Comics Come of Age

Diversity is the hallmark of modern society, and graphic novel publishing is no exception. To someone who isn’t up on current trends, the phrase “graphic novel” may conjure images of going to the candy store, dime in hand, for the latest epics depicting Wonder Woman, the Flash, or the Justice League of America. Or Archie and Veronica. Or even Casper, Baby Huey, or Little Lulu and Sluggo.
Okay, so maybe that’s dated. However, while some things stay the same, others change—drastically. What was once a secret indulgence, hidden from parents and teachers, is now a $100 million market, complete with hard covers, high prices, and (shudder!) respectability. Readers remembering lazy summers in the company of the Jaguar and Green Lantern, or school endeavors to pass off the Classics Illustrated version of The Black Arrow as book report material, will find that the world has changed. Now one can find everything from the Tick to—Proust and Buddha?
Yes, even Buddha, in a particularly charming manga version of Siddhartha’s coming to the world and to enlightenment. But maybe backing up a step is in order here. Those unfamiliar with the genre will want to know, at least, what manga is—and maybe what graphic novels are, too.
Manga, or Japanese comics, cover almost all subjects and age groups. They are such hot sellers in the West that many dealers say they can’t keep them in stock, despite the fact that graphic novels require more display space. Manga are translated and often modified for the American market (in their original form, they’re read back-to-front; some publishers, notably Tokyopop and Viz, issue some of their English-language versions back-to-front to avoid potential continuity problems and to preserve the integrity of the original artwork).
Manga is big on “cute,” even for serious themes. The cover of Revolutionary Girl Uten— Volume 1: To Till (Viz Communications, Inc., 0-56931-713-5) boasts a very cute pink-haired girl with characteristically huge eyes; however, inside the book’s covers, she proves to be more than a match in a duel. “If you don’t want danger,” she says to a male friend, “don’t fall for me.” And cute or not, manga has become so popular in this hemisphere that The Rising Stars of Manga series (Tokyopop, 0-59822-246) offers would-be manga-ka (manga artists) a chance to audition their brands of cute and not-so-cute to the audience at large; competitions offer the prize of publication in one of the Rising Stars anthologies.
Graphic novels, which can include manga, are generally defined as book-length comics. Some may remember early Dark Knight graphic novels of the ’80s, in which Batman’s “tragic hero” persona carried far more angst than in ’50s comics. (Batman appears in a new graphic novel this year, termed “Batmanga” by its CNN reviewer due to its authorship and design by Kia Asamiya.) Graphic novels, by the way, are not exclusively American or Japanese. The art form is alive and well in European and Latin American countries as well, and has spawned many movies, like The Road to Perdition and From Hell. Manga has spawned numerous anime features too, including the popular Spirited Away.
Despite lingering questions over their legitimacy (in the ’50s, their pictorial layouts of violence and moral dilemmas had parents, teachers, and Congress aghast), graphic novels have come of age. One major indication of new respectability is the Pulitzer Prize-winning Maus, by Art Spiegelman; one can hardly find a subject more serious than the Holocaust, or recognition more legitimizing than a Pulitzer.
Releases run the gamut from social responsibility to sheer entertainment. Black-and-white offerings from three different publishers examine very serious societal issues—the turmoil between Israelis and Palestinians (Portraits of Israelis and Palestinians, by Seth Tobocman, Soft Skull Press, 1-887128-83-2), the September eleventh tragedy (9 of 1: A Window to the World, by Oliver Chin, Frog, Ltd., 1-58394-072-3), and the Middle Eastern conflict (Johnny Jihad, by Ryan Inzana, NBM/ComicsLit, 0-56163-353-4). Each of these takes a serious and gifted look at the world’s troubles.
Cartoonist Tobocman produced his book as a way to explain to his Zionist parents why he went to Palestine for the summer of 2002 to teach art to children. His point—that one cannot tell a person’s heart by his appearance—is made in a series of stark and eloquent sketches accompanied by poignant text.
