Tag Archives: Reviews

Love and Monkeys

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1. Love

I remember, if somewhat hazily, the day my mother bought me my first art book. It was late morning after Sunday School in the early 80s and the location was the large basement outlet of a local book retailer which specialized in Chinese language books. The book cost her 50 Singapore dollars which would have been the equivalent of just over USD$30 at the time. I have no idea what prompted this indulgence since, till this day, she has little interest in art of that nature.

The tome in question was Pierre Gassier and Juliet Wilson’s The Life and Complete Works of Francisco Goya, and I was about 12. This was the first catalogue raisonné I ever owned and one of the few that I have read from cover to cover.

The ridiculously romantic ideas it conjured up in my mind proved quite deadly. I emerged from my first artist monograph with the wholly innocent and idealistic expectation that the artist was ever changing and ever learning; at one with the material, social and spiritual aspects of painting; and able to shift effortlessly between the needs of commerce and art. While I recognize these notions as so much foolishness today, I haven’t completely discarded all this childish baggage which still hangs about my neck like a millstone or some unkillable gene.

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Old Wine in New Wineskins: The Gospel According to Chester Brown

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In honor of Holy Week, I’m republishing (with some corrections) an old review which first appeared in the pages of  The Comics Journal (#261) in 2004.

For those whose memories don’t stretch that far back, Chester Brown’s Yummy Fur was one of the mainstays of the independent comics scene in the late 80s.  It was in the pages of Yummy Fur that some of his most important works first appeared, among them Ed the Happy Clown, The Playboy and I Never Liked You. He has since receded into the background once again following the publication of Louis Riel in 2003.

Brown began serializing his adaptation of the Gospels in Yummy Fur #4 in 1987. The entire series has never been collected and the only way to access them is through back issues of Yummy Fur or the magic of photocopying.

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A Review of Chester Brown’s Mark and Matthew

Mark

Chester Brown once explained his decision to embark on a project to adapt the Gospels in an interview at Two-Handed Man. “Certainly at the beginning, it was a matter of trying to figure out what I believed about this stuff,” he informed his interviewer, “It was a matter of trying to figure out whether I even believed the Christian claims—whether or not Jesus was divine.”

As such a modicum of restraint appears to characterize the early chapters of Mark. Brown’s adaptation seems to reveal an artist who is still struggling with both his craft and the quality of the garment through which he’s picking. One may also choose to wonder if part of the reason for this is some residual Christian guilt. Some years earlier, in a conversation with Scott Grammel in The Comics Journal #135, Brown revealed that he was probably unable to say that “Jesus wasn’t divine without worrying whether [he] would go to hell”, and this as recently as the mid-80s.

The reputation that Brown’s Gospel adaptations have for being ingeniously blasphemous is mostly based on his interpretation of Matthew. The Christ of Brown’s Mark, on the other hand, is serene and always in control. He is almost untouched by foul humanity and the rigors of life. His disciples act respectably and never display unscrupulous intent or a lack of etiquette at the dinner table. Judas, as we see him in this gospel adaptation, is neither craven nor a zealot but by all appearances merely youthful and naïve.

This in itself is not a criticism for Brown does achieve a degree of humanity and insight in this early adaptation, such as with the hemorrhaging woman and the widow in the story of the widow’s mite. When Jesus heals Jarius’ daughter (Mark 5: 41-42), Brown shows Jesus kneeling beside the awakened twelve year old girl with a smile on his face.  All this is in keeping with the placid figure of Christ the author presents in Mark. One might say that this is the kind of Jesus that children still learn about in Sunday school.

It is only in the later stages of Mark that Brown introduces his first piece of apocrypha. Derived from a letter of uncertain authenticity written by Clement of Alexandria, the so-called Secret Gospel of Mark is described by the author of the letter as a “more spiritual” gospel for the use of “those who were being perfected”, the interpretation of which would “lead the hearers into the innermost sanctuary of truth hidden by seven veils” (it can be perused on-line here):

In this “gospel”, Jesus raises the brother of a woman in Bethany. It continues:

“But the youth, looking upon him, loved him and began to beseech him that he might be with him. And going out of the tomb they came into the house of the youth, for he was rich. And after six days Jesus told him what to do and in the evening the youth comes to him, wearing a linen cloth over his naked body. And he remained with him that night, for Jesus taught him the mystery of the Kingdom of God. And thence, arising, he returned to the other side of the Jordan.”

It is often remarked that this passage bears comparison not only with the story of Lazarus but also Mark 14:51-52 where another unidentified young man wearing nothing but a linen sheet is found. This excerpt is dealt with at length in the pages of “The Fur Bag” (the letter column of Yummy Fur) in Yummy Fur #14 by letter writer Rob Walton and Brown himself. Here the baptism of special initiates and the homosexual undertones of the “secret gospel” are brought forth as well as the possible gullibility and motivations of Clement (if the document is in fact genuine).

Brown has indicated that he owes a debt to Morton Smith’s The Secret Gospel and Jesus the Magician for stirring him to revisit the Gospels. The former tome recounts Smith’s discovery of the aforementioned letter fragment. The latter book emphasizes Jesus’ position as a miracle worker and attempts to explain the manner in which some non-believers viewed Christ. It is a firmly critical and speculative text which cast the Gospels in the light of apology, unscrupulous “theological motives” and propaganda in addition to your basic lies and half-truths. With respect to the scribal view on Jesus, Smith writes: “his background and baptism prove him an ordinary man and a sinner, therefore, the miracles, success, impious behavior, and supernatural claims prove him a magician” (an appellation which Smith explains at length in his book). Smith also suggests a few qualities which he feels separated Jesus from other miracle workers and exorcists of the times, and which led to his being labeled a magician: “compulsive behavior, neglect of the Law and claims to supernatural status”. Some of these traits are highlighted in Brown’s Gospel adaptations, most notably in Matthew.

Even so, Brown’s Mark does not read like the work of someone who is challenging received wisdom but an exercise in illustration. One panel in the first part of his adaptation stands out and is at odds with the rest of the otherwise flat narration. On page 2, Jesus is shown being driven into the wilderness (Mark 1:12), his hands clasped to his eyes in translation of the word “driveth” which is said to be the same word used for Jesus’ expulsion of demons.

 

Another panel of interpretative interest (and one which departs somewhat from tradition) occurs in Mark 6:20 where Herod is shown listening eagerly to John outside his jail cell.

