As I started Fun Home, I wasn’t sure what to make of the language and allusions.  Although sometimes prone to verbiage myself (is using verbiage itself a case in point?), I felt going into the graphic novel that the vocabulary was a little excessive in some places. Who smells garbage in the summer and labels the smell “putrefaction”?   Also, whenever anyone starts name dropping Proust my entire mind shuts down.  However, I waited it out, and once Proust had passed, and the revelation of her acute childhood OCD had come into light, the specificity of the language started to have more of an impact on me.  I started to look at the language as something almost pathological, something that represents Bechdel’s obsession with her own identity, and discovering that identity.  What I mean is that Bechdel’s extremely specific word choices exhibit both an intense need for an accurate self-representation and an intense anxiety about misrepresentation.  Choosing the exact word is a way of combating the insecurity of the memories of her childhood and her relationship with her father.  Bechdel’s own pathological insecurity about her memory and the veracity of her own sense experience is clearly shown in the “I thinks” of her early diaries, not to mention the compulsive diary keeping itself.

We discussed modernism in relationship with the text, and I was still thinking about the “why” of the elaborate, highly allusive nature of many modernist texts after class.  And then I remembered that modernism arose largely as a response to World War I.  The devastation and violence of this war was almost incomprehensible in scale.  It was a global trauma without precedent, and the writers of the modernist movement sought to reframe their writing in ways that addressed the experience of living in this post-traumatic world.  In some cases, this apparently amounted to an attempt to frame contemporary experience through classical or mythical allusions, generally, as I understand it, to highlight the profundity of “modern” experience, the sense of living in a momentously new time.  In a similar way,  Alison Bechdel utilizes allusions to show how incredibly profound the effect of her father’s death and her troubled relationship with him were, especially through the image of Icarus and Daedalus.

As a random aside, I would recommend anyone interested in reading a prime example of modernist “hyper-allusiveness” and inscrutability to check out Ezra Pound’s Cantos.

Also, if you check the #eng493 feed on twitter I posted a set of literature parodies by the comic book artist R. Sikoryak, which include one of a modernist, Kafka: http://bit.ly/3tzkto. (Hint: It’s the one with the bug in the zig-zag sweater.)  And a familiar name from Bechdel, Camus:  http://bit.ly/3QUKN.  Definitely worth a look.

After our class discussion yesterday, I thought I’d look a little closer at Bechdel’s feelings about her father and his suicide. Bechdel obviously yearns for a strong connection to her dad and feels the loss of him keenly.  There’s an early scene of Bechdel getting a bath and she notes that the baths given to her by her father are the ones that she remembers the most:  “The suffusion of warmth as the hot water sluiced over me … the sudden unbearable cold of its absence” (22).  This is about more than hot water, of course.  She was warmed by the attention of her father and chilled when he left her through suicide.

There are many panels that directly address the bond she hopes exists, but which she cannot yet substantiate.  We see this doubt at the top of page 84 when she questions whether telling her parents about being gay is what led to her father’s suicide.  She says that’s illogical, however, because “causality implies connection, contact of some kind … [and] you can’t lay hands on a fictional character”, meaning how can you connect with an illusion.  Page 86 expresses her hope for a connection in a way that is darkly poignant – she wants his death to be about her so that she can hold onto “that last tenuous bond”.  I think her honestly here is amazing – I’m not sure that I could admit to something like that.  Another example comes at the end of the book, when she writes “Perhaps my eagerness to claim his as ‘gay’ … is just a way of keeping him to myself – a sort of inverted oedipal complex” (230).

We see this hopeful yet distant relationship best in the closing panels of most chapters, which often show them together but separate.  For instance, in chapter 3, they are in the same room, but seen through different windows pursuing their own interests (86).  Also, the snapshots of her and her father at the end of chapter 4 show us two different pictures, but highlight their similarities to each other. Chapter 5 is another great example which shows Bechdel and her dad watching a sunset together (150).  The way she is leaning toward him shows her yearning to be close, which sadly is not something he seemed ready to accept.

http://www.bugsandcranks.com/the-clubhouse/baseball/an-interview-with-wilfred-santiago-author-of-21-a-graphic-novel-about-roberto-clemente/

Wilfred Santiago’s graphic novel, 21, about the life of Roberto Clemente came out in 2008, unbeknownst to me. I was somewhat surprised that Santiago is  an avid baseball fan, with the impression I gathered from him after reading In my Darkest Hour.  He mentions in the interview that 21 reveals his influences and passions before getting into comics, and that he began collecting baseball cards at the same time he started collecting comic books. Santiago’s other books are erotic graphic novels; Pink and The Thorn Garden, clearly he’s an eclectic writer. The common thread between his stories seem to be the biographical (or auto-biographical) material.  At the end of the interview he shares a response in line with my assumptions about his personality: 

“I do have some issues with the institution of organized baseball, professional sports in general. Too many things turn me off. So I don’t enjoy watching baseball as much as I liked playing it as a child.”

