Review - The Graphic Canon, Volume 1

The Graphic Canon, Vol. 1: From the Epic of Gilgamesh to Shakespeare to Dangerous Liaisons

Russ Kick
Seven Stories Press (May 22 2012)
978-1609803766
512 pages
CDN$ 21.91 on Amazon
Website


Summary: A very mixed bag of pieces in a variety of styles, often in colour, which make it fun to flip through; however, some are poor interpretations, and sometimes Kick's commissions fall flat. For twenty bucks, though, hard to go wrong if you have the space.

I was terribly excited to find out about this collection, as my interest in graphic novels (comics? sequential art?) has been rejuvenated by my Book as Object course (Winter 2013) and I am, as an English scholar, intensely interested in both questions of the literary canon and adaptations of texts.

The Graphic Canon presents 56 graphic adaptations of various "canonical" works. A First Nations' creation myth is followed by the Iliad and Odyssey, excerpts from the Bible and stories from the Middle East and Asia are presented, and, towards the latter end of the work, the reader can look at interpretations of Shakespeare, Milton, Swift, and Benjamin Franklin. The variety is quite good; I appreciated the inclusion of works like Hagoromo, a Japanese Noh play, and the other non-Western literature. Although the styles of art are pretty broad, I have to point out - no manga? There must be some manga of Asian myths, or even Western myths for that matter, out there good enough to make it into such a collection. There are several depictions of nudity and sexual activity in the comics, which numerous critics on Amazon complained about; however, people (both in real life and in literature) had carnal relations back in the day, and I appreciate that the editor did not edit such representations out, especially in great pieces like the London Journal excerpts adapted by Robert Crumb.

The publication is of good quality. A large format (8.5 x 10.875) means that the artwork is of a good size, but the book is also not outrageously hard to handle, though it is relatively heavy. The printing quality is high, and the book is in general well-designed.

Unfortunately, content-wise, The Graphic Canon fell kind of flat for me. I have some issues with the overall construction and ideas behind the work, and while some of the comics were amazing, others were notably lackluster.

My expectation going in to this text was that it would be a collection of comics that have been done over the years as adaptations of canonical (Western or otherwise) literature. Kick would have chosen representative excerpts from the works that displayed how the form and content of the art, lettering, and interpretation of the original worked both in relation to and against the original material.

However, the majority of the comics were solicited by Kick. In his Introduction, he notes that "My instincts as an anthologist kicked in. I needed to gather the best of what had already been done, commission lots of new adaptations, and put it all in one place" (1).

And there, of course, is the problem word for me: "commission." Admittedly, it is interesting to see the range of artists he manages to recruit, and he writes of getting artists from a variety of countries and backgrounds (like one artist who designed album covers for heavy metal bands). However, I feel like recruiting someone to do a piece reduces the integrity of the collection a bit. (note: I'm not really sure how to put my feelings about this into words, and I feel like a weird high-low culture snob. Ugh.) The commissioned creators aren't necessarily doing this because they originally loved the material or have studied it extensively (though, to be fair, maybe they have or did!). Maybe I'm just a stick-in-the-mud academic for expecting such anthologies examining the canon and claiming to contain "the world's great literature as comics and visuals" to collect adaptations that have already demonstrated their importance in one way or another - in this case, as being recognized (by either scholars or the public) as making an important comment on the original work.

Furthermore, I consider a good adaptation to also be an informed act of criticism and engagement with the text. The spirit of the original, insofar as that can be interpreted, should be present in some manner as well, and an awareness of the original context of the work should be demonstrated. Unfortunately, some of the pieces within this collection don't necessarily fit this description to the extent I would like (again, maybe my academic stick-in-the-mud coming through).

Two final pedantic notes before on to the comics:
In the introduction, Kick says "I asked the artists to stay true to the source material - no setting it in the future, no creating new adventures for characters, etc." However, some comics are definitely set farther in the future than the original text was set or written. I'm not sure if he meant our future (?) or just made allowances for some authors, but it came across as a bit careless to me. Also, he says "The adaptations are true collaborations between the original authors/poets and the artists" (1). Umm, not really possible, as the original creators are long dead. Again, it feels like somebody missed this in editing or he had a different meaning; I haven't read anything else by Russ Kick (though apparently he's relatively well-known?) so I'm not sure if this is just his style.

Now, on the comics themselves!

First, to get them out of the way, the bad. Some comics in this collection are poorly executed. Sometimes this is a result of careless aesthetic style, while at other points the form (physical representation) just doesn't match the content (the original source material).