 

 

Brown only begins to bring a more creative and personal hand to his adaptation when Jesus enters Gennesaret. Here a number of the villagers are depicted (somewhat amusingly) with faces inscribed with stupefaction, while others look sternly and suspiciously out of their houses. For once, the sick and the infirm look weak, desperate and, occasionally, uncouth; something previously addressed only in relation to the Gadarene (or, in Brown’s version, Gerasene) demoniac. From this point forward, the crowd scenes become increasingly adept and Jesus begins to show a wider range of emotions – most notably anger but also a certain irritability. He begins to carry an almost threatening air and Brown slowly begins to distance himself from the previous depictions of tender righteousness.

Apart from these aesthetic considerations, there are also some unusual choices in Brown’s otherwise unadventurous transcription of Mark. When Jesus encounters a leper in Mark 1:41, he is said to be moved by compassion and not “anger” (as stated in Brown’s narration). Jesus, as depicted in the panel in question, seems at best to be irritated and one feels that Brown has over interpreted the stern warning given to the leper not to tell anyone of his healing, charging the episode with something more than what is suggested in the original text.

In such instances, we see Brown approaching Mark in the spirit of a student and not as a person who has fully immersed himself in the subject matter. He shows occasional delight (particularly in his notes) when he chances upon what he perceives to be deadly “mistakes”  in the text of Mark. In the notes for Mark 5:1, for example, he brings up the dispute concerning Jesus’s journey across the sea of Galilee to Gerasa (a translation which occurs in the NIV, NASB and RSV but not the KJV which translates as the country of the Gadarenes). Brown points out that the town of Gesara is “a good 30 miles south-east of that sea while other non-secular commentaries have also pointed out that Origen identified Gesara as an Arabian city “which has neither sea nor lake near it”.  It is an age old and complicated dispute which involves varying manuscripts and the possible misidentification of the village of Khersa. All of which has little place here. Suffice it to say, Brown reserves this kind of textural criticism for his notes, his adaptation of Mark generally being free from such gloating or any study of the unity or disunity of the gospels. For instance, he obscures Jesus’ final cry in the closing moments of his crucifixion as the exact nature of this exclamation is not stated in the Gospel of Mark. Further, the mention of two demoniacs in Matthew but not in Mark is not resolved, explained or questioned.

At times, Brown’s idiosyncratic choices hamper the sense of the text. In his notes to Mark 10:35 to 12:27, for example, Brown indicates that he has left the crowds out of Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem because Mark does not specify them. Such a literal approach has limitations and is occasionally counter-productive and counter-intuitive. At one point, Joseph of Arimathea is shown closing Jesus’ tomb by himself and with his bare hands, while the panel which follows this (describing Mark 16:1-4) makes a nonsense of that depiction:

“And when the sabbath was past, Mary Magdalene, and Mary the mother of James, and Salome, had bought sweet spices, that they might come and anoint him. And very early in the morning the first day of the week, they came unto the sepulchre at the rising of the sun. And they said among themselves, Who shall roll us away the stone from the door of the sepulchre? And when they looked, they saw that the stone was rolled away: for it was very great.” [emphasis mine]

The sense of the passage is embedded in Mark and it might have been more instructive if Brown had brought into play the fact that Joseph was a rich man. With this in mind, one would have expected a number of servants to have helped him remove Jesus from the cross and to prepare and transfer the corpse for burial.

Brown has explained his somewhat flat interpretation of Mark in his interview in The Comics Journal #135:

“People were expecting me to do something weird with Mark. And I am doing all the Gospels…And so starting from a traditional view seemed like a good place to start. And I can get weirder as I go along but…”

And later:

“ But what I was doing was trying to distance the reader. Because I’m going to tell it over another three times. The feeling was ‘I can draw in closer in Matthew, Luke, and whatever.  This is your beginning point, just kind of show the reader what’s there, don’t get him in too close.’ And looking over it I’m not too pleased with how it looks because I think I got in even closer than I wanted to.  If I was doing it again I would distance the reader even more, I think.”

The resultant comic will be of variable interest to the reader as a consequence of this decision.

Matthew

Brown’s adaptation of Matthew harbors more vitality than his work on Mark. It is also possessed of a more divisive purpose. He signals his new intentions right from the start in his exposition on the genealogy found at the beginning of Matthew. Here Brown elaborates on the story found in Genesis chapter 38 (which concerns the sordid tale of Judah and his daughter-in-law, Tamar).

[Robert Crumb’s take on the same subject for comparison]

This is followed by his depictions of Rahab (a Canaanite woman and a harlot), Ruth (a Moabite woman who is asked by her mother-in-law, Naomi, to sexually entrap her kinsman, Boaz) and Bathsheba (an adulteress whose history is well known). Traditional interpretations have suggested that the willful inclusion of these women on the part of the author of Matthew presents a confrontation of the androcentric interpretation of Israel’s history, a desire to strengthen the earthly origins of the Christ and a means of characterizing a new attitude towards foreigners and outsiders following the passion and resurrection. However, Brown’s citation of Jane Schaberg’s The Illegitimacy of Jesus appears to indicate that he feels that the “mention of these four women is designed to lead Matthew’s reader to expect another, final story of a woman who becomes a social misfit in some way; is wronged or thwarted; who is party to a sexual act that places her in great danger; and whose story has an outcome that repairs the social fabric and ensures the birth of a child who is legitimate or legitimated” (Schaberg). Schaberg argues the case for a strong tradition of Jesus’ illegitimacy (as opposed to his virginal conception), suggesting that the key verses in Matthew such as Matthew 1:20 (“Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost”) should be taken in a figurative and not a literal manner, in essence adopting the increasing fashionable rejection of a literal virgin birth. Morton Smith (whom, you will remember, Brown admires) also mentions the genealogy in Jesus the Magician where he suggests that “Matthew wanted to excuse Mary by these implied analogies”.

One may choose to differ with many of Brown’s choices in Matthew but these choices are, in general, more interesting than those in Mark. For instance, Brown’s decision to depict the magi as “poor wandering holy [men]” while not thoroughly convincing, feels correct in spirit. His point that the costly gifts “are often considered to be an indicator that the magi were rich but…they aren’t necessarily so” is a weak one but it allows for a certain tension in the scenes showing the traveling magi.

