Graphic Novels

Few art mediums have worked as hard to gain credibility as graphic novels, perhaps fantasy and sci-fi in their quest to be regarded as literature. Legitimacy seems to have been granted given the expanding sections of this genre in libraries and bookstores, but many, including me remain sheepish when perusing them.

I jumped on the bandwagon with many when Batman: The Dark Night Returns and The Watchmen appeared on the scene. Both jump started the genre to such a degree that they're on the minds of many today due to their Hollywood adaptations. I became more impressed with this genre and moved through the works of Pekar (a full tribute is in the works).

The Adventuress by Audrey Niffenegger (author of The Time Traveler's Wife) was originally published by hand in the 80's. It reminds me of La passion de Jeanne d'Arc – the threshold, the tears behind those eyes, the isolation, and the nuns. Egypt also comes to mind: hands floating without arms hold veils, wine-glasses, and judgement; Eyes sometimes swirl but never blink or have a face. There's also alchemy, a cat, and transformation. The soul mourns a body with crossed arms folded under the chin. Ancient Greece comes to mind with play on weaving (Penelope); however, here a skirts unravelled to create a cocoon. The character seems to have conflicting emotions (thumoi) given the cleft figure and one that hugs and chokes itself. It's such a fantastical world that she, a moth, feasted on Napoleon's books.

The Pride of Baghdad presents war through the eyes of lions. At times the novel becomes too anthropomorphic — sex and rape, moral dilemmas (whether or not to eat humans) — but the point gets across. War starts when the zoo keepers throw them a donkey, enough food to last a while. Bombs blow up the pen's walls and they're free. They embark on a journey and on the way meet a wise turtle who states,

Tigris is the name of the river, dummy. … Everything's got a name. It's how we make crap belong to us. And this stretch of crap is my fishing hole.

There's black stuff under the earth, boy. Poison. When the walkers fight, they send it spewing into the sky, and spilling into the … into the sea.

Although the dialogue can be predictable, the illustrations make use colour very effectively, the dark grey and sepia of tragedy and bright tones for violence. On the whole, the work seems a little too surreal for war, but that might just be how lions view things.

Whimsy

The English language harbours a hoard of scintillating words; in order to comprehend its full extent, consult innovative tools, such as the Visual Thesaurus and A.Word.A.Day (especially its daily newsletter via email).

Whim—especially in its adjectival form, whimsical—is one of my favourite words. Whimsy envelops an ethereal lightness, which suggests divine playfulness: fairies, laughter, fate, and karma converging.

For me Geist embodies the whimsical. I do not mean that it lacks rigour, but that it presents information and art in a playful and ingenious manner. As a result, I welcome each issue; the latest features eco-friendly paper and inks, Barack Obama, and Leonard Cohen. Consistent with Geist’s eco-friendly choices, Andrew Nikiforuk dispels some myths concerning the Tar Sands; Geist also included some decals to be placed on Loonies in order to raise awareness of the threat of tanker traffic presents to BC’s coast—get yours here.

In Obama Dreams Sheila Heti presents a collection of dreams from her blog, I Dream of Barack. These dreams range from the absurd to the surreal and reveal our subconscious expectations of Obama. Stranger Song is Ann Diamond’s account of her relationship with Leonard Cohen, including a number of close calls in which she nearly met him. In anticipation of the upcoming concert I have been devouring all things “Cohen”.

Geist is collecting Stan-ecdotes: stories of how another Canadian music legend, Stan Rogers, has affected people. My own Stan-ecdote hearkens from a cold fall many years ago. I was in-between jobs and spent much of my time working my way (listening, strumming, and humming) through Stan’s discography. He grounded me to Canada, especially in its lore and history, when I was relatively new to this great nation. I have already lauded The Geist Atlas of Canada and I love their Cross-Canada Phrasebook.

Although this map from the BBC lacks whimsy, it presents the information well:

  

Damon Galgut

Last week I glutted myself on works by Damon Galgut — an author whose tensile prose compels the reader to struggle with the protagonist on a journey of self-realization. I started with his short stories: An African Sermon (August 2004) begins with a train journey and weaves in a personal confrontation with the Rwandan genocide. (Regarding this topic, works by Jean Hatzfeld and Romeo Dallaire are essential). The Conversation (Oct 2006) tracks Father Angelo through a crisis of faith in the midst of an African conflict: What is faith? What is humanity? What is my role in it? The Lover (Dec 2008) details a loner’s journey through Africa (and on to Europe) while he grapples with social awkwardness and self acceptance, which stymie his love’s desire. Galgut cleverly embodies the protagonist’s fractious nature by fluctuating between the first and third person to mark changes between his “true”-self and his observing-nature.

