I realize that this is a little late, but that’s better than never I hope.  Commenting on the structure of Persepolis, I’m not quite sure that its fair to be pleased or displeased with the ending.  True, reading some sort of narrative, our mind strives for the idea of a wholly symmetrical completion of the story, but for a work such as this, that’s not the point of it all.  In fiction, the craft of the story is often the focus, with the events just as important, but relying on the way that they are presented.  With any sort of non-fiction, the reverse is in order.  The brunt of the work that the reader must be concerned with is the events, with the stylistic elements there to add the creator’s appropriate slant.  I know I’m generalizing here, but bear with me.  To say you like or do not like the ending is to marginalize, in a way, the point of the story in the first place.  A narrative such as this is not just here for our entertainment, but for our stimulus and historical reckoning as well.  Whether we’re pleased or displeased is purely secondary; what is truly important is that we caught the weight of the message the author was conveying.  (Someone please let me know if this rambling makes no sense).  Also, i may come back and add on to this after class today.

Lauren wrote:

“Throughout the narrative of Persepolis, the reader is always moving forward. The narrative transforms and ages much like Marji does, therefore creating a unique connection between the reader and Marji. There are first hand accounts of acid trips, sexual encounters, and all-out disasters that are privvy to us and not to her parents. Perhaps returning to her homeland imprisioned her more than empowered her, but the ending of Persepolis was like an object at rest. There was a halt to movement, flow, and reason of the novel. All the while this young strong women is testing the limits and finding herself in a culturally mixed up world you would expect a stronger ending to come out of  it. All development was halted, as Marji was sent off again. I’m not expecting a happy ending with butterflies and songs, but a stronger statement could have been made. Yes, this is a memoir, and yes, that makes it inherent to Marji’s own life. But, as we discussed in class last week Marji’s life was defined by her country’s history — and a tumultuous one at that. Marji was such a  turgid teenager living in Austria that I personally expected her return to Iran to be one of political discourse, with power and uprising against what was being done to her country. Never did I expect for her to leave, especially after her parents wanted her back home so badly. This isn’t a narrow-minded rant about feminism or about revolution. It is merely a comment on a narrative, whether it be real or not.”

I had the same reaction when I finished the book. I turned the page expecting to continue reading, but there was no more! I was a bit disappointed. For one thing, I really enjoyed this book and wanted more. But I was also disappointed with the halted ending. I suppose it was poignant, but weakly so. In one way, Marji was leaving Iran for the second time, to begin her journey into adulthood on her own. There were happy tears from the family, and everyone was ready to move into the new phases of their lives: Marji to begin her life as a single adult, her parents to begin their truly “empty nest” phase, and then….grandma’s death. That threw me off. Especially when I turned the page and realized that was the last panel of the book. I wasn’t sure exactly how to take that. The news of grandma’s death and then the last words “Freedom had a price” were very solemn. I wanted to be happy for Marji and her transition into adulthood, but I was too sad and confused! “Freedom had a price.” Does that refer to Marji, paying for her “freedom” from home by losing her grandma, or was that phrase referring to how grandma died, in some act of political retaliation? The latter seems a bit out there, but damnit, the text was vague and I didn’t know how to take it!! Nevertheless, I did really like this novel, regardless of the off-putting ending.

A couple people have sort of said that they view Persepolis and a historical memoir, with an emphasis on the historical as opposed to the memoir. I disagree! Robocancan brought up the issue of an unreliable narrator.

Maybe it’s because I’m all about nonfiction and memoir, but I see this comic book as memoir first and a history lesson second (and it’s not just because it says “MEMOIR” next to the bar code!). It’s precisely because of the issue of an unreliable narrator. Satrapi gives a summary of Iran’s history in the introduction to provide context for what happens. If anything, the specifics of her story are what make it universal and more memoir-like. People have been saying that they remember looking at the world in such and innocent, black-and-white way. American Born Chinese is the same way; people related to it because they recognized that they had their own Timmys in grade school. The fact that young Marji’s convictions are so defined when memories can be so hazy is evidence of that unreliability. (It doesn’t do much good to say I think this may have happened, sort of, even if it is more honest.) But that unreliability attracts us to our own egotistical view that our memories are infallible.

