I didn’t think my son would like Bloom County much because of all the 80s references. But I was wrong, because he is brilliant. So here’s his fan art.
Bill the Cat
Giant Purple Snorklewacker
Opus as rock star
And here’s my fan art tribute to his fan art. Less brilliant, but what can you do.
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The entire Bloom County roundtable is here.
Long, long ago, before you were born, there were no people. There were no lamps. There was no television. There weren’t even cats!
Kangaroos ruled the earth!
This was the Ice Age. The kangaroos had especially thick, shaggy fur, so they weren’t too cold. But life was hard, because everything had to be made of ice. They had to make their chairs out of ice. They had to make their watches out of ice. They even had to make their mittens out of ice. And mittens made out of ice are not very warm.
When everything is made out of ice, there is not much to do. So mostly the kangaroos played golf. When their ice golf clubs shattered, they sat down right where they were and made new ones. Between playing golf and making golf clubs, they kept busy.
Only one kangaroo was dissatisfied. Molly did not like golf. Molly liked to read. But you can’t make a book out of ice. So she was sad.
One day, she reared up on her big kangaroo feet and she said, “I am SICK of ice! I am SICK of golf! I am going to go change the world RIGHT NOW!”
Her parents scratched their heads and twiddled their whiskers. “Are you sure?” they said.
“YES!” Molly said.
So her father packed her an ice bag full of ice to take with her, and her mother gave her her very best golf club, and they both hugged her and tried not to ask her again if she was sure because they knew that would annoy her.
So Molly went outside and lifted one foot up and then the other foot up and then she looked way up and then she jumped to the sun.
The sun was surprised. She didn’t have many visitors at this time of year. But she’d always been taught to be polite.
“Hello, Molly,” she said, trying not to melt Molly’s mother’s best golf club. “What can I do for you?”
Molly put her paws on her hips. “It is time to change the world!” she said. “I need you to start getting hotter and melt all that ice RIGHT NOW!”
The sun thought a bit. “I’m sorry, Molly,” she said. “I like watching golf. No changing the world today.” She smiled. Then she blew up, which was her way of saying, “Come back next Thursday, or possibly not at all.”
Molly drifted back to earth. She felt a little discouraged.
Down, down, down…wham! She landed on the golf course on her right ear. It hurt.
She got up and went back to mom and dad. “The sun was polite and yet also kind of mean,” she said. “My ice melted and my ice bag melted and my golf club melted and I landed on my right ear. It still hurts. Also I don’t think I changed the world.”
Her father kissed her ear and her mom gave her an ice cookie. They went outside and there was a big hole where Molly had landed on her ear,
And in the hole were cats! They came out and purred and rubbed against the kangaroos, because rubbing against the ice was uncomfortable.
“Huh,” said Molly, as a cat licked her ear. “I guess I changed the world a little bit. That’s not so bad.”
Maybe, she thought, she’d try again next Thursday.
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I wrote this in hopes that a children’s book publisher might take it, but the agent I talked to said it was too weird and never write her again. My 10-year-old liked it though, and drew pictures for it (in very light pencil for some reason, which is why the scans are not so great.) His drawings were published earlier this week at The Book of Imaginary Beasts, which was edited by HU writer subdee.
That’s the amazing father’s day car my son drew for me. In case you can’t quite follow, it says [w/idiosyncratic spelling corrected], “Cats scare away….eagles, lions, deer, bison, monkeys, and any animal bigger than itself.”
One of the fun things about the card if you’re a comics fan is the way that it both does and doesn’t read as a comic — or maybe the way it just scrambles comics and related genres, like advertising and birthday cards and children’s books, indiscriminately. You could put panel borders around each of those animals, and, indeed, since the page is structured like a grid it almost asks you to do that. But, at the same time, the space is all one space — which doesn’t so much make it not a comic as point to the way that in comics, even when divided by grids, the space can all be one space, the images you look at separately are actually right there next to each other. The eagals are getting tied up on the deer horns; you just don’t see it that way, usually, because the codes tell you not to see it that way. That’s maybe emphasized too by that weird band at the bottom, which reads as a kind of grassy floor (which would mean that not just the eagle, but the lion, deer and bison are floating in the air) and also as an erasure, marks on the surface of the page.