The Good Doctor (2003), a Man Booker finalist, explores the tension in characters stationed at a remote (and barely necessary) hospital. Unresolved struggle is a trademark of Galgut’s writing, and he employs Africa’s stark, arid, and abandoned landscapes to explore it. Reading such a work is like being underwater and trying to reach the surface; however, you never do, so that you marvel that you’ve stayed under so long. But in the end you realize you were never swimming in water, but through your own streams of consciousness; thus, desperation, despair, difficulty, and despondency come to define humanity.

The Quarry (1995, 2004), was not published outside of South Africa until the success of The Good Doctor; however, this quirk of fate remains puzzling to me since I found The Quarry to be much more satisfying, and this novel was turned into a film that won Grand Prix of the Americas at the 1998 Montreal Film Festival. Here Galgut meanders his story around an abandoned quarry, which now houses a dead body and illicit drugs; such a feature, however, only helps focus the blight on the human landscape, as a criminal impersonates the minister he just murdered. Galgut first experimented with pronouns here: at the end of the book he uses no proper nouns; instead, the third person refers to a number of characters, each with its own short chapter (only the capitalisation of each pronoun differentiates the characters). This device successfully adds to the novel’s depth and demands a close reading.

In The Impostor (2009), Adam has let his life slide away. Unsure of who he his, he recalls that he once wrote poetry, and sets off to the country to be a poet. In his brother’s cottage the weeds have grown so thick that Adam gets a reprimand from the township. He plans to cut them back, but doesn’t so they become a symbol of his impotence (in writing as well). One day he decides it’s enough and heads to the hardware store for equipment where he meets Canning. Canning’s wife inspires him to write once more, but he soon learns that the lovely spot he spends his weekends at will be destroyed. Once more the protagonist must explore his own depths to come to terms with himself.

Reading Galgut can be like driving down a road on which you have no sense of direction or control, but at the end you’ll have exorcised humanity’s (and your own) woes. His exceptional prose keeps your foot on the accelerator until the end where you gain an un-obstructed view of the entire journey. As a side note Alistair Morgan, another South African author (and Plimpton prize winner), processes similar angst via the landscape. I just applied for FIFA 2010 tickets; hopefully I’ll be able to visit South Africa’s compelling scenery then.

Gold Nuggets

I often wonder at Chance's machinations, how quick the beautiful can take up residence in one's being. Unfortunately, they often exit quicker than they entered, a quick gasp rather than a full breath. Fortunately, some stay and afford a modicum of stability. Recently, Chance struck while I researching my thesis chapter on groves; I found the book, Sacred Groves and Ravaged Gardens. The title held me at once, but the book is even more fascinating. It is Louise Westling's research on a handful of Southern writers. Look at how she begins the book, "When I was a young woman fresh out of college and sure my generation was going to correct the world's ills, my Kentucky grandmother, a model of the old-fashioned Southern lady, asked me if my friends and I believed in free love. That old term was far from our ideal of sexual equality and frankness ... That quaint idea made little sense to me for many years, though I puzzled about it as I tried to understand why the relations between men and women violated so many of my notions of cooperation" (ix).

The insights continue, "Yet nowhere else in American literature is there a group of accomplished women writers so closely bound together by regional qualities of setting, character, and time" (1). "If Welty celebrates womankind, Carson McCullers and Flannery O'Connor struggle against it" (5). "... he has performed the part of St. George by defeating a 'dragon' which threatened to kill Denis's heir--and, by implication, to violate some sacred family spirit. That dragon is also the intruding urban machine in the pastoral garden ..." (82-3).

She also includes some spectacular quotes and the breadth of her research is impressive:
A fair young body trampled to death--
This beautiful, glorious Lady of ours!
Bring spices and wine and all the spring's breath.
And bathe her with kisses and shroud her with flowers.

O breasts whose twin lilies are purpled with blood!
O face, whose twin roses with ashes are white!
O dead golden hair, at whose far splendor stood
Millions of true souls entranced with delight!
(Simms, Trampled to Death)

In a similar vein, the newly released, American and British Writers - The Spoken Word, appears to be an impressive collections that has received favourable reviews. These CD's contain audio clips from famous authors, including the only recordings of Virginia Woolf and Arthur Conan Doyle.