Of course you can learn about Iran’s turbulent history or what it’s like to grow up as a first generation Asian-American, but the reason people buy these books is because they are trendy the reader can relate to them on some level. Interestingly, one person said they had a hard time getting into the book because everyone looked the same. The more specific an author is, the more an audience connects with the characters.

If anything, Maus was more historical in nature because the transformation of human psychology under the extreme conditions of the Holocaust is completely foreign to our generation. We might sympathize with the story, but I don’t know if we can ever truly understand it.

The unreliable narrator is evidence of Satrapi’s likability. We talked about flashbulb memories a little while ago. Our memories are extremely unreliable things and we can appeal to the fact even a little girl from Tehran viewed things in a binary fashion, much as we did as children. Her story is unique because it offers an inside view of what was going on at that time in Iran, but what we like is about it in the first place is that we can relate to her as a person.

-Nathalie L.

I liked reading this First Reader’s response because it was so honest. I remember first reading this novel last year and experiencing many of the same feelings towards Satrapi’s memoir. Falling in love with the unique storyline and simple artwork is easy. Looking deeper into the story, the reader shares in Satrapi’s inner battles of politics, religion, nationalism and her own personal beliefs much like what we all go through in life. The only difference is it is told from someone else’s point of view. But, what makes this a delicious read is that we are taken deep inside the emotions of younger Marji all the way through adolescense, the teen years and eventually young adulthood. The things that I enjoyed about the beginning of Marji’s story is watching her imagination as stories are told to her or the way she imagines how things in life should be. Then, we get to watch her dreams and fantasies progress as she ages and becomes more educated in the world. Her discussions between God and the other prophets are fantastic because of her devotion to her religion but its also an extreme confidence in herself that she is the one God has chosen to bring her people out of oppression. The realism of this book is one that would rival Maus but in a completely different way. With a girl’s constant struggle inside herself to be the best she can be and understand the world around her, the reader is drawn to the character of Marji Satrapi because of how relatable she really is.

Leon made a stellar point by highlighting that there are no “shades of gray” as it were in issues where gray areas may be held as opinions.

Leon says, “the black and white nature of the comics could draw a direct relation to how there are two sides to the conflict between Iraq and Iran. In the comic there is no gray area between this war, you are either for one side or another.” While I agree that the black and white drawings in the comic may often align with separate ideologies, I think that were there to be gray involved in the comic Satrapi would use it quite sparingly. She was very keen and contemplative with most lines and images she used. While patterns dominate many panels, I think that grey would detract from a lot of the strong images that Satrapi is trying to convey.  Reading Leon’s posts makes me think of many different scenes but the most interesting one is a panel we talked about while in class, the dicotomy of the two ideological women (for the veil and against the veil). The women, for the veil, were garbed in black whereas the liberated women, against the veil, were dressed in white. I don’t know what other comparisons could be made, but I’d like to see in what instances white and black is used to subversively make a point.  Another example is when Marji is in Vienna, arguably the darkest time in her life when she was utterly bewildered, she is sketched in all black, except for her face and hands. Maybe the colors, or lack thereof, are saying much more than we realize?

Most of our discussion of Persepolis seems to focus either on the black-and-white color scheme or the historical points explored.  The colors could harken to anything from political cartoons to child’s scribblings, but from what has been discussed so far, the consensus of its major purpose seems to be a representation of dichotomy.  Satrapi shows the division of this Cold War narrative in the tradition of division- black and white, right and wrong.  This is the larger framework that the conflict in Iran, along with Satrapi’s own life-drama there and elsewhere, plays out.  For sixty years, the world was being divided by the machinations of two superpowers, with all the individuals and ideas in that period acting as pawns of varying size and influence, or trying to free themselves from the deadly game.

No matter which side Satrapi is on during her life, it is always the right one.  Religion, communism, anarchy, modern living- she is always convinced that whatever she does is correct.  This mindset is a reflection of the polarized era that penetrated virtually all of civilization during that period, and this is what resonates in the doodle-like nature of the art.  Understanding this rather insane world is tough for even the most world-weary, as shown by all of Satrapi’s role models eventually failing or dying.  The polarization results in  a constant stalemate, an infinite war that only results in more casualties, on the literal battlefield and off.

At the risk of sounding redundant, I also want to examine the aesthetic decisions Satrapi made to frame her narrative – specifically the “simplicity” of the art. (Not using quotations here to imply a condescending rejection.)  The most fundamental components of this simplicity as detailed on the blog seem to be the following: monochromatic color scheme (black and white), a lack of shading, and abstract representations of the characters.