Santiago; not a fan of institution.

Let me start by saying that I agree with Jessica in that this book has a few similarities to Jimmy Corrigan, but it is more of a true to life story, where Jimmy Corrigan was an aspect of everyday life (nostalgia/depression/anxiety) pushed to the extreme and embodied in a narrative.  The whole bi-polar/manic-depressive thing really hit home with me, as I’ve had a few friends that, around that age, just sort of snapped and, before it was diagnosed, made quite a few mistakes reminiscent of this.  The embodiment of a man in the prime of his life struggling with the everyday and the monotony is haunting, and the juxtaposition of Santiago’s art style with a collage of photographs of real life gives an extra dimension to the effect and style of the book.  It took me a bit to get used to it, and i don’t know if i ever fully did; it may have distanced me more than anything.  Call me close-minded but when I read a comic, I can get lost in the world, as manufactured and drawn as it may be, but when this comic threw scents of reality at me, it kind of pulled me back out of it all.  This comic, to me, is the inverse of some of the Superhero ones that we started the class with, maybe not in message or mood, but in drive.  Watchmen, Dark Knight, Maus, all of these are pretty much plot driven, but in MDH, there wasn’t much plot to be had.  I will say one thing though; Omar is very much human, there’s no doubt about that.

This is definitely not a light read. Somewhat like Jimmy Corrigan, in Santiago’s novel, we have a troubled man who’s looking or hoping for something else in life, while struggling with issues like love, work, social life, etc. “In My Darkest Hour” is definitely a true-to-life story, as many people can probably relate to one or many of the issues Omar deals with in the novel. How many of us has been depressed over a job that seems to be nothing but stress and hassle, while reaping us no rewards? How about feeling like we’re stuck in a place where we don’t want the responsibilities of adulthood, yet we know we have to be responsible for ourselves? These and other topics covered in the novel really can hit home for some readers. That being said, I can certainly understand why some people would find the novel too depressing, or not feel any sympathy for Omar. But as an outsider looking into the world of this character, it’s a lot easier to judge him and his decisions. When we’re going through these issues ourselves, we can always make reasons as to why we do things or choose certain directions. Those of us that have been there can probably relate a lot more to Omar. Those of us that haven’t had any of these experiences would probably find little sympathy for his character.

Along with the content, the artwork of “In My Darkest Hour” really struck me. I enjoyed looking at it artistically, whether or not Omar’s misery was in mind. I really liked how the characters were drawn rather simply, but the backgrounds were more intricate, blurry at times. The backgrounds are drawn realistically, and even feature photographic backdrops. I wonder if in making the backgrounds so defined and realistic, Santiago was showing the reader how concrete life can seem for Omar. Remembering McCloud’s text, the more defined the artwork, the less relatable to the reader. On the other end, the characters are drawn less realistically, and that could be an attempt to get the reader to relate to Omar, since the drawings are more abstract. While this may be a speculation on my part, either way, the artwork was really captivating and helped me swallow the misery of Omar’s character.

Respondents: Do you think that Santiago’s mixture of art styles (realistic backdrops, simply drawn characters) was intentional? Do you think he drew his comic this way in order for his readers to gain different interpretations from the background vs. the characters?

I had trouble figuring out what to be my first reader topic. There’s a recurring theme of 2012 in the graphic novel, after Omar learns about this end of the world theory 12-21-12. It’s his total on a cash register, at one point I think it’s his alarm clock – this doesn’t surprise me that he sees the numbers constantly, now that he knows what they can stand for. What makes me wonder, though, is where did the theme go? It just kinda drops off.

