A Home For Mr. Easter

By Brooke A. Allen
NBM Publishing

Tesana is a teenage girl lacking love. Her mother belittles her behavior, and the kids at school make fun of her. She is huge—both very tall and very overweight. She feels like a walking target, so it’s understandable that she has learned to escape into her imagination. When the bus ride home sucks, she dreams up a unicorn to carry her across the city. But daydreams can’t make everything better. When the popular jocks and cheerleaders try to make a victim of a bunny rabbit, Tesana unleashes all her pent-up anger on them.

This is no ordinary bunny. He lays Easter eggs! He talks! Everyone thinks Tesana is crazy, but she knows the truth. She resolves to help Mr. Easter get back home. In order to do this, they have to retrace the route that brought him to the high school: a pet shop, a science lab, and a magician’s show. At every stop there’s someone who wants that bunny back, and soon there’s a small army chasing Tesana and Mr. Easter.

A Home for Mr. Easter is defined by its chaos. Tesana feels attacked on all sides, and then she actually is. The plot follows the logic of a dreamer, so magical things are suddenly allowed. The laws of the real world are stretched and twisted.

Though this graphic novel style isn’t really my favorite—it delights in the misshapen—I appreciate what Allen has succeeded in doing. What I don’t enjoy may make the book all the richer for some readers. Tesana’s world is ugly; she deals with ugly people.

Along the way, Tesana slowly excises some of her demons. By the time they find Mr. Easter’s true home, she is less angry and has had some of her deepest beliefs validated. Through the bedlam, she and her mother become allies, instead of enemies. The fairy tale ends happily.

And yet, A Home for Mr. Easter contains a great deal of insight, slipped into the subtext. Brooke Allen gives just enough clues for us to get a rich impression of what Tesana’s inner and physical lives are like. The characters are expressive, leaving no doubt about how something is being said or the emotion it’s being said with.

I did enjoy the story, and its fantastic nature. The range of emotion is powerful, taking one through disbelief, righteous anger, fear, and pathos. Allen is clearly talented and confident in her craft.

Review by Richenda Gould

Forget Sorrow: An Ancestral Tale

By Belle Yang
W.W. Norton

I jumped at the chance to review Forget Sorrow: An Ancestral Tale, an unconventional graphic memoir from writer/artist Belle Yang. While I am no expert on graphic literature, I did devour Marjane Satrapi’s Persepolis series. With this medium, I enjoy (and envy) the way an artist can show emotions through inked illustrations, and use words more sparingly. Further, there is an intimacy created on the page, because the typeface and conversational style evoke a personal journal lying on a nightstand.

Yang is a Chinese-American woman, and her story, in part, tells of the identity struggles she experiences in separating from the Chinese traditions of her immigrant parents. When she travels to Beijing for art school, Yang has a chance to learn cultural history while not being bound to it.

At the outset of her tale, we see the source of Yang’s title: her Chinese name, Xuan, means “Forget Sorrow.” When Yang was thirty years old, she sought shelter from a violent boyfriend by moving back to her parents’ home. While there, she began to give shape to her father’s childhood stories in Japanese-occupied Manchuria, World War II, and Mao’s Great Leap Forward. Yang writes, “I have a voice in America. I won’t waste it.”

The art in Forget Sorrow is tender, powerful, and moving. One ink illustration that stands out is Yang’s nightmare about her abuser, which captures a feeling of stark terror. In contrast, Yang’s illustrations also evoke tenderness between father and daughter, a feeling of comfort for him as he shares painful memories.

Yang’s story demonstrates ways in which strength comes from relationships. Her father’s tales are painful at times. Under communism, family relationships were made subordinate to party affiliation. Important aspects of tradition, such as honoring elders, did not apply if those elders were deemed to be landlords or capitalists. The political side of Yang’s family story makes it very clear that social change should not come at the cost of human life or dignity.

Through telling her family’s story as well as exercising her voice and her artistic vision in Forget Sorrow, Yang found new freedom. As a writer, artist, and woman, she shapes her own future.

Review by Lisa Rand

Graphic Women: Life Narrative and Contemporary Comics

By Hillary L. Chute
Columbia University Press

My taste in female-authored comics is pretty obvious—Colleen Doran (A Distant Soil), Wendy Pini (Elfquest), Donna Barr (Stinz, Desert Peach)—and I am also a fan of women embedded in the production line comics (such as artist Lily Renee Phillips). But I have never been much drawn to the rather sordid memoirs of the overtly feminist artists covered in the book I am reviewing today (Aline Kominsky-Crumb, Phoebe Gloeckner, Lynda Barry, Marjane Satrapi, Alison Bechdel).