9 of 1 is remarkably insightful in the post-9/11 world. Its premise is that, in the wake of the tragedy, a high school teacher asks his class to interview people they don’t know, so they can learn to see other points of view. The resulting commentary is about community as much as diversity, and points out that what people have in common far outweighs their differences. The illustrations are open and cleanly drawn with bold lines, evoking the image of an open American society even as it relates tales of misunderstanding and common ground.
Johnny Jihad tells the story of an American-born teenager from Trenton, New Jersey who is transformed from disaffected, rebellious teen into Jihad warrior, first for Osama Bin Laden and then for the CIA. The artwork is dark and shadowed, even sinister, filled with jagged black, ominous in the extreme—excellently suited to its subject matter.
Individual character development is also a popular theme of graphic novels. Take, for instance, Brooklyn Dreams, written by J. M. DeMatteis and drawn by Glenn Barr (Paradox Press, 1-4012-0051-6). This compilation of previously published comics into one volume has as its hero another disaffected teen—or, perhaps more accurately, the adult into whom he has grown. The adult Vincent Carl Santini narrates his growing up, beginning with the waif of a dog that for one brief shining moment gave the child Carl something in common with his explosive Italian father. His mother made him give up the dog, and, says Carl, “the thing that’s stayed with me all these years . . . is this: My father was as devastated as I was.”
Brooklyn Dreams works beautifully as a graphic novel, while it may have been difficult to follow as individual installments, owing to the adult Carl’s habit of digressing as he tells his story. It is, however, a story well worth following, as Carl survives to find enlightenment. The black-and-white artwork is truly extraordinary; Barr shows his gift for different styles to convey different feelings and moods.
Sometimes the transition to book format appears out of balance because the story lines are overshadowed by the brilliance of the art. An example is Quimby the Mouse, by F. C. Ware (Fantagraphics, 1-56097-485-0). The hard cover is utterly spectacular, combining cartooning with ornate baroque flourishes and gold trim, and the artwork inside (a mix of color and black and white) is diverse, well executed, and beguiling, but the plots are perhaps not so comfortable in such a grand setting. Another Fantagraphics offering, the softcover collection of Krazy & Ignatz, drawn by George Herriman and edited by Bill Blackbeard (1-56097-529-6), serves more as historical document and commentary, providing strips of the cat-and-mouse duo from 1929 and 1930.
The irreverence and outrageousness that readers expect from alternative comics are alive and well in many publishers’ lines, including, appropriately enough, Alternative Comics, whose anthology Rosetta (1-891867-22-9) offers artwork in styles ranging from highly detailed renderings to Simpsons-like characters to the very simplest line drawings. The message content varies wildly, too, covering social issues such as the military-industrial complex (Megan Kelso’s “The Warrior Queen”) and World War II (“The Seven Sweet Spoonfuls of Understanding” by Miriam Katin).
As in the scandalous volumes of the ’50s, graphic representations of sex and violence still abound, and can be found in the sword-and-sorcery Artesia series by Mark Smylie (Archaia Studios Press, Artesia, 1-932386-00-9, and Artesia Afield, 1-932386-02-5), about a woman warrior who is born a witch but chooses the possibility of death in battle rather than on a witch’s pyre; and The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen by Alan Moore, Kevin O’Neill, Ben Dimagmaliw, and Bill Oakley (America’s Best Comics, 1-56389-858-6). These are full-color, full-length tales drawn lush in detail and told in intense adventure, however improbable. The heroes of neither are wholly likeable. Artesia, a king’s concubine with a lust for battle, is ruthless yet often indecisive; the Gentlemen, while they have heroic tendencies, also have such severe character faults as drug addiction, rape, theft, and unbridled violence. They are compelling characters nonetheless, and the intricate detail in these books will keep readers coming back for more.
Smylie has created a whole mythology to go with Artesia’s world; it is complex and rich. His drawing style, too, is suited to the chainmail the soldiers wear, and to the heroine’s wonderful hair—wild and wavy, often caught in tight braids. A self-taught artist, he works with lots of inked lines that give an armored feel to the pages—yet the goddesses who intervene on Artesia’s behalf are suitably diaphanous.
