for those that are under-represented. Again, this historically has not always been the case, but this does not mean that the future is bleak. But even in the face of the bottom line, that does not mean that the comics buying/reading collective need be silent.
I want to suggest that we, as comics lovers, geeks, critics, artists and educators to take a look at the titles of the DCnU through a lens of literary and cultural criticism know as gay assimilation and queer consciousness. This is not to say that these two methods of evaluation and critique are finite, far from it. Part of enhancing good scholarship is the testing of our ideas to see what works and what doesn't. Essentially, I propose an evaluation of the upcoming new line of comics that are going to be published by DC that will deal with GLBTQ characters and situations and compare and contrast them to other types of not only within the medium (independent and not), but in other mediums as well that tell stories through these two types of established critique. Basically, I am making a call to action-- a call to radical blogging, tweeting, and social networking to stretch towards helping to get a medium that helps to communicate so beautifully with everyone into a larger arena with more readers and creators working together to improve how our beloved medium can begin to reflect this new century better.
Gay Assimilation and Queer Consciousness
Gay assimilation and queer consciousness are two lenses of literary critical analysis currently being used in somewhat nascent stages in evaluating young adult literature. In my own research as an English educator, and having worked with others dealing with GLBTQ issues in media, these two lenses are a great starting point for evaluating storytelling mediums.
According to Cart and Jenkins (2006) “ “Gay assimilation” assumes the existence---at least in the world of the story---of a “melting pot” of sexual and gender identity. These stories include people who “just happen to be gay” in the same way that someone “just happens” to be left-handed or have red hair”(p.xx). Cart and Jenkins (2006) believe that this assimilation is not an overwhelming positive, but I believe that this idea of assimilation can carry both a positive and negative aspect depending upon how the author handles the content. The idea of assimilation is a positive to me in the sense of using the word assimilation as more of a learning or growth experience for the individual. This assimilation as experience is one that can feed not only the idea of visibility, but also utilizes tapping into the familiarity of themes that are the cornerstones of good literature.
Along with Gay Assimilation, Queer consciousness could be utilized. According to Cart and Jenkins (2006) queer consciousness shows "characters in the context of their communities of GLBTQ people and their families of choice (and in recent years, often their families of origin as well)[...]the audience for "queer consciousness/community" books [e.g. comics] is not limited to readers form within the culture; rather, these titles are---at least potentially---for readers from all points on the sexual orientation continuum" (p.xx). This lens is very important in that it is the ultimate goal of the story being presented--its the idea of context through universal emotions/ideas (e.g. love, pain, fear, hate). I also believe this lens to be a positive as choosing content and specific pieces of literature, prose, or poetry (all of which can be utilized in the comics format), both composed by students and authors alike, that allows for conversations and awareness concerning the normalizing of a culture that most mainstream culture has never been able to see as other than a stereotype or in a negative fashion. Don Gallo (2004) echoes a similar sentiment in expressing why GLBTQ literature is important “First, the easy part—gay teens are interested in the same things all teens are: getting an education, being accepted, developing social skills, going to homecoming and the prom, making their parents proud” (p.126). Again, sometimes the simplest explanation (e.g. the universal needs) are the obvious answers.
References
Cart, M., & Jenkins, C.A. (2006). The Heart Has It’s Reasons: Young Adult Literature with Gay/Lesbian/Queer Content, 1969-2004. Scarecrow Press: Lanham, Maryland.
Gallo, D. (2004). Bold Books for Innovative Teaching: The Boldest Books. The English Journal, 94 (1), 126-130.
Kosciw, J. G., Greytak, E. A., Diaz, E. M., and Bartkiewicz, M. J. (2010). The 2009 National School Climate Survey: The experiences of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender youth in our nation’s schools. New York: GLSEN.
Friday, July 15, 2011
How The Unwritten Utilizes Semiotics to Explain A Leviathan
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| The Unwritten #19 |
"Wilson said that some symbols become more real than what they stand for. Like they're part of a truth that's beyond the regular kind of truth." -The Unwritten #19
With the release of issue #27 of The Unwritten this week, Mike Carey and Peter Gross send us "On To Genesis"which hints at that they will be getting to the business of addressing some more of our modern media habits (no real spoilers here, sorry). With such a shift this week I felt that it was time to go back and take a look at the last major story arc "Leviathan", to investigate some theoretical areas that the book is exploring and folding into the larger themes and concepts that the series is possibly trying to communicate.