The worst is, by far, Medea (Euripedes) by Tori McKenna. The dialogue bubbles are carelessly drawn at some points, and although McKenna's body language is often well executed, her variable colouring and facial features (is it part of the myth that Medea's hair is changing from black and white all the time?) reduce the impact of the story. Her interpretation is far too cliched for my taste as well. My main issue is with page 74, where the step-by-step representation of the narrative is uninventive and trite.

(disclaimer: I took these pictures with my iPhone in poor light, so just imagine them all looking...well, better, I guess?)

Page 74. Licking a knife? Really? Also, the lettering is rather amateur (in a way that doesn't add to the comic)

Page 66

"Advice to a Young Man on the Choice of a Mistress," originally by Benjamin Franklin and adapted by Cortney Skinner, falls through because the single image has a basic representation of the text, but doesn't really add anything. The introduction page shouldn't have to reproduce the entire text in order for the viewer to understand the comic - that's not how comics are supposed to work. Paintings and other non-sequential visual work, perhaps, but not comics.

Page 466

The fragments of Sappho's poetry similarly fall flat. I don't really see how the text and the ghostly figure are supposed to work together in this piece.

Page 427

Others have a lot of potential, like Yien Yip's interpretation of Marvell's "To His Coy Mistress." Unfortunately, while I love her illustrations, this combination of text (I dislike serif fonts that attempt to look old-fashioned used in excess) and images (putting it vaguely in the 1800s?) doesn't stand out.

Page 454

In the same vein, I have to mention Gareth Hinds' adaptation of Swift's Gulliver's Travels frustrates me because while the art is lovely, the text. Oh, the text. Italicized and with a sometimes used background attempting to look like a journal on a torn out page. Ugh. Also, some pages get awfully text-heavy. I would have appreciated more of his excellent art.










Okay, now for the stand out comics!

"The Coyote and the Pebbles," by Dayton Edmonds and Micah Farritor, was lovely; a perfect mix of evocative art and stimulating narrative.

Page 27. It had a beautiful water colour feeling to it.

Beowulf, by Gareth Hinds, also stands out. Yes, I criticized him earlier - but for his typography and use of text, and in this beautifully paced work, it's panel after panel of action.

Pages 184-185
                                    

                                    

                               

 Eisner's Don Quixote is, unsurprisingly, one of the best of the bunch; brilliant colours and an acute awareness of the form of comics (panels, angles, pacing) makes it a delight to read. Similarly, Boswell's London Journal by Robert Crumb, another of the old vanguard of comics, is wonderful - complex and tight art and panels, and, despite a heavy amount of text, a good flow throughout the piece. His work reminds me of Hogarth's representations of 18th century life.

Page 471. My poor camera and cropping skills are exemplary here.

Page 404. The colours look so much better in person!

The final thing I will mention is some of the odd editorial choices, primarily how some comics (Gilgamesh, Lysistrata, etc) go on for pages more than needed. Anthologies provide excerpts of such long works, and that space could have been used for other pieces instead of attempts to present as much of a work as possible to the detriment of other comics.

Of course, my perspective is my own; several other sources gave the collection glowing reviews, and I encourage you to read them as well. I feel like, in general, they were too generous - caught up in the excitement of seeing classics represented in comic form, or in the ambition of such a collection existing. For example, at the New York Times the reviewer says "Here you will discover that literature can be hilarious," demonstrating an issue several reviewers seem to have of looking at the comics as being commendable simply because they make the canon more accessible. From Kirkus: "Classic literature gets desterilized with the help of the modern world’s most daring graphic artists." By far, the best review I have found was from The Comics Journal, which gave an astute overview of pieces that worked and ones that fell flat. They also noted that the collection's self-proclaimed presentation of "the world's great literature as comics and visuals" is a little problematic when the majority from from Western Europe, especially Britain.

Is it really the Legend of Zelda?

Trash Talk, a grad student conference focused on pop culture, was this weekend in Regina. I only went down for the Saturday, so unfortunately I missed a few presentations (including some by my PhD bros, alas), but the ones I did see were pretty great. A couple papers on Harry Potter, and one on the "feminine" computer in Galatea 2.2, a 1995 novel by Richard Powers, were particularly interesting. Also, the keynote presentation, “Lives in Little Boxes: The Unstable Subjects of Graphic Biography” by Dr. Candida Rifkind, was very engaging, especially considering my Book as Object class and the graphic novels I've been reading lately.

My presentation was on representations of gender in Nintendo's Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time, with a focus on how Zelda and Sheik are portrayed.