I like the weird rhythm of the images too. On the top two layers, the animals are arranged back to back almost heraldically; the eagle (who of course is on top so it can fly away) and the deer racing off to the left, the lion and the bison racing off the right. On the bottom, though, the Siamese cat on the bottom left is turned to the right, so it has to turn its head away demurely in order to avoid staring at the monkey butt. The cat’s also in the wrong place narratively; any competent comics artist would presumably put it either at the top or at the bottom right, either beginning or ending the “story,” since it’s the most important element. Placing it where it is is weird and disruptive; it’s like it’s not anchored to the text, but has wandered out of place. Which, of course, fits very nicely with the narrative, in which the cat is in fact a disruption, causing all around it to scatter in a regular excess of chaotic scribbles. (I like that shadow animal at the bottom too, scratched out by the scribbles at the bottom, as if the cat was going the other way, fit in its place, until it turned around, causing all the other animals to flee.)
Also, check that insouciant tail looped at the bottom. It’s like a little semi-circle warning to any animal bigger than itself.
And hey, here’s another one.
That’s the Tardis, obviously. Which I understand is bigger on the inside.
Again, I think what I enjoy about this one is the way it ties comics to other stuff that is obviously like comics, but maybe doesn’t always get thought of next to comics all the time. This is a scrappy little alternacomics scribbly picture of a mega-property. (Which is the sort of thing that happens (a little disguised) in Axe Cop comics, now that I think of it….) But the image/picture juxtaposition is less alternacomics, more icon and advertising slogan. I don’t know…there’s just something about seeing this obviously hand-made, personal image of reproducible corporate bric-a-brac that seems to get at how comics often function. They’re the intimate face of the behemoth; low tech corporate crack, which looks innocent enough on the outside (even pretty adorable in this case), but is, as the boy says, bigger on the inside.
Probably all to the good to be plugged in though; you’ve got the culture you’ve got, and it’s best to figure out the workings early on. You want to be able to make those bigger insides run.
“Dear Reporter,
I am 29 years old.
Some of my friends tell me Captain America doesn’t matter, because he’s just a comic book character. Please tell me the truth; is there a Captain America?
Virginia”
Yes, Virginia, there is a Captain America. If you look in history books, you may not see him, but what does that prove? The most important figures of history are not written and recorded with facts and figures to support them. Captain America exists as surely as this country exists, and this country could not exist as such without his righteousness and courage. He exists as certainly as compassion and respect for fellow men, and we know that these qualities abound and give our land its highest grace and virtue.
Not believe in Captain America! We have always believed in Captain America; only think how different the world would be if we did not believe in him. How could we have won the second World War without Captain America’s fortitude and bravery? He would lay down his life in order to uphold liberty and justice. He believed in these things even though he could not see them—how can we then not believe in him? Men have died because they believed in truth and the pursuit of happiness—because they believed in Captain America.
Do you think that men would go to war for purple mountains, or fruited plains, or even gasoline? You may think these things are real, but if you took these things away, you would still have bigotry and exploitation, avarice and hatred, just as you would still have love and honor. Are they real? Ah, Virginia, in this world there is nothing else real and abiding.
Of course Captain America exists. Without Captain America, we would never have had the courage to hold fast to our convictions! We also would never have had the hubris.
Without Captain America to sanctify our actions, we never would have believed that we know best. Without Captain America’s super-strength to support us, we never would have believed that we would win. Because we believe in freedom, we have sought to impose our version of freedom, even if it makes people less free. We have sought to impose our versions of justice and fair play, when it is not just and not fair.