And I’m not sure of what to make of this novel. Manic-depressive, bipolar, slightly neurotic, aging fat man is getting paranoid about his state of being at this stage of his life right now. It’s not really traumatic or unfortunate enough for me to care – that possibly sounds really messed up of me – but anyway, I didn’t really connect/appreciate the storyline. I like the art though. And what I really like about the art is the advertisements are in their true iconic form. For example, the Mrs. Fields cookie bag is the actual font, icon, logo that we see in real life. I guess Santiago can’t do this with everything (big name Fox news becomes Faux, but the font and angled shapes are still there), but I wondered why he focused so much on making sure the logos of pop culture are exactly as we see them today in our lives. Would it really make much difference if that bag of cookies wasn’t Mrs. Fields?

Is Santiago trying to really draw a criticism to these big corporations in his graphic novel? Do these corporations/exact logos have some sort of influence on Omar?

okay, I can’t figure out what to do with the currently non-functioning link for this Thursday’s notes, so I’m going to post what I have here as a place holder of sorts.

Before Presentations:

-briefly discussed final project options

-topic will be covered more in the future

Presentations:

Presentation # 1 — Alexa — “Try to make the best of it”

-analyzed p. 299, The Socks chapter head

-change — nude vs. covered

-gutter role — change in thoughts of Marji and classmate
-tried the impossible task — just learned to draw drapes
-more black in frames as mood darkens and page progresses
-without frustration, Marji would not have sought a creative outlet with friends (p. 304)
-becomes an adult and makes the best out of of everything, and prof. congratulates her and her friends actions in drawing each other in private

Presentation # 2 — Leon — Duality in Persepolis
-analyzed p. 305 (with the two large “schizophrenic” panels) in conjunction with several other instances of duality in the book
-p. 5 — modern vs. traditionalist
-p. ? — veiled vs. unveiled — protestors
-p. 102 — impoverished vs. higher social class
-p. 189 — growing up — beauty mark — physical change — still same inside
-p. 210 — Marji’s reaction to anarchists playing in the forest vs. her childhood
-p. 262 and p. 54 — goes to see friend in wheel chair — wanted her father in that situation so he would be a hero
-p. 279 — comparing Marjane and her husband
-p. 318 — who he wanted to marry vs. who he really married
-p. 299-300 — cultural differences with painting the veiled vs. unveiled

After Presentations:

Discussed questions 4 and 5 of Zen Scavenger Hunt
4. a confrontation that reveals the outermost limits of authority
5. the most meaningless death in Persepolis

Discussed the ending (or absence of an ending) of Persepolis and the class’ reactions to it
-twitter feed showed a lot of confusion and unsatisfaction with the ending
-discussed the confusion in actually ending a memoir when your life is not really over yet — nor the conflict and turmoil that your memoir focuses on

Thought about how reactions might vary if we had read the book in two or four segments
-decided that the experience might be different, but it would be very hard to make an entire class actually stop reading where they were supposed to if it was read in segments throughout the semester

Watched Satrapi interview on the Colbert Report
-Satrapi mentioned that a large reason for the comic and the movie was to humanize the Iranian people

Watched a few minutes of Persepolis movie for style contrasts between the movie and the comic book
-made the veiled women seem serpent-like and creepier
-movie left out several scenes in the comic book in order to better focus on Marji and her reactions
-the music soundtrack lent to the film’s suspense and overall effect

Vaeyn writes:

I find it interesting that the assigned section covers Marjane’s identity crisis. I don’t know if it what was by design or coincidence but it was nice either way.
The first chapter of the section for the week was The Vegetable. I like how it started off with a very detailed look into the awkwardness of growing into an adult. The self consciousness of how you know they are staring at your foot that is bigger than the other one, or that random mole or blemish. It is an interesting look into the personal fable of all teenagers.
The more Marjane tries to fit in the more she ends up becoming the person everyone else wanted her to be. She cuts her hair to look more punk, and smokes joints because her friends do. There is even a point that she lies about heritage at a bar to just fit in.
She goes back and forth between moments of experimentation and returning to herself. After she gives up the punk look she goes through a brief period of returning to herself, but then she starts dating. It is no longer about pleasing everyone, but instead pleasing that one person. Marjane even goes as far as becoming a drug dealer for Jean Paul.
Finally when she returns home she finds out how far her life in Europe has taken her from what she was. In one scene her girl friends ask her about sex and when Marjane tells them she has had sex with multiple men they call her a whore. She goes from one extreme a sexual revaluation to the repressed ways of the fundamentalists. At this point I think it is when Marjane realizes that her attempts to be accepted in Europe made it so she no longer fit in at home.
I think it is sad to what lengths people will go to fit in. Peer pressure is a powerful thing, even more so when a person is in an experimental stage of their life. In trying to find where she would fit in during her years in Europe, Marjane loses sight of everything she was. The thing I found profound about this section is that this is where the influences of Marjane’s past mix with her present desire to be accepted, and are boiled down in the crucible of her adolescence to leave behind what will solidify into the person she becomes. It is a very personal journey and one she is lucky to survive despite her suicide attempt.
Also just to add about Marjane’s suicide attempt, I wonder if it was something did wholly on her own or was it because of a compounding effect of the drugs. Anti-depressants have a history of provoking suicidal thoughts, even more so for anyone still going through adolescences because of the constant fluctuation of hormones.

