Chute begins Why Comics? with an extensive introduction that initially worried me. My prejudice of comics undoubtedly had something to do with it. My whole life, I’ve never picked up a comic- oops, must I refer to it as comics- the singular form still gets me. Anyone else find it incredibly awkward to read?
So, needless to say, upon cracking the spine, I was anticipating something far from what I received. Prior to this reading, I envisioned comics as colorful booklets containing strips of superheroes saving civilians from harm. On top of that, I totally profiled comics readers. Surely they were exclusively Napoleon Dynamite-looking middle schoolers…right? Two paragraphs in, I realized I was miserably mistaken.
Comics, I learned, is a medium rather than a genre. Comics extends far beyond comic strips and more times than not, as discussed in the first chapter, is not quite comical at all. And contrary to popular thought (including my own), Chute asserts that comics is for grown-ups. Although the comic book was initially associated with youth culture, it has since evolved, even with an element of morbidity; credit to underground comics. Underground comics, inspired by the liberal underground press in the 1960s, is what Chute describes as a “vital movement with literary, artistic, and popular force that profoundly shaped contemporary comics… [many of which] emerged from the underground were… without commercial strictures.” These elements regarded comics instead as a medium for self-expression. Many of these comics were centered on ludicrous plots and storylines, with some consisting of a “secret language.” With this, comics were reinvented and geared towards the adult crowd.
Along this time came the term “graphic novel”- mostly in reference to comics marketing- that has an interesting air of prestige; something I would have never known before this reading. These shifts along with several internal changes led to the increased accessibility of comics and graph novels into the 2000s, though the development of “above-ground” comics and characters gained popularity far earlier. These include DC comics and Marvel, two huge names that I had absolutely no idea claimed different superheroes. DC, founded in 1934, features Batman, Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern and the Flash. Marvel, on the other hand, began five years later in 1939 and features Hulk, Spider-Man, Iron Man, the X-Men, and the Avengers.
Particularly novel to me was learning about the innuendoes of comics. Each comics has a slew of embedded meanings, to the extent that literary critic Edward Said described the process of reading comics as “decod[ing].” Chute mentions that comics is “a medium that involves a substantial degree of reader participation to stitch together narrative meaning.” From panels to frames, sequences, vocabulary and more; I learned that comics is far from an intuitive medium. In order to absorb the full effect, comics requires interactive reading. As the chapters continued to unfold, this became more and more apparent.
Chute’s chapter on Why Disaster? captivated me. She highlights two famous comics writers who made disaster their muse. The first discusses the tragedy endured by the parents of Art Speigelman during their time in Auschwitz, and how it inspired his voice in comics, eventually leading to the publication of arguably the most famous comics in history, Maus. She also tells the story of Hiroshima survivor Keiji Nakazawa and how he helped to de-stigmatize the disaster by making it acceptable to discuss. “Especially in the personal realm,” Chute writes, “Comics can be so powerful because it presents the texture of real-life disaster and war without sensationalizing violence- and yet without turning away from it.” I love this blurb. The visual nature of comics provides ample room for evocation, freedom of voice and expressive intimacy. Along with disaster as a comics topic, there is a new/old element of time that is specific to comics. Chute writes that in comics, “the past is never really past.” An example of this (in a literal sense) is when Chute describes Speigelman’s work on the Twin Towers after the terrorist attack on 9/11 as having at least three time periods, as shown in the different frames of the North Tower is struck, yet the fires on the ground are already burning. This stuck out to me, never having contemplated the power of graphics to synthesize events during various time periods. Chute ends this chapter with insight on Nakazawa’s pivotal autobiographical comics I Saw It, which “challenged a national culture that viewed the atomic bomb with distortion, stigma and silence.” And to think I thought comics were limited to the funnies!
Chute’s next chapter discusses the role of superheroes in comics and their rise to popularity. In the U.S., she writes, the appeal of superheroes has “not only persisted through wars, global crises, and shifting social values, but it has flourished.” The gist of this chapter discusses why. From the invulnerability, fearlessness and idealistic aesthetics that superheroes showcase, there are many reasons superheroes have been and continue to attract. But deeper than that, comics writer Grant Morrison asserts that “superhero stories speak loudly and boldly to our greatest fears, deepest longings, and highest aspirations.” Despite it having a stronghold in the United States, the appeal of the superhero has declined in years past. This chapter discusses Chris Ware’s “Thrilling Adventure Stories (I Guess)” that boasts a superhero who rises in spite of an absent father, similarly to Superman. This graphic novel, however, is unique in that it provides two separate stories, “one ordinary and verbal” and “one super-heroic and visual.” This humanizes the superhero, suggesting that things are not as they seem. In the end, Ware’s publication defined the current cultural movement of superheroes in comics: those being multifaceted, dynamic, and increasingly human.
Ah… finally: the chapter I was waiting for. My sole slice of prior insight on comics had to do with an article I recently read on a feminist publication regarding the sexualization of females in the world of comics. At this point in the reading, my preconceived notion of comics being geared towards awkward middle school boys had long since been thrown in the garbage, so I was anticipating this chapter. On second thought, I retract that statement. Maybe the (both overt and underlying) element of sex attracts said awkward middle school boys. Beside the point, I had no idea comics had “long been connected to the sexually taboo.” I knew that Wonder Woman’s boobs were noteworthy, but could sex really be engrained in the essence of something so seemingly tame? Key word: seemingly. In this chapter, Chute describes the unique digestion of images. Images, unlike other mediums, are illicit and furthermore felt immediately. The graphic nature of comics is no exception. This chapter highlights the life and works of Crumb, whose work Chute identifies as “one of the most virtuosic, if not the most virtuosic.” Crumb, after an epiphanic LSD trip, designed the provocative comic book Zap in 1968. This comic book sported graphic sex along with violence, satire and vulgarity. Crumb’s titillating work became a “medium for overturning censorship” in the United States during the late 1960s and into the hippie wave of the early 1970s. Another famous work of Crumb’s was “Joe Blow” in 1969, which featured six pages of incest; a topic formerly regarded as taboo. Crumb’s provocative work paved the way for a new acceptance of sex in comics, as countless comics writers followed suit in the underground era soon after. Crumb created the new benchmark of toleration for sex in comics.
Altogether, this read was smooth and fascinating, even for a comics noob like yours truly. This piece was engaging and detailed, and I’d highly recommend it. It’s a solid baseline for people who have an interest in the topic, as well as those who have no idea where to start.