In his interpretation of Matthew 8:21-22 (“And another of his disciples said unto him, Lord, suffer me first to go and bury my father. But Jesus said unto him, Follow me; and let the dead bury their dead.”) he forsakes the unvarnished and doggedly literal readings he administered in Mark. Instead he chooses a well known but more creative reading where the father is seen to be Zebedee and the disciple, John. In so doing, he appears to take into account the use of the word, “disciple”, which was given to a select few and Matthew 20:20 which contains the phrase “the mother of Zebedee’s children” which suggests that Zebedee was no longer alive.

The notes which accompany Matthew, on the other hand, are seldom profitable. For example, in his depiction of the holy family’s return from Egypt, Brown reproduces Matthew’s quotation of Jeremiah writing, “In Ramah was there a voice heard, lamentation and weeping and great mourning, Rachel weeping for her children and would not be comforted because they are not.” In his notes, he innocently wonders if “Matthew [is] saying that the king’s men, who were supposed to kill the baby boy’s in Bethlehem, got mixed up and killed the baby boys in Ramah by mistake?” It is a query which seems obtuse since commentary is widely available on the passage. One traditional viewpoint indicates that the prophecy was fulfilled during the Babylonian captivity in which Nebuzaradan conquered Jerusalem and assembled and disposed of the captives at Rama. The quotation is seen to be used in poetic comparison. There are other more involved commentaries on Matthew’s use of this verse, all of which are far more complex than Brown suggests in his notes. Seen in this light, Brown’s remark does nothing for the reader’s confidence in his research at this early stage in his career.

Brown follows this by recounting Joseph’s rejection of Judea (which was ruled by the tyrannical Archelaus, Herod’s successor and son) in favor of Galilee (which was governed by Herod Antipas, son of Herod the Great and Malthace). The Bible passage reads as follows:

“When Herod died, an angel of the Lord suddenly appeared in a dream to Joseph in Egypt and said, ‘Get up, take the child and his mother, and go to the land of Israel, for those who were seeking the child’s life are dead.’ Then Joseph got up, took the child and his mother, and went to the land of Israel. But when he heard that Archelaus was ruling over Judea in place of his father Herod, he was afraid to go there. And after being warned in a dream, he went away to the district of Galilee.” (Matthew 2: 19-22, NRSV)

Brown depicts Joseph fleeing back to his wife who is shown lying beneath a tree in a desolate landscape. In his “Notes on Matthew”, Brown cannot resist a snide aside and suggests that “the angel was apparently unaware that Galilee was also at this time ruled by one of Herod’s sons — Herod Antipas”. This somewhat sloppy comment highlights the spontaneous nature of Brown’s notes. They rarely suggest the wealth of commentary which feeds off the texts of the Gospels. There is, for example, the more well-disposed and Christian viewpoint by Adam Clarke (in his commentaries from 1810-1825). He states concerning the move to Galilee:

“Here Antipas governed, who is allowed to have been of a comparatively mild disposition; and, being intent on building two cities, Julias and Tiberias, he endeavored, by a mild carriage and promises of considerable immunities, to entice people from other provinces to come and settle in them. He was besides in a state of enmity with his brother Archelaus: this was a most favorable circumstance to the holy family; and though God did not permit them to go to any of the new cities, yet they dwelt in peace, safety, and comfort at Nazareth.”

This is but one viewpoint among many, and it is a particularly old and traditional one. Suffice to say, there is an atmosphere of carelessness in Brown’s notes which suggest that they should be thoroughly revised in any reprint or dispensed with altogether.

Between Brown’s adaptations of Mark and Matthew, there occurs a change in authorial temperament and viewpoint. There is a more radicalized disbelief and a greater focus on the fleshy and earthly aspects of the story. This is most evident in Brown’s conception of biblical figures. The hardened Christ of Brown’s Matthew is in marked contrast to the Jesus of Mark who, for all intents and purposes, could have taken a step out from a kindergarten school painting – smartly berobed, well coiffured and immaculate. In Matthew, We no longer see this calm aspect of Christ but the scowling features once used to depict the jealous Pharisees in his adaptation of Mark. There is also the figure of Herod the Great who is now depicted as a man on the edge of violence, driven to extremes by his unyielding character and a chronic, incurable disease. He is the man we picture when Josephus writes, “A man he was of great barbarity toward all men equally, and a slave to his passions, but above the consideration of what was right”.

Satan who once appeared as an angel in white raiment in Mark has been transformed into a thin, ebony-hued youth with pallid lips and hair.

John is no longer the rugged but respectable prophet but a wizened, decrepit mad man screaming in his cell. Like Jesus himself, he has become sharp featured, aggressive and utterly determined; a screaming, scabby looking creature tripping on the borders of sanity. In his illustration of Matthew 3:7-8, we are not given the traditional “O generation of vipers, who hath warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bring forth therefore fruits meet for repentance”, but rather, “You fucking vipers! Do you really expect me to baptize you in the Jordan?! You could at least try to look repentant!!”

Jesus’ disciples are acne-ridden, surly, ill-bred louts. They pick their noses and eat their snot, mimicking the cartoonist’s own proclivities. They are possessed of unrestrained gluttony, feel up women as a matter of course, and are callous and rude to their relatives when asked for assistance. In other instances, there is the hint of cunning managerial skills as they selfishly protect their restricted communion with Jesus.

Brown’s approach emphasizes the poverty and crudeness of the people who once inhabited Palestine. We are allowed to see a diverse set of motivations as well as the naked selfishness and cruelty of a series of non-entities. He is like a latter-day Pasolini, rejecting purity in favor of an honest depiction of men and women. In an interview with Steve Solomos (Crash #1), Brown, insists that the snot-eating was not included for “shock value”:

“Solomos: There will be a perception that you’re doing it for some nominal level of shock value…Do you feel that you’re including it for that reason?

Brown: No. When I was growing up, it always seemed to me that what I wanted to do when I became an artist, was to show life the way I thought it really was.”

Here we see an echo of the writings of Celsus the Platonist, author of “The True Discourse” (the original being lost, it was reconstructed from the refutation written by Origen, Against Celsus) who describes the disciples as “tax collectors and sailors of the worst sort, not even able to read or write, with whom he ran, as a fugitive, from one place to another, making his living shamefully as a beggar”. This passage is cited in Smith’s Jesus the Magician and dismissed as “typical ancient polemic [which] may have come from any opponent…though the picture may be correct”. It is a tradition which continues today in the form of studies of the historical Jesus.