Here's a brief summary:

Zelda is heavily gendered (virginal) feminine, including through her clothing, body language, and actions (or lack thereof). She does a lot of waiting, and we only see her in places where the player expects her to be, or she is forced to be - behind castle walls, being saved by Impa, captured in Ganondorf's castle.

Sheik, on the other hand, is gendered masculine. There's a great deal of debate over whether Sheik is actually (biologically?) male or female; however, that isn't the most important part of my argument. Instead, I focus on how Sheik is portrayed as masculine: s/he roams around the most dangerous places of Hyrule, demonstrates great physical fitness, strength, and dexterity, and dresses in masculine clothing. Most importantly, however, the player and other characters in the game treat Sheik as a male, at least on the first time through; most notably, Princess Ruto refers to Sheik as "a young man," and in the Japanese version of the game, Sheik apparently uses a pronoun that is usually used by young men.

Most importantly, however, consider what happens when Sheik reveals him/herself to be Zelda: within a span of minutes, Zelda is captured by Ganondorf, which must be awfully disappointing for her after avoiding Ganondorf for seven years while being disguised as Sheik.

But that's all right, because now she can just sit like a prize on the mantel over Ganondorf's organ and wait for Link to save her. Of course, most of the other notable female characters (Saria, Impa, Nabooru, Ruto, Malon) are saved by Link too.

I close with a hypothesis of why Zelda is portrayed this way, beyond just the usual "damsel in distress" trope that is used to sell piles of games. Zelda becomes an object and idea, an embodiment of Hyrule, the Good, and Wisdom, and those things can't exactly act in their own defense. Therefore, Link saving these "things" is why it is called the Legend of Zelda, similar as to why football is called football instead of "two teams that do things with balls."

Some things that don't appear in my notes:
At times, I deviated from my script to show body language and posture.

If you're interested in video games and female characters, I recommend you check out the Tropes vs Women in Video Games project; it has some great insight, and I'm really looking forward to the upcoming videos. This project is the one that you may have heard about on Kickstarter that raised a wicked amount of money, but also drew out the trolls in masses.

Anyway, if you want to read my presentation and notes, you can grab the pdf here.

Lumio - review (pt. 1)

Every now and then, I see a Kickstarter project that I can't resist. Usually, they're more along the lines of online comics that I already enjoy for free so I don't mind giving out a few dollars - for example, I backed the SCIENCE: Ruining Everything Since 1543 (an SMBC Collection). I also backed the Ryan North's To Be or Not To Be: That is the Adventure, because really, a CYOA of Hamlet with many of my favourite artists and in a format I've experimented with?

Lumio, however, was different. For one thing, to back it and get the actual object comes to about $115, and for a student, that's not chump change. I also came across it in one of the weekly emails, and usually I don't give things a second glance unless they're created or recommended by someone I'm familiar with.

But with Lumio, however, the idea grabbed me right off the bat. A book whose pages emitted light?

Want.

I won't post too much about the specs, as you can check them out on the Kickstarter. However, I would like to point out the three main aspects that drew me in enough to spend more than I have on any other piece of furniture beyond my mattress.

1. Practicality. I generally need the stuff I buy to be useful in order for me to justify it, and Lumio fits that bill at least a little. It gives out a fair amount of light, and can last 8 hours on a full charge. Even nicer, it's small, portable, and magnetic, making it pretty flexible for how, when, and wherever I would want to use it.
2. Good design. Man, I am a sucker for good design. In addition to the advantages above, I love that the amount of light is controlled by the degree the book is opened. Terribly ingenious and terribly intuitive, especially considering that it is taking advantage of how we actually interact and understand the form of the book.
3. Aesthetics. Obviously, it's a gorgeous piece, particularly when lit up and in a dark space. It looks like a sculpture or installation piece in an art gallery. I think there's also something to be said for the more metaphysical aspects of the piece. Books and knowledge have often been associated with the concept of light; think of all the times in movies, cartoons, or literature that books emit light when opened. Lumio takes the relationship of words and light and gives them a physical shape, so to speak. It's something I'd like to think about more.

I'm always intrigued by the idea of "the book" and the relationship between form and content, particularly considering my Book as Object course. Conceptually, I love the idea enough to drop some cash on it; hopefully, it'll live up to my expectations. You can expect part two of the review, with the real thing, in September when the second batch are shipped out.

Applications and Waiting

I've expressed this sentiment before: grad school is just a series of applications.

First, in the autumn of the final year of undergrad, start working on my MA SSHRC grant.
Then, apply to get into my MA program.