Beginning with issue #19, Carey and Gross's "Leviathan" story arc in The Unwritten constructs an idea of metaphor usage in narratives akin to a post-structuralist viewpoint of semiotics. I am using the post-structuralist lens to explore the cross-cultural and cross-disciplinary aspects that The Unwritten has exhibited as the creators have used the series to dig at what the stories of numerous cultures could possibly mean to us and for us. I believe that this series helps us to explore the history of literature and myth while also investigating the power of what it is to be human and the connections that we all need.
Leviathan, like many words in this series, is multi-layered. For the purposes of the story arc in issues #19-23, Carey and Gross propose a theory on an idea of unconscious unification channeled through symbols and/or signs. The narrative is presenting an investigation into how certain words relate towards larger meanings (i.e. metaphors, the building blocks of communication). Using ideas present in 16th century thinker Thomas Hobbes's writings, it is revealed that Hobbe's Leviathan , as a word and concept, is implanted in Tom Taylor's head subconsciously in childhood, in which it is furthermore hinted at that Wilson, Tom's father, is preparing his son for a future event that will require him to be a strong centralized figure. Hobbes's Leviathan is a call for a unified society under a ruler (also linked by a proposed social contract theory). Using Tom as a centralized symbol of possible power (both author and audience generated) is something that Carey and Gross have played with in the entriety of the series--from messianic allusions up to the more monarachist idea of Leviathan.
But the larger idea at play that I want to focus on outside of power/knowledge dynamics in The Unwritten is that the individual reader assigns meaning. In doing so, the reader/individual thereby gains momentum with other individualized readers ( a way of de-centering the original author) which gives the story its real post structuralist stance. Tom's realization about the interconnectedness and literary mass unconsciousness that occurs through our stories is the turning point of the series. Think of it in this way-- the reader assigns meaning to a text (or text's centralized symbols) based on a context/experience in their own life. This symbol can remain static, but the context or situation of the reader can change over a lifetime or in gaining new understandings through other encounters with either same or non-same symbols. For example, the reveal in issue #23 is that Tom finds the power of the literary connection to the world not through the book Moby Dick itself (which he initially believes is the key, and in one way it is), but rather through the symbol of the Whale (i.e. the metaphor), the Leviathan, which had been used in other stories, as Carey and Gross point out, such as Pinocchio or the Adventures of Sinbad, therefore placing a greater symbol and/or meaning to the whale in the stories of many cultures. Tom's (and our own) mis-reading of the larger symbol initially had him blind to the actual unifying symbol of the whale not only in relation to the body of the whale, but also as a body politic, which his father Wilson wanted Tom to see (see figure 1). This is why we can examine Tom's (and our own) understandings regarding the representation of the whale (as seen in figure 1), through a concept associated with a branch of semiotics.
 |
| Figure 1 |
The important reveal that Tom Taylor is lead to (or discovers subconsciously) is essentially a semiotic theory of communication, specifically a theory that emerged in the work of Charles Sanders Pierce. Pierce's semiotics is one of the relational to a discursive claim to knowledge. One of the main narrative points of The Unwritten is that knowledge is power, and those that are aware of it are often at odds with those that control it (or attempt it). What Carey and Gross have revealed to us in the Leviathan arc is that Wilson had prepped Tom to realize the unconscious collective of the planet rests on the relation of cultures to stories-and those that are able to see the overlap (normally writers) possess great power. Therefore, fictional knowledge is real knowledge, a knowledge that "[...] in Pierce's approach[...]emerges from the mediation of the experiences of the members of the community with the real" (*Sorrell, as cited in Rosiek & Atkinson, 2005, p.434). Even young Tom is reminded "For real truth is only true now/ Story-true is forever" (The Unwritten, issue #20).
What Carey and Gross are creating in the Leviathan arc is something that creators in the comics medium have been chipping away at for decades. It is the very beautiful and optimistic viewpoint that we are all basically splintered from the same place in our needs, wants, and desires; that everyone wants to be able to live a free life; that everyone looks to provide for their family or neighbor; that ostensibly we are creatures of habits that have an overall good within them. All this is possible if we just step back to look at our stories to find the connections.
*Rosiek, J., Atkinson, B. (2005). Bridging The Divides: The Need for a Pragmatic Semiotics Of Teacher Knowledge Research. Educational Theory, 55(4), p.421-422.
All images used are copyrighted 2011 by Mike Carey and Peter Gross, published by Vertigo comics.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
Drawing Impossible Dreams: The Impact of Frank Miller's Ronin, part two
"Just remember, if this is your first comic book in a while, that comics is a form for telling stories, as versatile and full of promise as any other"(Frank Miller, from the collected Wolverine, 1987).