Virginia, your little friends are wrong. Your little friends have seen little men do horrible, atrocious things, and therefore the believe that Captain America must not exist because he did not stop him. Your little friends have seen our country act not out of justice, but out of fear. They have seen us act not out of compassion, but out of pride. They have seen us abuse power and trample the already downtrodden, but what your little friends don’t know is that we have done so because we believe in Captain America.
In the sixties, plenty of people didn’t believe in Captain America. Some thought others took the name; other people thought he was sleeping in ice; others thought he was dead, and some believed that he never existed, just like your little friends. There was a reason Captain America slept: we didn’t believe in him anymore. I don’t think anyone stopped believing in what he stood for, but we began to doubt the fact of this super hero, because we realized he was just a man.
We realized he was just a man, because he has a face. Even if you have never seen this face in person, you know what it looks like: fair, blue-eyed, blond. Captain America is tall and white, heterosexual and Christain, male and middle class, and we know that he exists because that is not what America looks like. That is what a man looks like, just one man.
We have not been honest with other nations; our leaders have not been honest with us, and we have not been honest with ourselves, because for so long, we didn’t face the fact that Captain America was real—and just a man. Because Captain America exists, he can lie and cheat and kill just like the rest of us—and he did. Captain America is a killer; at times, Captain America has been a war-monger. Captain America told us his enemies were evil, and we believed in him just as we believed in evil. Captain America, among other things, can lie.
You may have written me today because recently Captain America seems more alive than ever. Maybe your little friends are wondering, “Is it the same Captain America?” This is where your little friends might be onto something.
Let me tell you about a friend of mine, Virginia. His name is Steve Rogers. Steve woke up one day, and found out the world had gone on without him, and it had changed. Steve believes in all those things that Captain America did: freedom, justice, compassion, honesty, but he doesn’t know how to act on them anymore. The world is not as simple as it once was. It is no longer acceptable to help one person by punching another in the face, and the worst part is—maybe it never was.
What does Steve Rogers do in such a world? How does he help people now? How does Steve Rogers go to a third world country and say, “I want to help you,” without being Captain America, the man who caused so many problems in the first place? How does Steve Rogers extend a hand of peace, without those former foes remembering that that hand once punched them in the face? I know that Steve Rogers exists because he has asked me these questions. Maybe you have too, Virginia.
Captain America exists. Maybe he has changed, or maybe we look at him differently now. Perhaps this is why your little friends think he isn’t real. Maybe Steve Rogers thinks Captain America isn’t real either. Maybe for all of us, just like for him, the important part isn’t the dreams we have, but what the world looks like when we wake up.
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The illustration for this post is by editor Noah Berlatsky’s 9-year-old son.
My son has been really into the Lee/Ditko Dr. Strange recently. So I thought I’d ask him what he liked about it. Here’s what he said.
I like the art because it’s really colorful and I like how he gets different cloaks through the series. I like the plot too. I like how Dr. Strange runs around and does things and goes into different dimensions a bunch. I like how everybody talks to themselves a lot because it’s funny when they’re just saying things to themselves. I like the way they talk about the writers. For example, “written at twilight by Stan Lee.”
That’s kind of all I have to say.
And here’s a drawing of Dr. Strange he did.
Courtesy of my nine-year-old. I especially like the hat.
We’ve been talking about communism here and there on the blog, so I thought it was a good time to reprint this. It first ran on Splice Today.
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My seven-year-old saw me reading Terry Eagleton’s new book, Why Marx Was Right. Said son has just started reading himself (he loves Jeff Smith’s Bone) and has become perhaps overly inquisitive about any books in reach.
“What’s that?” he demanded. “What’s it about?”
I resorted to that phrase well known to fathers everywhere. “Um….”
“What is it about?”
So what the hey, I figured. I’ve explained dinosaurs and gravity and sex. I can explain Marxism. “It’s about somebody named Karl Marx,” I said. “It’s talking about why he was right.”
“Right about what?”
“About not liking capitalism. He didn’t like capitalism.” Blank stare. “Do you know what capitalism is?”