My first impression of Graphic Women was not overwhelmingly positive; it is written in the convoluted, polysyllabic jargon that is the academic version of purple prose. And it did not help that, to my eye, author Hillary L. Chute simplifies some things that are complicated and complicates some things that are simple. For example, she frequently attributes the different levels of critical such of husband (Crumb) and wife (Kominsky-Crumb) to sexism. While there is no doubt that sexism plays a role, it is a complex one in which commercial appropriateness and the development of associated skills are involved—not just the crass biases of critics. Meanwhile the blocking of Gloeckner's work from spaces like public libraries has less to do with its complex and uncomfortable themes than the depiction of erect penises which has always been a problem whether the context is high art or Playgirl magazine.

There is good and proportional use of excepts from the works being discussed, embroidering upon their composition, meaning and context. It seems to me that Chute varies in how much she illuminates the various author-artists. For example, she is revealing in discussing Kominsky-Crumb, and settles into a more plainspoken, and almost journalistic, tone in the chapter on Marjane Satrapi. I think the best balance is struck in the final chapter on Alison Bechdel, where the complexity of Chute's language and of the subject are best married together.

But there seems to be a very persistent self-involved strain, such as when Alison Bechdel asserts that cartooning is "inherently autobiographical"—when the format as a whole clearly leans more towards the fantastical. Overall, it seems to me that the non-literary graphic novel and comic communities aware of, and while not embracing, certainly respect the literary and memoir aspects of the format. However, it seems that the reverse is not true. The bold fantasies mainstream of comics is almost completely absent from considerations of the context for the author-artists in this volume and their intricate and neurotic disclosures.

Overall, after reading Graphic Women, I did find the work of these female comic artists rather more appealing when "taken from behind" in terms of motivation, biography, and wider social context than when I had taken them at face value. I was convinced, for example, for the first time that Kominsky-Crumb's naive style is a fully deliberate choice—albeit, one I still find off-putting. And I did use my limited funds to buy a copy of Kominsky-Crumb's graphic memoir and of Persepolis.

On the whole I would say Graphic Women is dense, informative, and useful in understanding a rather isolated but important strand of graphic novel development, but this book embodies rather than explains its peculiar and irritating pretensions.

Review by Emily Veinglory

Cross-posted at The Cliterature

Graylight

By Naomi Nowak
NBM/Comicslit

The field of comics, also sometimes known as graphic novels, is dominated by male creators and readers. However, there's been increasing push in the last few decades by women to enter the field and make their mark. Though comics drawn by women are gaining popularity, most are classified as "indie," distributed by small publishers that may not be able to advertise or place volumes in prominent bookstores. Naomi Nowak's most recent graphic novel, Graylight, is designated indie, though it deserves to be appreciated by a wider audience.

Sasha is a German photographer on assignment somewhere in northern Europe, where the sun stays up all night in summer. She is a mysterious person, a foreigner. She attracts the attention of a journalist, and he invites her to join him on his quest to interview a famous recluse. The woman takes a disliking to both of them and refuses to grant him an interview. But Sasha leaves with her own prize—a book stolen from the house.

The woman's son follows her home to demand its return, and attraction sparks. But the reclusive old woman is no ordinary woman. She is a witch, with a grudge against women like Sasha, who play with men. When the witch's son takes an interest in Sasha, his mother takes action to destroy her. The witch's son is not Prince Charming, but he does save Sasha, changing his relationship with his mother. He asserts his independence, but in the end Sasha, true to form, leaves town to find some other hearts to break.

The plot summary is intriguing, yet its execution is not entirely clear. I found myself re-reading several times, trying to spot clues I may have missed. Plot is not Nowak's primary concern here—impressions of character and mood supersede coherency of plot.

Nowak is an artist who studied painting and illustration. She brings those skills to her comics, creating page after page of exquisite visuals. The colors are watercolor shades, ranging from pastel to flamingo and lime. The inking is both intricate and vague; symbolic or decorative flowers and crystals are detailed while faces and unimportant objects are only partially defined. Every knot in a sweater is drawn to give its precise texture but the shoes disappear into the background. Nowak focuses attention on what she wants the reader to notice. Pages where there's almost too much detail are deliberately overwhelming.

The style reminds me of the Japanese manga Paradise Kiss. Graylight is exquisitely rendered, and worth looking through for the art alone. Nowak's website contains examples from the book, a more compelling argument to pick it up than I could ever make.

Comics and graphic novels are not as easy to create and produce as some may think. Nowak has made something beautiful, if imperfect in its storytelling. I look forward to seeing her skills progress.