Ronin is not just a representation of where the makeup of comics were about to go in the last part of the twentieth century, but it also needs to be acknowledged as the the evolution of an artist who, when given an opportunity to express his self, truly embraced the chance to put his own stamp on storytelling in a medium that was ready for new avenues to be explored.
The Past is Prologue (stylistically)
Frank Miller could have just been satisfied as the in-house wunderkind at Marvel that put life into the second tier character Daredevil. The popularity of Miller is easy to see in his early work, as his storytelling, pacing, and style popped with movement and electricity, even though bound by the house styles and editing of the early 1980's (Fig. 1).
However, in less than a year (literally 11 months later) The infamous Daredevil #181 will seem to come from a completely different artist. In the figures 2 and 3, originally published as a two-page left to right sequence, notice how the action pops, but now with a dynamism that allows for a greater reader immersion--from the sequential pacing to the use of sound effects.
But for all of Miller's bravado in action sequences, he exhibits quiet control in instances ( the multiple pages of Elektra moving to die in Matt Murdock's arms) or, as in figure 4, the use of playing with negative space and the breaking down of formal structure.
Miller's evolution culminating in the death of Elektra issue is a clear indication of someone who is ready to take a step into the void of the medium that was begging for someone in the mainstream to put forth something striking, provocative, and entertaining. His use of widescreen cinematic panels, sound effects, and high paced energy would be refined through a more expressionist lens.
Re-imagining your own style
Daredevil #181, the death of Elektra, can be seen as a primer for the way that Miller is working out most of the style that he is moving towards. Just as Jenette Kahn (2008) lets the reader know in her introduction to the Absolute edition of the book, Miller's art for Ronin, from his pencils and inks (which he handled himself) to exploring color usage (with constant companion Lynn Varley), this story is one that is in an expressionist vein.
Ronin as an expressionist work makes sense, as expressionistic art is "an embodiment of the artist's inward feelings and images into an objective, outward, "expressive"[author emphasis], form" (Barone, 2001, p.22), looking to "distort [the art] radically for emotional effect in order to evoke moods or ideas", as the artist(s) attempts to "express meaning or emotional experience rather than physical reality" (Thompson; Baldick; Tejera; Oxford Illustrated Dictionary; as cited on wikipedia entry on expressionism). By looking at this work through an expressionist lens, the ideas presented by Miller unify and coalesce nicely (and it can be argued by people much smarter than me that in essence the entire comics medium is legitimately an expressionist form of art).
Ronin as a story is a fever dream, the best type of science fiction in the vein of post-modern and anti-utopian visions that was at its peak, especially cinematically in the late 70's and early 80's in films such as Ridley Scott's Alien and Blade Runner, or John Carpenter's Escape from New York. While it is unfortunate that this is a story telling template that Miller (and others) will continue to apply as he rips through Batman in The Dark Knight Returns, to return to the point where he first really pieced it all together is still very exciting and refreshing almost thirty years later.
The expressionist style for Miller is in expanding upon what he had already developed in mastering the panel and page driven style of the comics medium. While Ronin truly has more examples than could possible be listed here ( it truly requires a book, one that I hope someone will write someday), I want to isolate three; two of which are an expansion of his previous style.
First, an example of how Miller handles action/violence. If you go back and look at the example above from Daredevil (fig. 2,3) we see the use of the horizontal, widescreen cinematic presentation of action while utilizing onomatopoeia. This evolves in many ways in Ronin as Miller compacts, yet expands the same idea, as seen below in figure 5.
Here he relies on sound as a transitional barrier and action, sitting it up vertically rather than on the side-- therefore communicating the cutting quick motion of the sword going up and down in a way to transmit a greater impact upon the reader.
Second, Miller's use of negative space grows to want to allow the reader to step back from the page(s) and let the eye find the sequence. Again, in comparison with early work (see fig. 4), look at figures 6 and 7. (I apologize for breaking up the page, but the Absolute edition demanded it!).
The third, and most revelatory, is Miller using full page spreads as actual transitions. Cinema has of course long used this technique ( e.g. panoramic shots of city-scapes), and Miller openly does it, but more so as an integral piece of information for the reader in regards to the narrative of the sentient computer Virgo gone haywire (fig 8, 9).
So what did it all mean?