Graphic violence also abounds in the books about Arwyn in Sojourn: From the Ashes (CrossGen Comics, 1-931484-15-5). Arwyn is a different sort, more traditionally beautiful than Artesia, with her blonde hair and classic face; she too is on a quest. After the death of her husband and child, she seeks the destruction of Mordath, a restored-to-life evil tyrant. Her sidekick, the one-eyed Gareth the Bowman, and her dog, Kreeg, accompany her; Gareth narrates their adventures. Arwyn is as approachable as Artesia is remote; both are compelling, well drawn (though in very different styles—Sojourn is written, penciled, inked, and colored by different people, where Artesia is all Smylie’s work), and assisted by supernatural forces. Arwyn is far more reminiscent of old comic book heroes: she sports a beautiful green-and-gold archer’s outfit, snug leggings, and high, tight boots, and Gareth is straight out of Robin Hood in his lace-up shirt and leggings. Despite their misadventures, Arwyn and Gareth manage to look elegant most of the time.
The nearly wordless The Frank Book by Jim Woodring (Fantagraphics 1-56097-534-2) draws the eye like a bejeweled train wreck. Its pages offer disturbing violence and bold drawings in both black and white and intensely vivid colors. Frank, a catlike creature, lives in a strange world with the Manhog and Pupshaw, a little doglike creature that looks like a house with a tail. Eerie tales unfold and creatures are devoured and dismembered with lots of gore as Frank and Pupshaw move through exotic settings.
At the opposite end of the spectrum is Herobear, by Mike Kunkel (Astonish Factory, 0-9721259-1-4). Drawn mostly in black and white, with only Herobear’s cape and Santa Claus’s suit colored in, this is great stuff no matter the reader’s age. Herobear is magic. After Grandfather’s death at Christmastime, Tyler’s family moves into his grandfather’s house, and the boy receives Herobear as his inheritance. Tyler must cope with grief, a new school, bullies, and young love. Not only is Herobear a lot more bear than Tyler thought (together they take on an evil robot, bullies, and an evil nemesis), but Henry the butler turns out rather like Batman’s very proper Alfred, and there’s even a secret office accessible only through a bookshelf in Tyler’s room. The drawings are charming and filled with animation techniques—many different poses (and transmogrifications) to indicate, for instance, Herobear’s morphing from ten-inch stuffed bear into ten-foot caped ursine crusader.
The Dark Horse Book of Hauntings (Dark Horse Comics, 1-56971-958-6) is a collection of eight tales and many artists’ work. While all have their macabre charms (including the Dor-like endpapers and the illustrated narrative ghost story “Thurnley Abbey”), by far the standout piece is “Stray” by Evan Dorkin and Jill Thompson—the story of a haunted doghouse. Done with humor and sympathy, and tucked in at the end of the book, this one is a gem among gems.
Graphic novels also offer the sublime: NBM/ComicsLit provides such extravagant titles as a version of Proust’s Remembrance of Things Past (one volume of which, 1-56163-342-9, was previously reviewed in ForeWord) and an adaptation of Mozart’s The Magic Flute by P. Craig Russell (1-56163-350-X), adorned with such beautiful illustrations, extravagant colors, hints of art nouveau elements, and the clarity of early comic drawings, that one could spend a pleasurable afternoon just perusing the pictures. Vertical, Inc. is reissuing Osamu Tezuka’s classic Buddha, Volume One: Kapilavastu, a manga version of the life of Buddha in an eight-volume epic (0-932234-43-8, reviewed in this issue). Done in black and white, this is indeed classic manga: Tezuka’s sure hand, particularly in the expressions of both people and animals, lends an extra poignancy to what is already a moving, yet vividly active, story.
With such a superb selection of subject matter, and such a diverse pool of readers, the days of hiding graphic novels under the covers and reading them with a flashlight are over. Instead, they’re out in the open and justly flaunted, where their extraordinary artwork and equally extraordinary—and timely—messages can be appreciated by everyone.