*

I wanted to continue on Marjane’s struggle for identity.  There were a couple instances in the graphic novel where I felt Marjane’s complex can be waived on multiple levels. Firstly, she’s a teenager so an amount of her struggle can be brushed off cause of her age. Then there is pg 79 where she is completely in tears over Marcus, but the last panel she wonders three things: with a wavering face, “where is my mother to stroke my hair?” with a reminiscint face, “where is my grandma to tell me there will be tons of other boys?” and finally, with a strong face, “where is my father to punish this boy?” These three questions reveal a lot about Marjane’s identity crisis.  Basically, she’s alone and has no idea how to act. She is imagining what her family would tell her/do for her in this situation, if only they were there. But no one is there and they can’t act on it. Marjane is left with a void, but she knows what should fill it. This creates a tension inside Marjane.

Another peer-pressure/fitting in pressure that I recognized in Marjane’s life is on page 120. She gets rid of her obsessive hair on her body, and face. She throws out clothes and has new ones made – an emphasis on her bare, hairless legs in a pair of strappy heels. Then her hair gets cut and permed. There’s brief little panel where she is shopping, and she’s all covered again. And then the next panel, she starts with makeup, emphasis on her lips. I think she has trouble fitting in under unusual circumstances here because she is used to being covered, having no need to get rid of her hair (for who can see it?) but yet, at the same time, she is getting her hair done, wearing makeup, upkeeping with hair, going shopping…these are two different cultures smashing into one person.

So, in summary, I agree that teenagers will do a lot to try to fit in. There’s a lot of peer pressure. But for Marjane, I feel she has these natural basics, but the complexities of her case justify her obsessive ‘what is my identity?’ She has no family to guide her, yet she knows what they would do if they were around. That has to be very frustrating, to know what to expect, what would help, and then…it’s just not there. Also, she is used to going out in public in fundamentalist dress, andd now she’s experimenting cosmetically with everything. She’s probably having trouble defining her comfort level on what she wants to look like.

Nathalie wrote:

“Would you get more of a sense of the story if you did or did not have to wait between issues/volumes? Or does it not matter because maybe Satrapi’s ambivalence is intentional (as opposed to being the product of weak structure)?”

Analyzing these comments in the wake of hearing a bunch of people’s dissatisfaction with Persepolis’ ending, it’s hard to re-contextualize the book’s structure and think of it in terms of a serial. In the end, though, I think that Persepolis’ storyline may have made more sense in increments, as opposed to reading it in one blast straight through. I think the problem with any collected edition of  serialized comic is that it removes the built-in anticipation and sense of momentum that one feels presented with a story incrementally. Being presented with chunks of a story one at a time instead of as a whole forces our brains to work much as a collator instead of a passive sponge, and it makes for a more committed, attentive reader, as opposed to one speed-reading his or her way through a work. It’s a very old trick, and one used by nearly every form of media.

You almost have to wonder if that sense of momentum (maybe that’s not the right word, inertia, perhaps?) that you get from a serialized work is a part of the artist’s process.  The breaks in the story line are as scripted as the character’s words and as useful in developing a sense of pace and motion. Maybe that’s why people have said that Persepolis doesn’t have much a storyline: by serializing her own life and contexualizing it with the troubles in Iran, Satrapi imbued it with a sense of linear progression that we don’t get by having it presented in one, semi-meandering chunk.