In accordance with his desire to bridge the distance created in Mark, Brown dispenses with the narrator’s voice thus allowing the plot and dialogue to flow more naturally. The conversations in Matthew are no longer paraphrased at length and in respectful tones but are shortened and contemporized – transformed into quasi-modern sentences, short exclamations and guttural snaps. Here we find the influence of Andy Gaus’ The Unvarnished Gospels (one of the translations which Brown says he used) which is noted for its literal translation of the gospels which eschews much theological baggage.  The Sermon on the Mount is similarly altered to a form which best fits Brown’s appreciation of Jesus’ recorded words. Jesus is shown in close-up for nearly seven pages and Brown strays perilously close to the kind of boring conception which he accuses Scorsese of in his remarks on the film adaptation of The Last Temptation of Christ (in TCJ #135). This sequence may be compared with Brown’s flat handling of Jesus’ parables in his adaptation of Mark and comes across as tedious and uninspired, the familiar stories and words floundering on bland imagination.

In his portrayal of Matthew 4:23 to 5:10 (which includes the Sermon on the Mount), Brown, for once, chooses to expand upon and dramatize the gospels by means of a digression concerning a mother and her two daughters. The mother is blind and disfigured, and the younger daughter, a coarse and sickly individual. They form part of Brown’s recreation of the reality and texture of the times, his vision of what the author of Matthew suggests when he writes, “all sick people that were taken with divers diseases and torments, and those which were possessed with devils, and those which were lunatick, and those that had the palsy; and he healed them.”

Amidst all this harsh reality, Brown remains strangely faithful to the text where more rigidly secular and atheistic authors would defer less. The healing of a leper is presented as miracle rather than myth. The centurion’s servant is similarly raised without disagreement or question. In response to Scott Grammel’s (TCJ #135) query concerning this seemingly unquestioning acceptance of the gospel stories, Brown answers:

“Well, I’m adapting the Gospel, and…That’s what it says in the Gospel. It says he drove a demon out, so why not show it?”

Such jarring turns and discrepancies in presentation result in a certain inconsistency of tone. What one detects on a reading of Matthew is not a man struggling with a neglected text or his spirituality but an artist who has allowed his occasional whims to supersede any general thrust or plan. This leads to the narratively unremarkable and somewhat juvenile tenor of Jesus’ healing of the two blind men where one blind man, upon being healed, says to the other, “Hey man, you’re really ugly.” In another instance, when one of John the Baptist’s disciples informs his master that his jailer has kept the wild honey (to be taken with the Baptist’s locust) for himself, John replies, “Bastard.” These episodes suggest an attempt at humor in the vein of Monty Python’s Life of Brian which seems out of place in an adaptation which is for the most part quite serious.

Brown’s view of reality permeates his adaptation of Matthew.  As he has stated in relation to autobiography in his interview in Crash:

“…if you just concentrate on telling whatever story you’re telling that’s fine, but any given story can be told in a number of ways. If you expand your parameters, for instance, you’re not just telling your story, you’re also talking about life, about how you see the world around you.”

 

Pertinent to this view are Brown’s views on Gnosticism which he explains in TCJ #135:

“I’ve called myself a gnostic, but I’m not really sure I fit into the…The part that appeals to me is that you accept yourself as the true authority on God. You don’t rely on outside sources. You don’t rely on your preacher. You don’t rely on the Bible or anything. You just say, ‘What is my opinion? What in me tells me about God, about the world?’”

In The Gnostic Gospels, Elaine Pagels describes these individuals as follows: “Like circles of artists today, gnostics considered original creative invention to be the mark of anyone who becomes spiritually alive…Whoever merely repeated his teacher’s words was considered immature….Most offensive, from [Irenaeus’] point of view, is that they admit that nothing supports their writings except their own intuition. When challenged, “‘they either mention mere human feelings, or else refer to the harmony that can be seen in creation’”.

Brown has adapted this approach for both sacred and profane purposes. What has been “revealed” to him not only includes his interpretation of the Gospel message but also the altogether worldly emotions and mannerisms of the biblical characters; a modern day twist on the gnostic tradition of continuing revelation which is not hindered by direct experience. Needless to say, Brown’s irreverence does not match the spirituality displayed by the gnostic texts but he once displayed some interest in them as evidenced by his adaptation of a portion of the 61st chapter of Pistis Sophia for Prime Cuts #3 (1987). In the story, Mary relates an event from Jesus’ childhood in which she encounters the Spirit which she mistakes for a demon or “a phantom to tempt me”. She binds the Spirit to a bed and goes out in search of Joseph and Jesus. The family returns to their house where the Spirit is released and becomes one with Mary’s son upon kissing him. Brown’s extract is told without elaboration or embellishment and the reader is left to search for the mystical interpretation of the passage in the rest of Pistis Sophia.

The world of Matthew, on the other hand is fueled less by numinous revelation than by the fluctuating moods of the artist. In his interview at Two-Handed Man, Brown reiterated what has always been a variable interest in the project: “…I don’t think I’m going to be getting to Luke or John. But you never know. My interest in Swedenborg might get me wanting to do Luke or John now.” Matthew feels more like a diary of the artist’s feelings which range from a sudden interest in the text which is then periodically overtaken by boredom resulting in a lack of inspiration. A meticulously crafted plan is rarely in evidence. A somewhat haphazard method of working (in relation to that period) is described by Brown in The Comics Journal #135:

“When I have something really plotted out, really planned, by the time I’m half-way through a story I’m bored with it, and I want to do something different. Often I’ll have a specific plan – ‘Yeah, I know where I’m going with a story’ – and then half-way through I say, ‘No, I don’t want to do that. Let’s take off in this direction and do this instead.’ To some degree just to keep myself interested in the work.”