“No.”
“Okay, you know how everybody buys and sells everything?”
“Yeah?”
“That’s capitalism. And Marx didn’t like it.”
An expression halfway between incredulity and boredom. “Why didn’t he like it?”
“Well, with the system where everybody buys and sells and tries to make as much money as they can, you end up with some people who have a lot of money who own the factories, and then some people have only a little money and work in the factories. And Marx thought that was unfair. He said that the people who work in the factories should own the factories.”
“Oh.” Pause for consideration. “That makes sense.”
“Yes,” I said. “But some people really don’t like that idea.”
Then his eyes lit up. “The factory owners don’t like it, I bet!”
So there you have it. Marx’s ideas are intuitive enough that even a seven-year old can understand them. Terry Eagleton would approve.
Why Marx Was Right isn’t quite aimed at the Under 8s, but it is (in a fine old Marxist tradition) a populist polemic. As Eagleton notes, Marx has taken a beating in the last quarter century or so. The Soviet Union has collapsed, China has embraced the almighty yen, and hordes of post-everythingists have laid siege to the university, taunting the academic Marxists for culpable white maleness and general untrendy belief in revolution, sweat, and the physical universe.
Eagleton, however, is undaunted. Marx, he insists, has been buried neither by the corpses of Pol Pot nor by the tomes of cultural studies professors. And certainly neither post-structuralism nor Stalin can boast many apologists with as felicitous a prose style as Eagleton. The books breezes through ten common objections to Marxism, with Eagleton acidly and efficiently dispatching each in turn. To the charge that Marx is a utopian, Eagleton observes:
A virulent form of utopianism has indeed afflicted the modern age, but its name is not Marxism. It is the crazed notion that a single global system known as the free market can impose itself on the most diverse cultures and economies and cure all their ills. The purveyors of this totalitarian fantasy are not to be found hiding scar-faced and sinisterly soft-spoken in underground bunkers like James Bond villains. They are to be seen dining at upmarket Washington restaurants and strolling on Sussex estates.
To the claim that Marx is a simplistic materialist, Eagleton responds in part:
For Marx, our thought takes shape in the process of working on the world, and this is a material necessity determined by our bodily needs. One might claim, then, that thinking itself is a material necessity. Thinking and our bodily drives are closely related…. Consciousness is the result of an interaction between ourselves and our material surroundings.
And so on throughout the book; Marx was a democrat, not a totalitarian; an individualist not a collectivist; a believer in reform and, when that failed, in a revolution that was as little violent as possible. Marxism was feminist before feminism; post-colonialist before post-colonialism, and pro-ecology before most ecologists had befouled their washable diapers.
For those, like me, who haven’t read a lot of Marx, the book is a welcome corrective that goes down surprisingly easily. Sometimes, indeed, too easily. There’s a sense throughout that Eagleton isn’t really engaging Marx’s strongest critics. Instead, the book prefers to incinerate a series of straw men. Thus, Eagleton mentions that Edward Said was anti-Marxist, but he doesn’t quote him, preferring instead to knock down more generalized postcolonialist arguments. Similarly, Eagleton breezily dismisses pacifism with a would-you-use-violence-to-prevent-children-being-shot scenario; some vague references to (never specifically named) just war theory, and a blanket declaration that “In any strict sense of the word, pacifism is grossly immoral.” If you didn’t know anything about debates around pacifism, this might seem like a knockdown effort on Eagleton’s part. Otherwise…well, let’s be kind and say that Eagleton’s discussion is not nearly as convincing as he seems to think it is.
The fact that Eagleton is weak on the thing I happen to know about could just be a coincidence. Somehow I doubt it though. He’s popularizing — which means that this book is less Why Marx Was Right than it is Everything You Thought You Knew About Marx Was Wrong. As such, it’s not likely to bring the revolution, but it might get some undergrads and/or aging reviewers to check out Das Kapital. Who knows? It might even sway the odd seven-year-old.