Comics had to change. While in the 21st century many artists and creators have reverted back to looking at the gold and silver age of comic styles and story telling genres to refine sensibilities (Darwyn Cooke's The New Frontier; Wednesday Comics), the decade of the 80's was and remains a very intense time for the medium. What works such as Ronin or even Watchmen opened the doors to was more creator input driven and/or owned work in a market place that had for too long been dominated by just the big boy homes of ideas and flights/tights sets. While the unfortunate drawback of this work was mass imitation via the "gritty-realistic" hero narratives that we still feel the lingering effects of today, Miller's expressionistic dream on paper still stands out historically as a point where the next wave in comics began, and the medium as a whole is better for it.
All images and words from Absolute: Ronin is copyrighted 2008, Frank Miller, Inc. and DC Comics; All images and words from Daredevil and Wolverine is copyrighted Marvel. All work represented here was purchased by the author, and is intended for scholarly use and debate for those who wish to engage in it.
Ronin is not just a representation of where the makeup of comics were about to go in the last part of the twentieth century, but it also needs to be acknowledged as the the evolution of an artist who, when given an opportunity to express his self, truly embraced the chance to put his own stamp on storytelling in a medium that was ready for new avenues to be explored.
The Past is Prologue (stylistically)
Frank Miller could have just been satisfied as the in-house wunderkind at Marvel that put life into the second tier character Daredevil. The popularity of Miller is easy to see in his early work, as his storytelling, pacing, and style popped with movement and electricity, even though bound by the house styles and editing of the early 1980's (Fig. 1).
 |
| Fig.1 |
However, in less than a year (literally 11 months later) The infamous Daredevil #181 will seem to come from a completely different artist. In the figures 2 and 3, originally published as a two-page left to right sequence, notice how the action pops, but now with a dynamism that allows for a greater reader immersion--from the sequential pacing to the use of sound effects.
 |
| Fig. 2 |
 |
| Fig.3 |
But for all of Miller's bravado in action sequences, he exhibits quiet control in instances ( the multiple pages of Elektra moving to die in Matt Murdock's arms) or, as in figure 4, the use of playing with negative space and the breaking down of formal structure.
 |
| Fig. 4 |
Miller's evolution culminating in the death of Elektra issue is a clear indication of someone who is ready to take a step into the void of the medium that was begging for someone in the mainstream to put forth something striking, provocative, and entertaining. His use of widescreen cinematic panels, sound effects, and high paced energy would be refined through a more expressionist lens.
Re-imagining your own style
Daredevil #181, the death of Elektra, can be seen as a primer for the way that Miller is working out most of the style that he is moving towards. Just as Jenette Kahn (2008) lets the reader know in her introduction to the Absolute edition of the book, Miller's art for Ronin, from his pencils and inks (which he handled himself) to exploring color usage (with constant companion Lynn Varley), this story is one that is in an expressionist vein.
Ronin as an expressionist work makes sense, as expressionistic art is "an embodiment of the artist's inward feelings and images into an objective, outward, "expressive"[author emphasis], form" (Barone, 2001, p.22), looking to "distort [the art] radically for emotional effect in order to evoke moods or ideas", as the artist(s) attempts to "express meaning or emotional experience rather than physical reality" (Thompson; Baldick; Tejera; Oxford Illustrated Dictionary; as cited on wikipedia entry on expressionism). By looking at this work through an expressionist lens, the ideas presented by Miller unify and coalesce nicely (and it can be argued by people much smarter than me that in essence the entire comics medium is legitimately an expressionist form of art).
Ronin as a story is a fever dream, the best type of science fiction in the vein of post-modern and anti-utopian visions that was at its peak, especially cinematically in the late 70's and early 80's in films such as Ridley Scott's Alien and Blade Runner, or John Carpenter's Escape from New York. While it is unfortunate that this is a story telling template that Miller (and others) will continue to apply as he rips through Batman in The Dark Knight Returns, to return to the point where he first really pieced it all together is still very exciting and refreshing almost thirty years later.
The expressionist style for Miller is in expanding upon what he had already developed in mastering the panel and page driven style of the comics medium. While Ronin truly has more examples than could possible be listed here ( it truly requires a book, one that I hope someone will write someday), I want to isolate three; two of which are an expansion of his previous style.
First, an example of how Miller handles action/violence. If you go back and look at the example above from Daredevil (fig. 2,3) we see the use of the horizontal, widescreen cinematic presentation of action while utilizing onomatopoeia. This evolves in many ways in Ronin as Miller compacts, yet expands the same idea, as seen below in figure 5.
 |
| Fig. 5 |
Here he relies on sound as a transitional barrier and action, sitting it up vertically rather than on the side-- therefore communicating the cutting quick motion of the sword going up and down in a way to transmit a greater impact upon the reader.