After Nathelie’s presentation, we spent the remainder of the class discussing some of the literary elements taking place in “Percepolis.” As a class we analyzed the importance of role reversals and the significance of the veil in the novel.
In a country where even history changes depending on who comes into power, the manipulation of history and role reversals is prevalent. Sometimes it is difficult to keep up with the “truth.” When the teacher contradicts what was previously taught, Marji questions her and is reprimanded. Marji herself encounters personal role reversals in her character. In the middle of a shopping trip in which Marji exudes a great sense of confidence, a bomb explodes toward the end of her street. Frightened for her loved ones, she rapidly sheds the persona of a confident adult and seeks comfort from her mother.
The veil is often used as a metaphor to convey that she must often hide her true identity to stay safe from figures of authority. When she is stopped by one of the scary “preservers of religion” ladies after purchasing the tapes, one of the first things the lady remarks is that Marji is wearing her veil incorrectly. She goes on to impugn Marji’s Nikes, denim jacket, and Michael Jackson pin. Marji, who is usually quick on her feet when she finds herself in trouble, spins a tall tale about a dead mother and an abusive stepmother, successfully wheedling her way out of a dangerous situation – the veil representing the lie behind which Marji must hide. Another example of the veil representing a lie is when her mother confronts her about skipping school (pg 113) and Marji, the veil covering her face, lies to her mother about having gone to class.

Doing the reading for today, I almost wish I had picked this section to do my presentation on, just because of page 206. I feel like what Satrapi is doing here is characterizing the mother-daughter connection she has as something distinctly Persian by couching it in terms of mythology and tradition. You certainly don’t have to be Persian to be close to your mom, but the two female friends I have from Iran have such a similar family relationship to these characters that I am constantly reminded of them as I read. I think of Satrapi and her mother’s unique relationship as a distinct cultural marker.

What first caught my attention on this page was the sentence, “I spent twenty-seven days by her side.” The combination of a very specific number of days (which contains 7 and is a multiple of 3, two numbers that are very significant in many cultures) and the idea of spending every minute learning from a wise elder made this sound like something out of a myth. The last panel, on the other hand, contrasts the first not only because the mother leaves, but because the time period given is “several months,” a much less specific and more modern phrasing. It retains the feeling of a fable, though, because the narrator is shown traveling with a gift she recieved after her twenty-seven day vigil: “a bag of affection” that seems to sparkle magically.

Just looking at all the pictures in between, especially those with the black backgrounds, the page seems to tell a story that combines many elements of quest stories and fairy tales. I am not very familiar with Persian stories, but I am sure they retain some of these archetypal scenes, and anyway Satrapi is a product of the West as much as the East. The weary traveler is given a safe place to rest by the older woman who takes her in; they talk in a secret language that the reader is never privy to; the traveler aids the older woman; she recieves in turn traditional warnings and advice; she is given gifts that she will carry with her as she continues her journey. The panel at the lower left-hand corner switches back to a white background, and in my opinion back to the modern day. There is an airport in the background, which is not extremely realistically drawn but is more concrete than in the previous panels. The narrator and her mother are not archetypal characters anymore, but real people with real emotions.

I’m not sure if anyone is doing this page for their presentation, but it would be interesting to see how anyone else’s interpretation differs from mine.

A couple of other people have talked about their dissatisfaction with the ambivalent ending. I too, was struck by it, but this wasn’t the first time. The copy I have is divided into two volumes (Persepolis and Persepolis 2). The ending of the first volume was also very jarring. She suddenly leaves for Austria, her mother faints at the airport, and the end. Apparently in the original French, it was divided into four volumes (Persepolis 1-4), averaging at 90 pages each and was later combined in a single volume in 2007. This made me wonder if the other volumes also ended in an awkward fashion and where she chose to end them.

I think part of the reason people found the endings so dissatisfying in their ambivalence is that there’s no real structured plot to the story (not to say that that’s a bad thing!). Things just sort of happen. The narrative moves along and people get sucked into it, but when there’s no longer a story left to tell, it just ends. Some memoirists try to tie things up in a nice little bow as a means of explaining what they think the meaning of life is. I don’t think Satrapi does that. She’s just here to tell her story and that’s it.

I wonder if I wouldn’t think there was so much of a discord in the overall story if I’d read it in four separate volumes. To me, Persepolis 2 is far more distinctly a memoir (with less of an emphasis on historical events). It’s about adolescence, growing up, angst over guys, etc. It seems disconnected from the first volume (maybe that’ s the intent?). However, if it were divided in smaller pieces, maybe I would find everything blends together better? This is also my second time reading it. I wonder if I had read it in a single volume the first time my reactions would be different. It reminds me of the trade paperbacks a lot of American comic books publishers put out, collecting several issues (or one story arc) into one book. Would you get more of a sense of the story if you did or did not have to wait between issues/volumes? Or does it not matter because maybe Satrapi’s ambivalence is intentional (as opposed to being the product of weak structure)?