The Grim Reaper and Other Innovations

Apple's recent letter, sent to threaten a local Victoria school over a trademark dispute, shows just how big corporate nets can be. Fortunately, for bloggers, they can now purchase libel insurance. The only downside, as with all insurance, is the cost of the premiums, which start at $500; however, this product not only legitimizes the blogging world, but also offers protection in it. (At what cost is the only question you must answer). Another similar move toward wider Internet distribution is CBS's decision to show archived content on YouTube. If you wish to watch a number of news broadcasts you can check out LiveStation, which regularly adds networks to its service. (Not all stations are available in every country, but it's a free service).

A very clever new book, worthy of occupying a spot next to the Geist Atlas, is The Grim Reaper's Road Map: An atlas of mortality in Britain. This tome maps how people died; that is, for each cause of death, the number of deaths is represented by a shade of colour. Thus, at a glance, you can determine in which neighbourhood (1,282 total) people are more likely to die of a heart attack or under the blade of a knife.

Unsung Heroes

I just read Three Cups of Tea after having it sit on my shelf all summer; it's a great book. Greg deserves respect and the State Department should rely on experts like him rather than grilling them. Greg's story in many ways represents that of the unsung heroes working for various organizations throughout the world; his can-do attitude reminds me of many amazing people that I've encountered in the developing world. As much as Greg is a Balti, he's an American, and serves a bridge to both cultures. I'll never forget seeing Bruce Olson who was embittered toward the West, perhaps deservedly so. He recounted the story of an American missionary who had volunteered to work with him. This missionary insisted on bringing a heavy radio into the jungle, one, which the people he was "reaching out" to, carried for him without recompense; he had wanted to communicate daily with his wife. Once at the village, one of the Motilones became entranced by the colourful "vines" inside the radio and took them out to make a bracelet. Since the Motilone people never took anything without giving something in return, he stuffed the radio full of the finest jungle vines he could find. After noticing what happened to the radio, the missionary built a door to his hut, something the Motilone people had never seen before. When they realized that it was constructed to keep them out, they moved locations and left him alone in the middle of the jungle.

Greg's humility is a constant throughout the book, and he never hesitates to give credit where it's due, e.g., the laudable reference to Helena Norberg-Hodge. The inclusion of the index could only be superseded by that of a bibliography (for the ease of locating great references such as Matthiessen). As a side-note, National Geographic's recent article on the snow leopard is excellent. In the days of special forces operating in Pakistan, Greg's book is most welcome.

Valuing the Humanities and the Arts

As a student of the humanities and an artist, I often feel the need to justify my vocation. On the way to school I regularly face a gauntlet of neighbours and family who, ignorant of my preference for late nights, remark on my late start. With every passing year, funding requires more work to for qualification and is harder to come by. Last year my choice of office was a dilapidated WWII era hut or a crowded room; I only complained once I saw the plush equivalent in engineering. Furthermore, I am not alone: Chad Gaffield, the new president of the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council (SSHRC), now seeks to “make crystal clear the ways in which SSHRC advances knowledge and invests in human capital” to the Harper government, which can be argued is suspicious of SSHRC. So what is the value of the fine arts and humanities?

Fine art provides a way for humans to make sense of their world. It helps us grieve: just think of the powerful anthem, “like a candle in the wind,” belted out by so many at Diana’s funeral to expunge the grief from their souls. The arts provide us with a dialogue when ours has been lost. They speak the unspeakable. It is uncanny how often a song comes on the radio, a painting comes into focus, or a poetic phrase catches the ear which expresses the deep groaning that is even incomprehensible to us. Karen Armstrong, speaking of poetry, phrases it this way: “Poetry matters, among many other reasons, because it is by its nature revelatory, surprising, and liberating. It re-connects us with the familiar world we mistakenly think we know while offering glimpses of the mysterious and untranslatable worlds we know we don’t know” (Tapestry October 30, 2007).

It is pure wonderment how words find their way on to a page or into a melody. I love how Gwen Stefani describes the process: “Sometimes it's so hard to find out what I am trying to say. People might think you can turn creativity on and off, but it's not like that. It just kind of comes out, a mash-up of all these things you collect in your mind. You never know when it is going to happen, but when it does it is like magic. It's just that simple and it's just that hard.” Nevertheless, the artwork seems to take on a life of its own when released into the world. Alberto Manguel states, “Under certain conditions, stories can assist us. Sometimes they can heal us, illuminate us, and show us the way. Above all they can remind us of our condition, break through the superficial appearance of things, and make us aware of the underlying currents and depths. Stories can feed our consciousness, … .” (The City of Words, 9-10).

