Author: Ashly Burch
Starting a conversation with the words “comic book,” expecting that someone would honestly engage in a serious conversation with you after is like expecting Ann Coulter to grow a soul – it isn’t likely to happen, and you feel a little silly afterward for even thinking that it might. But why is this so? Why are comic books always associated with substance-lacking, super-somethings and nerdy fanboys? Why does no one feel that comic books—graphic novels—could be something more?
The reason for this could be pinned on many factors. I personally put the blame on the manner in which comic books were first introduced to America. Comic books, back in the day, served as an escapist, nationalist form of entertainment with an indestructible “Superman” poster boy that always triumphed over evil. The plots were simplistic, their intentions explicit, and many other superheroes began to pop up that followed along the same shallow vein. Now I know I can’t exactly blame the Superman standard for all my woes. Everything has to start somewhere. But it seems that the general public has yet to go beyond this mentality of “comic books = senseless entertainment.” We are stuck in a limbo that we can’t seem to break out of, and it’s giving comic books a bad rep. Well, now it’s time to settle the score.
There are comic books that have as much emotional merit as any piece of classic literature. I would probably take Chris Ware (one of the most influential writers of the autobiographical comic movement) over Dostoevsky any day of the week. It isn’t because Ware has pictures or because I think Dostoevsky is dry, it’s because Ware speaks to me in a way that certain authors can’t. Ware’s most recognizable graphic novel, Jimmy Corrigan: The Smartest Kid on Earth, tells the story of a lonely, awkward, middle-aged man who is forced to confront the existence of a father he has never met. His hesitance and constant daydreaming speaks like a caricature of me at my most vulnerable. Similar novels such as Clumsy by Jeffrey Brown – which shares the memories of a long distance relationship through moments of joy, disappointment, intimacy and normalcy – are just as moving. Clumsy in particular serves as a perfect portrait of the truth of love and really should be required reading for anyone that has loved or ever plans to get there at some point.
But discussing the artistry of personal graphic novels doesn’t even scratch the surface of the medium’s potential. Cultural and historical subjects have been expertly addressed before through the pages of comic books, such as in the case of Maus by Art Spiegelman. Maus serves as a parable of sorts that describes his father’s survival of the Holocaust. Similarly, Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis tells the tale of the Islamic Revolution in Iran through a young girl’s eyes, using humor and realism to paint a poignant picture of the hardships she faced.
Even graphic novels that use conventional comic book staples have as much merit as any other art form. Alan Moore’s Watchmen explores themes of power and the human condition through a cast of burned out costumed heroes existing in a corrupt world overshadowed by an emotionally stunted superman and a misguided genius. Moore constantly uses images familiar to the comic book world—the superhero, the lost society—and turns them on their heads to provide insight into our own lives. He accomplishes the same in V for Vendetta, wherein he explores themes of individuality and moral ambiguity through the use of a “superhero” of sorts: the vigilante “V.”
It isn’t hard to find comic books that could be considered art. They exist and their numbers are growing. But until the general public is informed of and accepts their merit, myself and a few others will be huddled underground discussing motifs in The Sandman. You’re welcome to join. There will be refreshments.
Ashly Burch is an undeclared first-year. She can be reached at burch@oxy.edu.
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