On My New York Diary

My New York Diary

I have put off writing about this comic, because in all honesty, it’s not the best comic I’ve read for the class. It wasn’t my cup of tea, though I do see the appeal, with its stylistic roots lying in underground comics, it discusses topics that are both personal and difficult in other mediums. As a platform for encountering the topics, I found the style fitting; gritty, filthy, and awkward, perfectly describing her experiences like her ‘first time’.

I thought that as an artist myself, I could relate to her story, but I somehow couldn’t. It felt very personal, but crossed no paths with mine. Perhaps this is due to our polar opposite lifestyles; if anything, it made me afraid of New York. Grasping deeper into the stories, I found that a female’s perspective on what life is like entertaining, and it was that aspect that kept me going throughout the graphic narrative.

Her first time started with a borderline homeless man, where here attitude towards the situation was ‘oh well’, just letting the activity happen. Beyond that, this line has popped up time after time again. This brings up the concept that some females may feel pressured into doing things they don’t want to, highlighting an inferiority complex that could have been instated by modern media. For example, the clear objectification of females is prevalent in almost everything, from the ridiculous line of “Bic for Her” Pens, to Star Trek: Into Darkness’s now infamous and completely redundant underwear scene. This promotes a form of insecurity and an idea that they are powerless in situations regarding men. Of course, this isn’t legally true in most cases, as females have the right to do just as much as a male could today; however, the social gap is still there.

 And so, when she says ‘oh well’, those two words meant a lot more than it does on the surface. I believe that those words allude to a much bigger issue, that women feel pressured by men in certain circumstances, and as much as most men would like to deny it, it is the truth of today.

For this idea, I commend the book; it has pushed me as a reader to see it from the main character’s perspective, even though I did not enjoy the claustrophobic panel design of the book. I guess one can appreciate it if it’s their cup of tea, but I’ll stick with earl grey for today.

Kingdom Come

Kingdom Come – Revisiting DC’s Superheroes

I’ve always been a fan of DC comics. I remembered watching the Justice League on television, seeing costumed heroes save the day, defeating one foe after another. Entering into high school, I still loved the costumed hero world, and yet the stories rarely drew me in for long; they didn’t feel like they dealt with the human aspects of the heroes much at all, and so I started my search for other stories. One such story was Kingdom Come.

            Kingdom Come uses a hyper realistic style, pushed through proportions to make the heroes seem larger than life. His style is particularly great for Kingdom Come, as it makes us feel like we are spectating the event; and as a matter of fact we are, as it is told from a character seeing the events from a third person’s perspective. This creates a closer relationship between the reader and the narrator, as we see his visions through his eyes; being able to project ourselves into Norman McCay’s shoes.

            The Central theme, or at least, the main theme I got out of the graphic novel, is the question of what is justice? This question could be further extrapolated to, who has the right to decide what is just? And what are the responsibilities of those in power? Superman, as the protagonist of the story, is ultimately shown, as the gleaming beacon, the good ‘boy scout’ figure, and thus, it is easy to conclude that Superman is right. Everyone else, however, has questionable choices, difficult decisions and different goals and opinions. What this reflects is a whole spectrum of what right truly is, and the conflicts in the story are often between characters that believe they’re all doing the right thing.

            Even Superman is slightly morally tainted compared to the typical depictions of the character, which is symbolized in his Kryptonian shield, this time colored black in place of yellow (explained as Superman being in mourning over Lois Lane, as well as his position as a meta-human). Batman’s actions have always been questionable; in Kingdom Come this is brought to the extreme side, Bruce having evolved into the Big Brother Authoritarian in Gotham, ruling through fear, intimidation, and surveillance. Magog, the main antagonist of the first half, is a killer. He is also a very effective crime fighter, causing the public to phase Superman out of the public spotlight. Magog’s position on vigilantism raises another interesting question: Does the public get to decide what is right? And Can killing ever be justified?