There are a couple of compelling quotes from Thursday’s reading which may illuminate the reasoning behind these aesthetic strategies.   I am referring here to the Chute article.  Hillary Chute asserts that Satrapi’s minimalist aesthetic is central to getting the narrative’s message across: “the narrative’s force and bite come from the radical disjuncture between the often-gorgeous minimalism of Satrapi’s drawings and the infinitely complicated traumatic events they depict” (99).  And, as the narrative details Marji’s childhood, the abstract nature of the art embodies “[the emotional landscape of a child, which is] is moving paradoxically because of its distance from and proximity to the realities it references” (103).  Chute draws special attention here to the image of the man who has been cut into seven pieces.   Marji as a child is unable to fathom in her imagination a real picture of a dismembered body, so we instead get the mannequin-like image of the man split into hollow, bloodless pieces.  So, essentially, Satrapi shows here the impossibility of adequately representing trauma, but also the horrific implications of that inadequacy.  For the latter, Chute says, “in its accessible syntax, its visual ease, [the image] represents the horrifying normalcy of violence in Iran” (103).

Hopefully this helps articulate some of the underlying ideas I read in the posts, and will offer some transition into the reading.

Respondent

Reading Leon’s post, I found I had a similar reaction to the almost child-like drawings the first time I read Persepolis, when I was much less familiar with graphic novels. In fact, as I was rereading this over lunch, my friend had a reaction that I’m sure Satrapi comes across all the time: with such straightforward art and so much text, why isn’t this just a regular novel? (Of course, you can always argue back, what’s not normal about drawing? Why does word-only have to be the norm? But I think I understand what he means.)

Well, it seems to me that as the narrator matures, the art does tend to “grow up” with her. If you check out the last two panels on page 3 (the first page),  it looks very much like what a kid might draw when asked to describe her school: there are a lot of little pictures within the big one; faces are just eyes, mouth and a triangle nose; and sizing of different things has more to do with their detail and importance than any sense of perspective. What this suggested to me at first was, in fact, that the story could be framed as a sort of school assignment–tell us your life–and that an imaginative girl like the narrator might choose to do this in pictures. Turning to any given page later on in the novel (and trying not to spoil anything), you can see a bit more realism in most panels, and I would argue that the fantasy scenes get even more expressionistic and wild.

There are many reasons that Satrapi may have decided to draw her autobiography, including the disparities and hints at Persian art we’ve discussed in class. To this I’d add the ability of visual art to instantly display the narrator’s different mental states at different points in her life.

I found it interesting that so many of the responses to American Born Chinese were related to the Monkey King, and I have to wonder why. Not to say I didn’t enjoy the Monkey King story, but it didn’t attract my attention the way it did so many. For me the best part of that arc was easily the end, when he discover his disguise and how he used his story to influence Jin.

Still, the question is worth asking… why were so many readers drawn to the Monkey King moreso than Jin? He is certainly more fantastical (Monkey King vs. awkward high schooler is a pretty easy win for him, I’d say) which is more expected of the graphic novels on some level, especially after something totally different like Jimmy Corrigan. Still, that couldn’t be all there was to the appeal. There was certainly a sense of humor than came along with that story, and to some degree the Monkey King himself was also more likable than the awkward teens we deal with through the rest of the story. Even though he is making a similar mistake, he’s an ass-kicking monkey making an allegorical mistake rather than the more realistic struggles we see from Jin. Compared to the perceived lack of backbone from Jin, I can see how this is a relief for some.

It’s also interesting that so many of the responders recognized him from elsewhere. This familiarity may have also had something to do with why he garnered as much interest as he did comparatively: he was a flashback.

All that said, personally? I liked Jin’s story better, but that was just me.

To be honest, I was not aware of what this particular monkey king myth was refering to until I read the post about origin of Monkey King.

The story of Monkey King is very famous in China, including near eastern Asian Country. It is not only a popular novel written in 16th century but also been put into comics and anime numerous times.

Since I have not yet finished the entire book, My mind wandered on how the exact story of monkey king fits and correlates to the story of the kid who is struggling to fit into America.

Monkey King feel like the alien of the groups (deity) that is around him. He feels somewhat ridiculed and put down as inferior as these other forms of deities look down on him. Not only that he feels awkard himself being different.