But what worked to a certain extent (when played to its limit) for the surrealistic tales from Yummy Fur, founders and fails in these Gospel adaptations if only because of undue moderation. Further, while the reader is frequently invigorated by Brown’s skillful use of comics narrative, the sharpness of his perceptions is often wanting. This is highlighted by any number of famous or more recent literary comparisons. Brown, himself, claims to dislike Nikos Kazantzakis’ The Last Temptation of Christ for its style of writing (TCJ #135; “I just couldn’t get into the writing, and gave up after a couple of pages”) but had he persisted, he would have witnessed a highly charged and ostensibly heretical faith generating a novel told with uncommon passion and intensity. Jim Crace’s Quarantine (a novel which post-dates Brown’s adaptations and which is concerned with the mythical and human aspects of the Christian faith) creates a microcosm of the narratives and teachings of the New Testament through the device of Jesus’ forty days in the desert. Bruce Mutard’s Abba (from the SPX 2002 anthology) is a fine example of intellectual rigor and creativity in conceptualizing the Gospels in comics form. More pertinent, as far as Brown’s desire to inject humor into his story is concerned, is Mikhail Bulgakov’s amiably sacrilegious The Master and Magarita which has such a keen insight into the politics and philosophy of the passion story that one’s imagination is immediately seized.

Brown’s poorly-thought out blasphemy, on the other hand, is often quite unimaginative, and there are few things less needful than dull blasphemy. The extensive back catalogue of novels or redactions concerning Jesus and the gospels (and there are very many others by D. H. Lawrence, Norman Mailer, José Saramago et al.) present themselves as models for what has been accomplished with the basic text of the Gospels. It behooves any serious author to educate themselves as to what has been achieved that they may identify what is aesthetically and intellectually profitable in further explorations of the text. This is something which Brown has patently failed to do in his adaptations.

Still, Brown’s Matthew is not without its own, quite insular pleasures. At the outset of his adaptation, there is a fairly delightful and quite unbiblical panel in which an angel adorned in loose robes is seen diving down through the heavens with some pyramids in the background.

The gentle wafting of this heavenly being through earthly abodes and then into Joseph’s dream is done with wonderful rhythmic delicacy.

When Satan carries Jesus through the air to the top of the temple there is an unmistakable feeling of lightness and elegance.

At periodic intervals in the story, we see the familiar motif of minute individuals fleeing across sparse landscapes; a dispassionate “God’s-eye” view used with even greater frequency by Brown in Louis Riel. The calming of the storm from Matthew 8:24 is illustrated with a care unseen in Mark. Here the elements are transformed into symbols and the short passage elevated to the level of a mythical quest or journey.

It is a far cry from the poorly drawn waves and boats in Part 3 of Mark where the sequence of panels showing Jesus stilling the waves seem particularly rushed and poorly thought out.

Nevertheless, Brown’s Gospel adaptations remain exploratory devices with a very selfish purpose. They may have worked as journeys of discovery for the author but they fail when assessed as fully formed works of art. Excessive restraint, a lack of coherence and a paucity of invention dampens both adaptations. What we are left with are snapshots of the state of mind of the artist resulting in an ephemeral experience lacking intellectual weight.

Old Wine in New Wineskins: An Analysis of Streak of Chalk

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The following article on Miguelanxo Prado’s Streak of Chalk was written about 15 years ago soon after the release of  its English translation. It has never been published and I assumed the manuscript had been lost up till a few months back when I discovered it in a stack of old ring folders.

While Prado is probably best known in the U.S. for his work on Sandman: Endless Nights, this was the book which brought him to the attention of Europe and to a lesser extent the American comics cognoscenti. The mid-90s was a relatively fallow period for European comics in translation. They were certainly being released, but in such numbers that Prado’s book seemed like an oasis (this being no testament as to the actual quality of the water). This situation hasn’t changed significantly in the intervening years with a mere trickle of translated works emerging from that side of the Atlantic. A large number of important comics of European origin have never been translated or are long out of print. There simply isn’t a market for them much less any related critical writing.

In the article that follows, I’ve focused largely on the symbols and allegories found in Streak of Chalk but there are a few other elements that bear looking into: the dualism and unity of the two female protagonists; the recursive imagery; and the metatextual elements.

Streak of Chalk won the prize for Best Foreign Comic at Angoulême in 1994.

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Review: Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms

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“The ultimate defeat is, in short, to forget; especially to forget those who kill us. It is to die without any suspicion, to the very end, of how perverse people are. There is no use in struggling when we already have one foot in the grave. And we must not forgive and forget. We must report, one by one, everything we have learned about the cruelty of man. Otherwise we cannot die. If we do this, then our lives will not have been wasted.”

Louis-Ferdinand Céline, Le Voyage au Bout de la Nuit (as quoted by Kenzaburo Oe in Hiroshima Notes (“On Human Dignity”))

Fumiyo Kouno’s famous work on the after effects and survivors of the Hiroshima bomb needs little by way of introduction. Town of Evening Calm, Country of Cherry Blossoms has won a Tezuka prize and has received near unanimous acclaim from American comic critics. This includes a book of the year citation from Dirk Deppey as well as high and consistent praise from the noted manga critic, David Welsh, who counts it among his very favorites.

The opening pages of  Kouno’s narrative are intentionally filled with a sense of the ordinary: there is a period of communion over a recently finished dress; the protagonist’s, Minami’s,  tranquil passage through the city of Hiroshima with its period detail; and her quiet austerity as she collects bamboo wrappers to make a pair of sandals. The gentle rhythms of life and conversation are interrupted only by Minami’s exclamations and flashbacks.  Her past ordeals are inseparable from her present reality and triggered by the simplest of suggestions: in one instance, that she would make “a good wife” and, later, a combination of memory and the senses as the shadows, heat and steam of a bathhouse produce unwelcome reminiscences. Another flashback is triggered by the hint of romantic love which becomes mixed with descriptions of swollen bodies, melting shoes and of walking over the dead. Her friends and family remain at a distance, almost placid observers of her gradual descent into darkness. It is this tragic lyricism, the slow but measured pace conferring a sense of dignity, which seems to have earned Kouno’s story a place in so many readers’ hearts.

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Best Online Comics Criticism 2009

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The Year in Reviews (Part 1)

This is an effort to collate and acknowledge the good work that has been done (mostly to little notice) by online comics critics over the course of 2009. These writers have helped make comics a slightly more interesting place to inhabit for readers like myself, ensuring that the conversation doesn’t end the moment a comic is consumed or half-digested by the reader

At the risk of stating the obvious, the articles here aren’t really the “best” pieces of comics criticism of 2009. They are merely the pieces which have been arrived at through the votes of 5 people (namely Noah Berlatsky, Frank Santoro, Tucker Stone, Matthias Wivel and myself). Such a process is prone to exclude worthy articles of a more esoteric nature. A more accurate reflection of the best pieces of writing on comics available online in 2009 may be found in the long list of articles which received votes in the final stage of this process.