            The character I feel to be at the heart of this conflict is a very much conflicted and confused Captain Marvel (Shazam). Billy Batson is being mind controlled, and that is enough to provide him the benefit of the doubt for attacking the Justice League. The comic shows that Captain Marvel and Superman are almost toe-to-toe in combat. It is at the very end, however, that the conflict emerges. Amidst his confused thoughts, Captain Marvel had a choice to make: Kill Superman, or let Superman stop the nuclear bomb; in other terms, Batson is told to pick between destroying the meta-humans and restoring the world, or letting the meta-humans live, and they engulf the world in violence. His ultimate sacrifice shows a third, middle-ground option. Here, we see the graphic novel’s most difficult decision, being carried out in a split second by a boy who lives between the meta-human and human world, and between the worlds of good and evil.

On Promethea

Promethea features a plethora of symbols; ranging from a broad spectrum of subject matter that reflects Alan Moore’s knowledge on the subject matter they were appropriated from. First and foremost, the titular and generational character (in the sense that the identity is passed down from channeled through a human medium) is named Promethea, the feminine version of the Greek god, Prometheus. Along with the gods of her father, or technically one conjoined god, Thoth-Hermes, they seem to represent old gods, of religions that are no longer worshipped like they were used to. This array of symbols revolving around the old gods is juxtaposed against the new ones, in some ways more obvious than others, example in point: the father being murdered by Christian believers, as seen from the hanging crosses around their neck. This could be a reference to how Alan Moore feels about monotheism; how it could be a danger to danger to a human being’s search for a true self. In contrast to the belief of a single god, for instance, Promethea is not one god, but many, channeled through various people throughout multiple generations, and in each iteration she is different from the last. Promethea used a staff that features the caduceus, carried by Hermes in Greek myth, and Mercury in Roman legend. In ancient myth, the caduceus was a symbol of occupation, and work of god; therefore, by arming Promethea with the staff, she becomes a symbol for craft as a channeling of the self or a God. Alan Moore is telling the reader to do what the inner-self wants them to do; a higher occupation or calling, as opposed to what the outer influences expect you to do.

I was able to connect with this notion of doing a higher calling; of having to make a leap in order to do the right thing, even if it brings little to no reward. Being threatened by the smee, or Semi-Mindless-Elemental-Entity, read as being attacked by stagnation, even if it might not have been Alan Moore’s intention. I admit to chuckling a little when I read what the acronym stood for, it felt like a coincidental delight, knowing how immobile people can become when influenced too heavily by the modern media, entertainment and advertising industries. By giving into these forces, it suggested in my own mind that we too, could become mindless entities, doing what someone else commanded us to.

If I were to adapt this story into a different medium, it would have to be animation. As great as a feature film would be, I don’t think it would be doing the graphic narrative any justice by compressing it. I doubt, however, that Alan Moore would see almost any adaptation as a good move, as the material was meant for comics in the first place. That said, I do enjoy animation quite a bit myself, and would love to see a story like Promethea move on a screen. As with any adaptation, there would have to be some changes. The panel compositions would have to be elongated to fit the screen ratio, and the images couldn’t always be placed one next to the other. That said, there are techniques and opportunities in animation that give it its appeal. Killing the Smee, for instance, could be animated as one continuous shot, tracking the beam or Smee as it flies from one end of the room, to the other, then out the room. The more decorative framing devices could be reserved for opening introductions and endings, or occasional pace breakers. Monologues might have to be simplified; thought I would love to keep the I am Promethea part, though I think she’d be muttering it to herself. Page 22 featured a long document talking about others who were channeling Promethea at some point of their lives, including a cartoonist, illustrator and poet: I would probably tackle full pages like these with a series of short cuts; cutting from one frame to the next, creating a montage, accompanied by a shortened version of the text.

On Asterios Polyp and my sister

            Asterios Polyp appealed to me unexpectedly. There is the looming question of the ghost twin, seeping throughout the whole narrative. What would he have been like? Studies have shown that twins living together are very likely to live very different lives, because they see each other and try to purposely break free of each other’s paths, forging their own identity. But in the case where twins are separated at birth, the twins would choose to lead very similar lives, following similar goals, paths, passions and lifestyles.