Review by Richenda Gould

You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive

By Seth Tobocman
AK Press

You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive is a collection of graphic work by comic artist and activist Seth Tobocman. The artwork dates back to 1980, when Tobocman and Peter Kuper founded the political comix magazine War World 3 Illustrated, and critical issues of this era are addressed, including Reaganomics, the AIDS pandemic, gentrification struggles in New York City, the occupation of Palestine, and the imprisonment of Mumia Abu-Jamal.

You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive was originally published in 1989 and then again ten years later. Both times it sold out quickly. This most recent acquisition and printing from AK Press is a sign of Tobocman’s work's longevity, and the continued demand for his politically conscious art.

Tobocman is a fixture of New York City’s downtown punk scene and the Lower East Side squatter’s movement. Chances are local readers have seen him in his Lower East Side neighborhood, maybe reading at Bluestockings or ABC No Rio. Tobocman, like his comics, is accessible, present, and engaged in his community. His comics have never been recognized or celebrated by the mainstream art market, which is not surprising considering his critique of bourgeois conformist politics, and Tobocman produces art for the street, not the gallery.

This latest release of You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive gives longtime fans, as well as first-time readers, a chance to enjoy Tobocman’s art and utilize his images (as activists and community organizers often have) to produce political posters, buttons, patches, and graffiti. The direct and utilitarian nature of Tobocman’s work, and of comic art in general, is so appealing because you get an immediate, straightforward, and high impact method of communication and direct action marketing. You Don’t Have to Fuck People Over to Survive is a creative, in-your-face resource and a critical tool for resistance.

Review by Jeanne Vaccaro

Nancy: Volume 2

By John Stanley

Drawn & Quarterly

Drawn & Quarterly’s second compilation of the John Stanley-penned Nancy comics are simply enjoyable, and deliver what the Dell Comics stamps promise: “clean and wholesome entertainment.” More exceptional, however, than the Little Rascal-esque hijinks is Stanley’s clever writing and humorous narrative. This talent has earned him a place in classic comics history.

Throughout a prolific career, Stanley most notably wrote for Marjorie Henderson Buell’s strip Little Lulu, but also authored Thirteen Going on Eighteen, and Melvin Monster, among others. After a formidable career as an author of humorous comics, as well as a brief foray into horror comics, Stanley left the industry in the late ’60s. His Nancy storylines reflect Stanley’s oeuvre of work, as well as comics and popular culture mid-century.

Cartoonist Ernie Bushmiller created Nancy in 1938, based on the niece in Fritzi Ritz, a daily flapper strip featuring pinup-worthy Aunt Fritzi. The spin-off strip focuses on the (mis)adventures of heady young Nancy. In the ’40s, Dell Comics began publishing the strips in comic book issues. While there have been a variety of writers working on Nancy, Stanley’s humor and wit deserve recognition.

Nancy: Volume 2 is part of D&Q’s John Stanley Library. With an Art Deco-style cover designed by cartoonist and illustrator Seth (Palooka-ville), this hardcover edition is an eye-catching work. This collection contains issues 146-150, printed from 1957-58. The thick matte pages are yellowed like the pulp comics of yore, but I missed the musty, inky smell of newsprint.

Nancy is anything but theoretical, and certainly wholesome. In many ways, Nancy is an archetype. She can be seen in the facial expressions of Bill Watterson’s Calvin, the independent world of Charles Schulz’ Lucy, and the harebrained adventures of Ruthie in One Big Happy. A headstrong young girl with 1950s America orbiting around her, perhaps young Nancy is one of the earliest feminists in comics.

The book shows a fascinating world of children with few adults. Aunt Fritzi is a single woman with an occasional boyfriend, who looks after brillo-headed Nancy. Nancy’s biggest admirer is Sluggo, a young boy who never goes to school, lives alone in a dilapidated house, and is constantly tormented by Spike, the local shaved-head bully.

One of the most interesting characters is Stanley-created Oona Goosebumps, a precursor to Comic Debris’ Emily the Strange and Addams Family’s Wednesday. If anything in Nancy verges on spooky or dark, it’s Oona with her haunted house and bewitching presence. Rounding out the cast is Rollo, a ridiculously rich boy similar to Harvey Comics’ Richie Rich. With a full range of economic and social classes, Nancy looks to the practical middle class for balance. Stanley’s stories rely on the eventual return home, to a hot meal and glass of milk, and perhaps a stern scolding.

In 2009, Dark Horse Books released a complete run of Little Lulu comics, but the convenient paperback editions don’t have the aesthetic appeal of D&Q’s Nancy. I would have loved an introductory essay to provide historical context; however, if you’re looking for the pure experience of reading old comics, then this comes closer to that without the analytical rhetoric.

Review by Claire Burrows