While there will be some overlap in critical concerns, it should be clear that the needs and preferences of people who write about comics often dictate what we like and thus vote for in such situations. When you read a piece of comics criticism by Noah Berlatsky, what you’ll find apart from the engaging tone are opinions which address the merits of a work in the context of wider social and political issues, an approach which is clearly different from that of Frank Santoro who is more interested in the history, inner workings and craft underlying individual works. Tucker Stone wears his knowledge lightly and brings a broad interest in comics across all genres as well as a specific interest in criticism directed at entertainment and performance. Matthias Wivel brings a European and more academic perspective.

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Review: Laurie Sandell’s The Impostor’s Daughter

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“It’s even more mesmerizing simply because Sandell is a natural storyteller…Every page seems to scream, “See how easy it is to tell the truth? You just do it!” If only it were that simple…I fell in love with this book and its raw honesty. It’s gut-wrenching and compelling.” John Hogan, Graphic Novel Reporter

“We’ve had a really good summer for graphic novels, haven’t we? There’s universally well received work like THE HUNTER by Darwyn Cooke, and stuff that doesn’t seem to be on anyone’s radar, like THE IMPOSTOR’S DAUGHTER from Laurie Sandell (I thought it was a terrific little book!)…” Brian Hibbs, The Savage Critic(s)

“The Impostor’s Daughter is funny, frank, and absolutely engaging…” Susan Orlean, author of The Orchid Thief

“Sophisticated and spellbinding…The Impostor’s Daughter, is rife with dramatic family dynamics, secrets, and subterfuges….By uncovering the buried truths of [her father’s] past life, she claims her own coming-of-age story.” Elle

“In this delightfully composed graphic novel, journalist Sandell (Glamour) illustrates a touchingly youthful story about a daughter’s gushing love for her father. Using a winning mixture of straightforward comic-book illustrations with a first-person diarylike commentary,” Publisher’s Weekly Review

“I was very disappointed by The Impostor’s Daughter, because there’s a tremendous story in here, one that occasionally peeks through before being overwhelmed by a story about a spoiled girl who just needs to grow up. That she does eventually grow up doesn’t excuse the many events in her life that drive us nuts because of her immaturity. I’m not sorry that I bought it, because a lot of it is fairly interesting, but Sandell never gets below the surface of any of her characters, including, to a degree, herself, and that means the book is ultimately unfulfilling. When your journey to maturation is spurred on by Ashley Judd, as it is in the comic, I find it a bit shallow. That could just be me, though.”
Greg Burgas, Comic Book Resources

“Frankly I think it is just you. Loved it. Think it is an amazing, honest, well written memoir. Looking forward to her next book.” – “Mandy” in reply to Burgas’ review

_______________________________________

The synopsis provided on the inside flaps of Laurie Sandell’s comic provide as good a summary as any with regards the contents of The Impostor’s Daughter:

The Impostor’s Daughter begins with a relatively sedate depiction of Sandell’s childhood: a mixture of parental awe and familial tensions.

The publisher’s synopsis, however, prevents any easy acceptance of this largely idyllic childhood. A fifth of the way into the book, we see the cracks appearing in the form of some credit card fraud and broken confidences on the part of Sandell’s father. He remains largely unrepentant to the end despite his acquiescence to the truth with regards his path of destruction through his gullible friends and relatives.

The rest of Sandell’s book is a kind of psychotherapeutic journey of soul baring and self-analysis. We see her searching for her identity through a host of jobs and self-destructive relationships in various countries. The gradual realization of her father’s deceptions and lies fuels her own depression and Ambien (Zolpidem) addiction. Sandell finally finds a path to inner peace via some psychiatric advice from Ashley Judd and her self-admission to Shades of Hope Treatment Center in the closing pages of the book.

Greg Burgas’ negative review of Sandell’s book is instructive because it highlights a particular emotional critical approach. He is annoyed by Sandell’s seeming immaturity well past the age of 30, her clichéd depiction of one of her long term relationships and the needlessly ruinous course of her early life (pills, alcohol and idol worship). In short, he finds the narrative uninspiring and the character depicted therein unsympathetic. The latter aspect, of course, has little bearing on the quality of the final work for there have been many fine works of art depicting the most fatuous and despicable characters ever imagined.

Burgas is not incorrect in pointing out Sandell’s fondness for celebrities and what comes across as self-satisfied preening in front of her readers earlier in the book (as she chalks up interviews with various stars). The nature of Sandell’s day job, of course, virtually necessitates such a relationship.

One of Sandell’s supporters (“Angie”) attempts to put this into context in the comments section of Burgas’ review:

“Sure, I agree that celebrity worship is shallow, but it’s here that you so obviously missed the point. Sandell herself draws the parallel between her larger than life father and her predilection toward celebrities. It makes perfect sense that someone whose entire childhood is based on appearance rather than substance would struggle mightily with the concept of self-worth. Sandell’s childhood was filled with one message: you’re nothing without something. Now, with that type of upbringing, how in the world would you expect for her to know the right thing to do as an adult?…Why am I so vehemently defending this book against your review? Because I was raised by a narcissist and I know the agony of trying to separate out people who are good for you and people who are not. I have spent nearly my entire adult life having to learn the very basic rules you clearly learned as a child. Not all of us are so lucky. It takes one mistake after another to gain insight. Sandell seems to make these mistakes, but you seem a bit lost to the insight.”

Sandell’s apologist would appear to be suggesting that the author’s celebrity worship is simply the product of an imbalanced mind but she goes a bit too far in claiming some form of epiphany on the part of the author. If anything there is at most a negotiated balance by the end of the book. There is every reason to believe that there are a number of people who find such a devotion to and respect for celebrity perfectly healthy and fruitful. If anything, Sandell’s book is one written in sympathy with this point of view as well as other similarly traumatized individuals.

There is certainly a degree of vanity on display throughout the length of Sandell’s book – in particular, the chosen ending and the author’s self-serving justification for her comic’s existence:

These traits are, however, far from exclusive to Sandell’s memoir and hardly a prescription for bad art.