            I didn’t know about my own ghost sibling until middle school; when my mother brought up the story suddenly as a joke. Us kids were all surprised, and the mood turned sour abruptly. It always felt like someone was missing in the chain of children, especially as the topic was brought up when trying to make light of my parents’ divorce at the time.

            As a psychology enthusiast, and having taken a few psychology courses by then already, I picked at the void my dead sibling left beside my sister. Many studies have shown that the first-born child is genetically more prone to being neat, organized and control oriented. My sister, however, was far from a set example; her room would always be in chaos, her teenage life teemed with drama; she was renowned for skipping school by the ripe age of 15.

            Asterios faced a crisis where he is haunted by a life that never was. I saw my sister’s reflection in Asterios, and the parallels surprised me as I read on. The artwork made it easy to project her essence upon the characters within the story. Simple, architectural and concise, Asterios in the graphic novel is drawn in a manner distinct from all the other characters. The art style gave him a visual voice, as it gave Hana, or Daisy, her distinct voice as well. The art style is what lured me into reading, but it was also the art style that forced me deeper into the psychological implications.

            I remember distinctly talking to my sister on her bathroom floor about what it would be like if sibling A, hadn’t passed away seconds after leaving the womb. I sympathize with Asterios the same way I do with my sister today: lost and searching; one of the brightest minds in her university whom has never worked a day; akin to how Asterios is a great architect, but has never had any of his designs built. My sister’s sadness stemmed, not from the loss of a sibling, for they’ve never met; but the loss of guidance and strength she wish she could have had.

            And so, as I continued to read about the flaws in Asterios’ ironically ‘flawless’ mind, I began to wonder what sort of life he would have led if his brother had survived. Picking the symbols apart in this book would take a lot more than a mere blog post; concentrating on style alone, however, and we see that Asterios’ mind is brought to life, as it melds with others throughout the narrative. It is a clear metaphor for how humans see their world, and a visual representation of how each person has their own natural voice and frequency.

             

On Persepolis

On Persepolis

            Persepolis opened my eyes to the reality behind Iran and the Islamic Revolution. It was one of those topics that were barely touched upon, if at all, in school. This book, however, was a good insight into life into that period of time. The autobiographical work by Marjane Satrapi is ground breaking in more ways than one, and personally, it’s a celebration of the graphic novel medium.

            The style is simplistic and rustic right from the get go, featuring at most 3 values from cover to cover. It features black line and bold inks. This puts the Satrapi’s story in the forefront of the graphic narrative. Through simplification of the characters and backgrounds, it makes for a very comfortable ground to present the facts and drama behind the situation. If this was realistically rendered, for example, I would be more inclined to be paying attention to the intricacies of what the characters are saying, and be appreciating the novel for the art instead.

            The art further drives the feeling that the child in the story is telling the story, and drawing the imagery; even if it isn’t the case, as the work was done in her later years, it still feels a lot more welcoming than one would expect of a topic like this. This storytelling device, combined with a first person narrator, is sure to stir up emotions.

            How Marjane Satrapi draws may be derived from her graphic design background. The imagery in the book echoes the stylistic choices of ancient Persian art, with the soft curves and an emphasis on pattern and intricacy. By doing so, Satrapi successfully placed Persepolis in cultural context, however subtly, hereby placing the readers in the correct cultural mindset.

            The art is in service to the story, with the more ‘artistic’ sections of the book taking place within the panels and headers. Otherwise, the formatting is very controlled and regular, featuring no breaking of the frame. Text is placed in standardized speech bubbles, and narration in standardized textboxes.

            All of these aspects combined to present a very controlled environment where I could enjoy a deep story, without feeling like I was stuck in a history textbook. The story is a very personal one, where the opinions presented were personal to the narrator herself, and raised a sense of empathy towards the social situation in Iran, as well as a reverse extrapolated view for those who are new to the subjects discussed.