Second, Miller's use of negative space grows to want to allow the reader to step back from the page(s) and let the eye find the sequence. Again, in comparison with early work (see fig. 4), look at figures 6 and 7. (I apologize for breaking up the page, but the Absolute edition demanded it!).
 |
| Fig. 6 |
 |
| Fig.7 |
The third, and most revelatory, is Miller using full page spreads as actual transitions. Cinema has of course long used this technique ( e.g. panoramic shots of city-scapes), and Miller openly does it, but more so as an integral piece of information for the reader in regards to the narrative of the sentient computer Virgo gone haywire (fig 8, 9).
 |
| Fig. 8 |
 |
| Fig. 9 |
So what did it all mean?
Comics had to change. While in the 21st century many artists and creators have reverted back to looking at the gold and silver age of comic styles and story telling genres to refine sensibilities (Darwyn Cooke's The New Frontier; Wednesday Comics), the decade of the 80's was and remains a very intense time for the medium. What works such as Ronin or even Watchmen opened the doors to was more creator input driven and/or owned work in a market place that had for too long been dominated by just the big boy homes of ideas and flights/tights sets. While the unfortunate drawback of this work was mass imitation via the "gritty-realistic" hero narratives that we still feel the lingering effects of today, Miller's expressionistic dream on paper still stands out historically as a point where the next wave in comics began, and the medium as a whole is better for it.
All images and words from Absolute: Ronin is copyrighted 2008, Frank Miller, Inc. and DC Comics; All images and words from Daredevil and Wolverine is copyrighted Marvel. All work represented here was purchased by the author, and is intended for scholarly use and debate for those who wish to engage in it.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
Drawing Impossible Dreams: The Impact of Frank Miller's Ronin, part one
In the introduction to Absolute: Ronin, Jeanette Kahn talks about three things (which I paraphrase here) that would help to shape the look of mainstream comics in America in the late 1970's and early 1980's:
a) The visual and storytelling impact of Metal Hurlant, which would be translated in the United States as Heavy Metal.
b) The need for the expansion of the actual format of the comics (e.g. page, color palate, and content quality).
c) The need for support at a mainstream flagship like DC to offer creators the ability to own the work they produce.
Now, there is nothing necessarily wrong with the way American hero comics were being produced during that time in history (this is always a sticky argument), but it is worth noting how they were constructed to truly appreciate the impact of what a book like Miller's Ronin was able to accomplish.
The superheroes, or even superhero teams, of the early 1980's were still, to a large degree, fairly pedestrian in regards to the types of stories that were told. Comic book narratives were comprised of masses of internalized dialogue (I must save the day!), inexplicably overly- explained internalized action dialogues ( I'll just take this gun out of his hand, turn it on himself, and then let it blow up in his face, haha!), and fairly tame (by modern standards) good versus evil parables laid out in panel sequences that did little (sometimes) to challenge the status quo of how comics had been read (although I believe there is a solid counter-argument to that in the likes of work by George Perez and Steven Bissette when he begins his Swamp Thing work).
While the look of the characters were also changing to be more "contemporary" ( we laugh about mullets and high hair, but art does reflect the times!), the construction and substance were a bit stagnant. While it is easy to say that the appeal of comics is that you should be able to drop right into them, and to a degree I agree with that, it is too easy sometimes to use that as an excuse for not taking chances with how stories are told. If we did not take chances with how we tell stories in our cultures there would perhaps be no, for example, James Joyce's Ulysses or Thomas Pynchon's Gravity's Rainbow in literature. Challenging the dominant modes of any constructed norm is a vital part of keeping dialogues and avenues of ideas alive in the arts.
If nothing was to be done the medium of comics in the mainstream was in danger of being stuck in permanent static adolescents in providing books that were simply bloated comfort food. However, a whole new adult group of 18-35 year olds, who had survived arguably the most tumultuous time in American history (e.g. assassinations, space races, civil rights unrest, Vietnam, presidential impeachment, etc.), had indicated a need for a change in taste for the hero stories they grew up loving and had wanted to stay with. And many of those fans, luckily for the readers, were the creators and editors themselves who were ready to try something different in the mainstream.
Ronin would challenge the way mainstream comic books could be seen and read. Miller goes to great lengths to combine, unabashedly, a cinematic influence through wide-screen panels, two-page transitional/establishing layouts, a deconstructionist approach to color and inks, and a story that let the reader actually read the story rather than have the story merely laid out for them. In the next post, I will dig deeper into Ronin and why it deserves to be recognized more often as a book that helped to change the way mainstream comics were going to be done, for better or worse.
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