While Sandell’s book presents itself as therapy, there is no suggestion on the part of the author that she has achieved a complete “cure”. Whether by intent or accident, the author has laid herself bare for all the sticks and stones such public self-analysis and exhibitionism entails. Far worse deeds have been done in the pages of autobiographical comics – the comics of Joe Matt being a case in point:

Joe Matt’s Peepshow provides an interesting comparison if only because no reader would imagine the author to be anything but an unpleasant character to befriend. Both Matt and Sandell derive a considerable amount of mileage from a degree of sensationalism – if anything, Matt is much bolder in his drive for “untouchability”. While some of Matt’s earliest multi-paneled autobiographical works delve into some degree of comics formalism, his later works are presented as straight narratives just as Sandell’s is. The real difference between the early works of Matt and Sandell’s comic lies in Matt’s firm grasp of cartooning, panel composition, comic timing and narrative pacing.

Sandell’s story by contrast is flatly narrated in a monotonous voice. Her narrative is both drawn out and tedious in its reiterations of the same subject matter. There is a distinct lack of creative structure and The Impostor’s Daughter reads like a book which was thrown together with little planning and forethought. If Sandell’s work has drawn more notice from the mainstream press, it is simply because of the stories’ greater accessibility and more “worthy” subject matter (as well as her publisher’s marketing abilities).

As for Sandell’s cartooning abilities, the less said the better. Her lettering skills are non-existent…

…and the range of emotions at her disposal limited. Her inability to convincingly depict anger or forcefulness is a crippling blow to the effectiveness of her narrative [dialogue removed for comparison].

Is Sandell’s mother having a blow out in the middle of a restaurant or excitedly telling her daughter about the latest collection from Manolo Blahnik? These are drawings that would make a grade school teacher cry in shame.

The next few images are from one of the most effective sequences in the book – a confrontation between the author and her father following her extensive investigations into his past. Consider Sandell’s rather basic grasp of cartooning which I’ll highlight once again by removing the dialogue:

Little of the effect of this scene is derived from Sandell’s drawings. The draftsmanship here is shoddy and Sandell’s grasp of body language limited. Her mother’s hasty disappearance is hardly more than a footnote done in barely discernible (and clumsy) shorthand. The drawings are in short merely functional – providing some immediacy to the encounter with the facial expressions giving some inkling as to the tone of the dialogue. The panel compositions, page layouts, lettering and coloring (done by Paige Pooler) give off little sense of darkness or danger. This scene, while critical in the development of the protagonist, is delivered as blandly as any other in the book.

One of the reasons why Sandell decided to create a comic about her childhood trauma is given in a publicity blurb in The Wall Street Journal:

“The idea hit her when she discovered a box of her childhood drawings in her parents’ attic. There were some 300 cartoons, mostly about her father, that she’d drawn between the ages of 7 and 10. “I saw that the entire story was there,” said Ms. Sandell, 38 years old, a contributing editor at Glamour magazine. “I’ve always been able to tell the truth about my father in cartoons.”

The decision to draw her story instead of simply writing it would appear to have been based primarily on the therapeutic possibilities of this choice. Yet the negative influence of Sandell’s drawing goes well beyond that of an aesthetic irritant. It significantly detracts from whatever message she hopes to communicate, removing the reader from any sense of reality or empathy with her situation. It is a sad comment on the effect of the book that I found more humanity in Sandell’s blog and level-headed response to Greg Burgas’ criticism than anything in her comic. Sandell becomes a “real” person in her blog (her spot illustrations adding charm to her writing), she’s a poorly drawn caricature in her comic.

While a master cartoonist like Lynda Barry may suggest (in books like What It Is) that anyone can create a story or comic, it is all too clear that a great comic is the product of years of honing one’s skill. Barry’s thinly disguised and deeply felt autobiographical comics demonstrate a beautiful sense of design and page composition. She has an exquisite ear for dialogue and a gift for clear emotive writing. Carol Tyler’s “The Hannah Story” is yet another example of such skills directed at a concentrated and elegantly structured tragedy.

Scott McCloud, a comics evangelist by nature, is far kinder about the effect of these drawings:

“Meanwhile, Sandell’s graphic novel is a mainstream book in nearly every sense. The (presumably) true story is told as literally as possible. Sandell is no virtuoso artist, but her layouts are sensible and the drawings get the job done. Cars look like cars, bottles look like bottles, and hands have five fingers. Every line and color choice serve the story, and the story is an engaging one, filled with mystery, sex, addiction, and the parade of celebrities Sandell encountered as a reporter and contributing editor at Glamour. It’s a beach read…I can imagine each of these books rubbing someone the wrong way. In some respects, Sandell’s glamour-sprinkled tell-all is a hard-core comics lover’s worst nightmare; a book deal fueled by celebrity, completely bypassing comics history and craft, ready to leapfrog more serious or well-crafted graphic novels onto The Today Show or even Oprah…I like Sandell’s book though, because it was a fun read. It can gently coax new readers into comics who would have never cracked open an Asterios Polyp much less a Blankets, and because a healthy mainstream has never precluded a healthy alternative.”

McCloud view is valuable because it explains why a distinctly amateurish work was given the full color hardcover treatment where more worthy work has often been allowed to fester neglected in the shadows. In all probability, what appears undemanding and insipid to me may in fact provide an entry point for a person new to comics. I am also disposed to believe that this was an attempt by Little Brown and Company to tap into the audience for graphic memoirs demonstrated by the success of works by Marjane Satrapi and Alison Bechdel.

Of course, one could easily posit the idea that a work like Sandell’s may confirm the prejudices of a reader not enamored of comics thus driving said person away from the medium forever. This problem is made more acute by the host of positive critical notices suggesting that this is a work of the highest order and not the comics equivalent of a “beach” novel as suggested by McCloud. There are certain standards which can be applied across all playing fields and Sandell’s comic clearly comes up short when these are applied.

Reviewing the Reviews: Bottomless Belly Button

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While corresponding with a prominent comics blogger recently, our discussion drifted towards the imminent release of The Best American Comics Criticism of the 21st Century. He made the suggestion that it might become “a yearly thing, in the style of Houghton Mifflin’s Best American series, tracking the 21st century as it moves forward”. Now I don’t think this rumor is accurate in any way (not least because there are no other sources backing this claim up) but I was incredulous for an entirely different reason. Quite simply, there simply isn’t enough good comics criticism to fill a book on an annual basis. You might be able to fill a book once every 5-10 years but certainly not more often than that.