So art matters, it's inherently precious, even magical, but what value does it have? Ironically, although art helps us process the overpowering and speak out our inmost thoughts, the personal experience rarely has currency; namely, the cathartic love, anger, drama, and sadness soon fades when related to another. I can’t number the times I’ve tried to recapture a mood and failed; I always want to ask, “Didn’t that piece touch you, pamper you, and grant mercy to you?” Even when art is experienced together, each individual comes away with unique impression, never mind other factors that influence experience, such as trends and critics’ opinions. Art is enigmatic: personal yet communal and elusive yet accessible.

Art’s value is more than personal betterment and access to the sublime. Art speaks to us about the human condition: how and why people act as they do, what people experience and how they express this experience, or what causes humans to tick. The humanities are disciplines that examine multiple forms of art in their historical context and the context of other pieces of art to answer these questions; scholars revive, restore, preserve, and interpret artwork. Provided there’s not too much ivory-tower jargon, these scholars can disseminate the understanding on the human condition. They can accomplish this in oblique ways, such as The Lord of the Rings and Narnia series. This field also includes philosophy and history; scholars from Berlin to Ignatieff have disseminated insightful perspectives on their current worlds. Understanding the past and the cultures of the past does provide a lesson we can learn from.

Yet, despite the valuation of master artworks, record deals and box office profits, how can art and its study be valued in dollar terms.?It can’t. Although today's market-place has no way to value the abstract or intrinsic (the environment is a good example), some dollar term needs to be assigned to them. They need to appear in the budget since their value can no longer be assumed in today’s reductionist climate. Sure any value is ambiguous, but funding needs to continue. How can one value the work of authors, such as Günter Grass (despite his role in the Waffen-SS), have had a deep impact on their country’s ability to process trauma and heal; in Crabwalk, he states, “History, or, to be more precise, the history we Germans have repeatedly mucked up, is a clogged toilet. We flush and flush, but the shit keeps rising. … By now, after all, we Germans have come up with expressions to help us deal with the past: we are to atone for it, come to terms with it, go through a grieving process” (122). How about those who bring understanding of the plight of others, e.g., K'naan, or understanding among cultures, e.g., Solzhenitsyn? The media just brings new information, facts and figures, and no way to process them. As Louis Riel stated, the artists would be the ones who gave the people (Métis) back their spirit once they’d been asleep for one hundred years. Don't they do the same for us now?

Munching lotus

Today I feel like time has really passed me by. I started reading Buxton's Imaginary Greece from 1994 and can't believe I'd missed it. I haven't been smacked this hard by an academic book since Brendel's Prolegomena. His clarity is compelling, e.g., "In spite of (or because) of the fashionableness and obvious fertility of the topic [Greek myth] ... there is a residual feeling that to treat mythology as a distinct area of study ... is a gambit bound up with Theory, Methodology and The Continent, and is thus not quite sound." I also appreciate his honesty, e.g.,"I hope, in short, that the present book will reach the wider audience too. To that end I have tried to cut down the jargon with which scholars like to armour-plate themselves" (see Nimis' serious yet entertaining article on the use of footnotes for this purpose).

I really enjoy Stumble Upon and the concept behind it. Bumbling along I've found so much richness. Late last year, I found Rumi. Wow! 2007 was designated the International Year of Rumi by UNESCO and in commemoration of this event Coleman Barks wrote Rumi: Bridge to the Soul. This book has wonderful translations of 99 poems and an excellent introduction. My favourite line in the book is from Saladin's Leaving: "Like the moon you turn a grainfield silver."

I also found Californication. I can relate so well to Hank. I could be that character, sincerely stumbling along in the journey of manhood, though I haven't published a book, don't own a Porsche, and definitely don't have women throwing their phone numbers into my car. Oh the fragile artist. Damn those expectations. The journey can be very hard. Nevertheless, it's all worth it. You get the feeling and the vibe. You carve out a place of acceptance. Of all those people who claim to know you, only a handful ever does. The only question is whether you count yourself among them.

The show is also an introduction, for me at least, to many cool covers of songs, e.g., Rocket Man by My Morning Jacket and Paranoid by Gus Black.