And then, the fun really beings. Applications breed as though they have a little brothel under my desk. This conference, that conference, this series of workshops. And, of course, the two most stressful aspects of my grad career thus far: PhD SSHRC and applying to PhD programs.

You get a little breathing room early in September. Then PhD SSHRC can easily take over your waking (and sleeping) life. (Yes, I have had a nightmare about a bunch of scholars looking over my SSHRC.) Then, it's out of your hands and you are into final papers and submitting PhD applications in December and January.

The waiting after those were done? Blissful. I didn't have to fill out any more forms or make the choices that the forms brought back; I could just read comics for my course and think about literature in the 18th century.

That lasted for about a month, and then schools started getting back to me. This period, my friends, is the trickiest.

You have a decision looming, and not all the cards have been dealt. Some of them might not be dealt until you've removed yourself from the game. I feel like there's a poker metaphor in here somewhere, but I don't really understand many card games beyond whist and rummy, so forgive me for the crudeness of my figurative language.

I've been accepted to two schools. I haven't heard back from the other four. According to GradCafe, some have heard back from school that I applied to but haven't heard from. And now I'm on tenterhooks, because sometimes it's better to know than to be in a state of angst and I really just want to know if I got in and, to quote GOB Bluth, come on!

What I keep having to stop myself from doing now is worrying about making the wrong choice. If I go to A, will it be better than B? What will happen to me at B if I don't choose A? Of course, I can't really know (maybe virtual reality will be done by the time I'm done my PhD and I'll be off in a world with Digimon), and there are more practical factors like living expenses and funding, but that doesn't stop me from getting distracted from my coursework.

Speaking of getting distracted from coursework, I better go work on my proposal for the upcoming CSECS conference. It's due this Friday, 18thC friends, don't forget! I would really love to go again; it was a great time, both academically and socially, last year.

Sask Gov't and foreign languages

Apparently, the Saskatchewan government thinks knowing foreign languages is a good thing.

In an article published in the Leader-Post and StarPhoenix today, it was revealed that "The government is developing an international education strategy, a big part of which aims to better connect Saskatchewan students with international trade and business markets."

A large part of that, of course, means being able to communicate in languages other than English. The program will, according to David Boehm, assistant deputy minister of the advanced education, "put an emphasis on the development of international languages so they can interact with those markets and those opportunities in a more effective manner."

A business professor at the University of Regina is quoted praising having "a working level of a second language" in order to "appreciate what is going on in other parts of the world," and, of course, be able to improve business relations.

 I very nearly laughed when I read this. The University of Saskatchewan has been slowly strangling languages and linguistics programs and classes for even my short duration at the University. Getting a degree in French? If you don't plan your classes out perfectly, you could be looking at six years to get your degree because a course is only taught every second year. For me, as an English major trying to get enough languages to fill my language requirements for grad school, it was quite tricky to plan out my schedule when I had to choose based around the only two French courses I could take.

Even worse, due to budget cuts, first-year language classes are now taught in jumbo sessions of 100+ students. Luckily, I made it through when classes were limited to twenty people, and there were still opportunities to interact with the professor, engage in broken dialogue with other students, and participate in the other class dynamics that learning languages needs but jumbo classes just can't offer. The weekly smaller tutorial sessions? They can't make up for that much jumbo class time.

There's a smattering of German, Russian, and Ukrainian classes every year, and Spanish is generally popular. There's even a few Cree classes, which I think is awesome.

However, I can't help but think of the town halls held a few years back when administration was addressing student and faculty concerns of cuts in the humanities and fine arts. They began talking about teaching Chinese and other languages that there were a "demand" for. You could sense the disbelief in the crowd, and finally a student stood up and asked something along the lines of "How are you going to bring in new language programs when you hardly support the ones you have now?"

Currently, of course, the University of Saskatchewan is going through some (projected) financial troubles and is planning to make some massive cuts to the tune of $44.5 million, based on the "quality" of the program. The humanities and fine arts (or HumFA as we are now known, bleh) are understandably wary, and I'm not sure whether this new strategy bodes well or ill for the languages. Are languages that are inefficient and can't bring in business deals going to get scrapped? Why learn Ukrainian, a language very important to the history of Saskatchewan and Canada and still relevant culturally today, when Chinese is so much more economically relevant?

The article notes that "At this point, it's not clear how much money the government will funnel into its strategy." On the one hand, maybe the languages could gain some extra funding and exposure. On the other, I hope that if attempts are made to cut back other languages in favour of pumping up the business end of things, students, not just those involved in the languages, will raise their concerns loudly, and in as many languages as they know.