Now I’ve been know to write some reviews in my lifetime so I’m essentially lumping myself in that pool of mediocrity called “comics criticism”. I’m approaching this, however, from the perspective of a person who is a reader first and foremost – a reader who is just about lazy enough to want to rely on the hard work and intelligence of others for a deeper understanding of comics.


In this spirit, I decided to make a short analysis of the reviews available for one of the “big” books from 2008 – Dash Shaw’s Bottomless Belly Button (BBB). There’s nothing remotely scientific about the following survey. I’m merely trying to reproduce the experience of a reader trying to find out more about a comic after having read it. From the perspective of an occasional comics reviewer, such an exercise is not without its benefits as the articles I’ve encountered mirror the deficiencies in my own writing.


I’ve chosen BBB quite deliberately. As one of the “biggest” and most talked about books of 2008, one would expect a reasonable amount of quality reviews around which to crystallize readers’ thoughts. I hardly expect a critic to devote acres of space to ascertain the merits of an insignificant work but this label simply doesn’t apply to BBB.


It has to be said that most comic reviews and articles aren’t written with needs such as my own in mind. Rather, they’re aimed at readers in search of much more basic guidance: to read or not to read; to buy or not to buy.


Most readers aren’t interested in the inner mechanics of comics or the layers upon layers of meaning an artist imbues his work with. In other words, the very things a good cartoonist wrestles with on a daily basis. Most aren’t even interested in well argued, detailed essays debating the merits of a work. To most readers, comics are momentary diversions hardly deserving of this the kind of attention. Another group of readers find reviews entirely useless, preferring to rely on their own brilliance to pierce any semblance of a veil. Needless to say, this blog entry is not meant for persons such as these.


The web is perceived (not entirely without reason) as the province of ephemera directed at short attention spans. That the vast majority of reviews of BBB amount to little more than a short description and recommendation should come as no surprise. I count among these the reviews at Boing Boing, Comic Book Galaxy, Comic Mix, Entertainment Weekly, Fiction Writers Review, The Guardian, the Hip Librarians Book Blog, infibeam and The Stranger. There are a series of blurbs at the Fantagraphics website as well as at Publishers Weekly. The review at Comic Book Bin goes into more detail but is once again mainly descriptive with the faint whiff of opinion thrown in for good measure. In short, the web is replete with choices in this category. I’ve merely chosen a small representative sample from a wide variety of sources. Perhaps this reflects, in part, the lack of money attached to this activity - this lack of money discouraging the use of more resources in terms of time and effort.


The well known New York Magazine article on Dash Shaw is little more than a puff piece containing some background information on the author. The extent of its adulation is easily captured in the following quote:


“Yet that disparity between the roughness of the art and the maturity of the story—not for children! the book’s spine reads, alongside Shaw-penned faces of crying tots—lends Shaw’s work an emotional jolt that’s sometimes absent from the work of other graphic novelists, even those as acclaimed as Ware and Clowes.”


On second thoughts, perhaps it’s not so much adulation as clutching at straws.


Well argued negativity is also in very short supply. An article at the Inkwell bookstore has some embryonic antagonism in relation to BBB but does so in passing while reviewing Ariel Schrag’s Likwise. The writer at Fiction Circus uses his review of BBB to launch into a tirade against simplicity and “humble line art” among alternative cartoonists. Seth, Alison Bechdel and “maybe everyone at Topshelf” are brought up in defense of his case. He writes:


“My problem is with how the boring “cartooning” style is privileged as artistic and honest in comics, the same way Hemingway’s writing style used to be in literature. The same way, arguably, that literature now privileges boring “realistic” subject matter. Unfortunately, in Bottomless Bellybutton, Mr. Shaw is guilty of drawing in a boring style…”


And later:


“It is a credit to the modest, weirdly involving art and writing in Bottomless Bellybutton that, despite all these problems, I didn’t realize it wasn’t very good until I was about halfway through.”


The entire experience is not unlike wandering through the arguments of a petulant child.


The New York Times is not much better. Here’s exhibit A:

”Though there’s plenty to enjoy in “Bottomless Belly Button” – realistic dialogue, an emotional connection to the characters, some wonderful flourishes in the layout – it seems wrong to delve too far into those elements before pointing out another major ingredient: nudity. The book’s spine has a “not for children” label and a drawing of six young faces overlaid with X’s – quite appropriate, because some of the interior illustrations merit a triple-X rating. The images run from the mundane to the racy to the positively, well, graphic. Perhaps the use of nudity is a budding trend in graphic novels.”

I understand the limitations imposed by writing about comics for a mainstream publication – the need for evangelical zeal and a sensitivity for reader’s of a more puritanical nature – but this reads too much like a blast from the “Comic aren’t for kids anymore!” past. I imagined a nun at the keyboard before the writer started proclaiming a fondness for the decompression used by Brian Michael Bendis in Ultimate Spider-Man. I can’t imagine a nun liking Ultimate Spider-Man. I certainly can’t conceive of any nun labeling Y: The Last Man “exquisite” as the NYT writer does. Nuns have better taste than that. The less said of this travesty of a review the better.

Derik Badman who makes a valiant effort at analyzing some of Shaw’s techniques but gets bogged down in the somewhat repetitive mechanics of the book. Badman’s entry reads like a series of notes prepared for a more comprehensive article and it really never pretends to be much more than this. I suspect that a longer and more thorough piece might have emerged in a more encouraging critical environment.

The single best article on BBB available on-line is in all likelihood one of the least read – Charles Hatfield’s article at Thought Balloonists. This isn’t even Hatfield at the top of his game – it’s merely a long entry for his blog, written with some degree of thought and planning of course but not with the rigor of one of his academic articles or published reviews. It’s a clear, methodical discussion of the themes, mechanics and deficiencies of BBB. Hatfield has been doing this for years and it shows even in the most casual of his writings.

One good review of BBB out of dozens – a sad testament to the state of comics criticism by any measure. For the sake of comparison, I urge you to do the most basic search for reviews of any prominent work of literary fiction – a recent one if need be if only to give a small edge to comics-related reviews (Thomas Pynchon’s latest novel Inherent Vice. Even in a critical scene notorious for incestuous relationships and glad-handing the difference in quality is sobering. Comics criticism has a long, long way to go – certainly before it satisfies my most basic needs as a reader.