Geist giddiness

Geist is one of my favourite reads. In addition to publishing the witty and intelligent Geist Atlas, pure bliss for $25,



each issue contains a number of well written articles that frequently cause me to pause at their beauty and ingenuity. The latter applies to Okay, So If the Seventies, Then What? Check out a few entries:

Seventies pierced ears conceptual art The Joy of Sex handicapped elephant pants

Eighties pierced nose post-modern art safe sex disabled Elephant Man

Nineties pierced genitals Day Without Art The Joy of Cooking physically challenged elephant garlic

Graphic novels and a surfing Jesus

On Sunday I had a cool time hanging out with my son. First I took him to his acting class and then we cruised around some shops. One of these was Curious Comics. I was glad to hit this store because it gave me a chance to check out Casanova, which GQ had favourably reviewed but I found passable at best. It was not charged with the historical and political brilliance of Pekar's Macedonia or the comical cross-cultural charm of Delisle's work. Neither did it have the ingenuity of other adaptations, namely Sienkiewicz's Moby Dick. I also found this great book for my son, Lost in Skookum Valley. It is published and set in B.C. and follows the Herge style. Check it out.

In this shop I also encountered the Fishermen. Given the sincerity of the founder's message I feel bad finding them so funny. I can see his point, but NFL Jesus comes off like Toyota's "what would Jesus drive". These are definitely of higher quality than the ridiculous Testamints, but they only serve to push forward capitalism's agenda that it is the best mechanism for serving everything (since it defeated Communism) including democracy and religion. The "access" that Capitalism brings is often a cheapened one. Today the remark came up in jest that religious services will soon be offered in a pay as you go format: 1 visit by the priest $40, one by a deacon or elder $25; much like getting your fortune told. Well I'll sign off with, D€r€k given all this talk. Just remember that a free market is not the same thing as freedom; yeah prosperity fosters choices, but equality -- come on!

Control

The subject of control enters my mind often. Control is an illusion that deceives many, for at certain times a person can truly feel in control and actually be in control to a limited extent. Times in life exist where everyone does another's bidding and everything goes that person's way, a person has control. Or does he? Can that one make things go his way or is it the hand that he is dealt. In no way am I minimizing the need for gracious behaviour and seizing the things that are in a person's reach (and we can extend the reach somewhat), but in the end humans are limited. There is a ceiling.

In addition to the temporal nature of control, control, which is the ultimate exertion of power, often has many inconsistencies. In the Constant Gardiner a central character states "I was the control freak who couldn't control himself". He couldn't control his lust nor could he figure out what caused it or where it came from. He was disjointed.

Rather than control, I favour the word influence. Complete control over another person is not natural and is more akin to slavery than anything else. In contrast, there are many ways that a person can influence another without tampering with their self-determination, i.e. when a person does not bend another's will through withholding food, clothing, visas, and passports. Does it violate your existence? If yes, it's control. Influence can be feeding another with ideas and ideals, but brainwashing is the unacceptable limit of this influence. Influence arises from the authority structure present in most, if not all, cultures. Lastly, someone always remains above another; world-records are usually broken, so there is a levelling effect present in influence. I was reminded of these facts when I read the following:

It towered so vast above petty human creation, so elemental in a man-made world, that even if all the men who had lived in all the past millennia had opened up their arms as wide as they could and carried everything they had ever created or intended to create and piled it all up in massive heaps, they could never have raised a mountain ridge as fantastic as the Caucasus. Alexander Solzhenitsyn. August 1914. Trans. Glenny

Fly on! Enjoy the feeling! Breathe it! But remember that you can always fall to the ground because your being is governed by many laws.

The established classics

I regularly browse through bookstores looking at the latest titles. It seems that every year or so, a book is published as a guide to the classics or to what books to read. I used to eagerly flip through these books to determine what was regarded a classic. Now I have read a much greater number of these great works, to my benefit, and when I see these books I hope others are drawn to the eternal books.

Speaking of books, I have been really enjoying a book by Jean Vanier: "Drawn into the Mystery of Jesus through the Gospel of John." This book literally feeds my soul with its truth and insight. Vanier has obviously not only thought carefully about this topic, but also lived it. He provides a very insightful definition between shame and guilt, which can be applied more widely to the concept of cultures. Although he places shame under a wider umbrella of guilt, he distinguishes between shame and moral guilt. Shame in an extreme sense is feeling guilty for who you are or for existing. Moral guilt, on the other hand, applies when a person does something wrong, so a feeling of guilt accompanies an objective reality lacking in shame. He wisely notes that both are intertwined, as they are when discussing shame or guilt cultures.

The other night I watched that "classic" film The Robe. I thought that it was very tastefully done, though inaccurate in some historical points, e.g. a tribune would most likely have a retinue going to the market. There was a cool quote in the movie: "It is much easier to dream of the truth than to live it." How true that ideals are always hard to live, especially by those that proclaim them.