This is how Jing feels among these group of Americans whom are not yet willing to accept him as equal and one of them.

The struggle to fit in and be not different (while not wanting to accept it and be known to others that he cant) touches my mind as I was a foriegner who moved into very white community few years ago.

In that sense, the book “American born Chinese” is rather personal story to me.

I feel that Emma’s post hit on an idea that began bugging me about American Born Chinese once I finished the book.

Emma concluded that “It seems as if they trade in their decency, their humanity – their soul – for a “new identity,” when they are who they are the whole time.” I agree with this statement completely, but my issue lies with the way that Yang incorporated the idea into the book.

For me, the book fell apart at the end rather than everything coming together. Danny is really Jin, Chin-kee is really the Monkey King, and Wei-chen is really the Monkey King’s eldest son, who was sent to earth to test his virtue, and Jin’s part. God (or some variant thereof) helps the Monkey King realize who he is, the Monkey King helps Jin realize who he is, and Jin helps Wei-chen realize who he really is… which is… just a regular human? I haven’t quite figured that last part out yet.

I thought the tie-in of the three separate stories was too much of a punch in the face – even too kiddy-like. Was this intended? I think so. But I still don’t agree that it was the best way to show that people are who they are. In fact, it makes it hard for me to take the book seriously. I would have preferred to make a connection among the stories on my own.

First reader John Yi asked at the end of his post if we really liked Jin in American Born Chinese. I decided to respond because it wasn’t a question I’d considered all that closely while reading.

Simply put, for me the answer is yes. I understand your complaint that he seems to be moving backwards or nowhere at all during the book, but I think it’s important to remember that the end isn’t really the end. This is a story of a young man. At the end even if he got nowhere it doesn’t mean he has nowhere to go.

Besides that, he’s a funny kid. Even if his lack of self-confidence is frustrating at times, he is likable. He definitely has redeeming characteristics that are worth at least some amount of merit.

Chin-Kee, on the other hand, does provide a problem. No one in that story is remotely likable. You feel bad for Chin-Kee to some degree just because he is such a terrible stereotype, but he is also supremely unlikable. Danny is certainly no better, either. He lacks any notable personality, and spends most of his time being embarrassed and/or horrified by his cousin. The whole story line is mostly just uncomfortable to read, and I agree with you there.

As a reader I didn’t find Jin neccesarily likeable, but I could relate to him. Jin represents those painful, awkward, moments of adolescence that everyone experiences. Jin isn’t a wholly likeable character because he’s a reminder of all of our embarrassing moments and teenage angst. I think it’s easy for readers well into their college years and older to look back at that time in their  development and cringe, and watching Jin fumble through his school days and social life is definitely cringe-inducing i.e. on page 95 “Huh huh..at least I didn’t rake the breast.” I think Jin not standing up for himself is realistic (definitely not admirable), I think we all had moments of impotent rage in our adolescence that we didn’t know how to address. Who hasn’t wanted to tell off a popular kid only to cowardly back down and  later  fantasize revenge? I think what makes Jin easy to dislike is his treatment of Wei-Chen. Jin is desperate to distance himself from his cultural identity which has been the source of teasing and torment. It’s kind of heartbreaking to read how Wei-Chen describes Jin to Suzy when they’re locked in the closet when Jin tried to resist even befriending him in the first place. Yang is brilliant at accurately depicting the fickle nature of adolescent friendship without patronizing the reader with a big “here’s what we all learned” message. I think Jin gallantly standing up for himself and his friends would ring as false and unrealistic with most readers. The passivity which allows racism is definitely exasperating, and yet unfortunately very real. As terrible as it sounds, there’s something about the hardness and callousness of youth that makes overt racism seem more okay than it is in adulthood (for example the classmate asking Jin if he eats dogs), or perhaps racist adults are better at hiding their prejudiced views.

Overall, I definitely agree that Jin isn’t likeable, but Yang didn’t insult the reader by presenting a sugar-coated story.

While I understand the natural tendency to have more sympathy for one person vs another it is really hard for me to look at the stories/histories of Jimmy and James in these terms. 

When I consider the way Ware has constructed this story what with its stream of conscious and interconnecting panels that more often than not flow seamlessly from present to past to imagination/dream to present again, I consider this and can’t help but think that Ware does not really want us to look at these men separately (not entirely). I think the entire structure of the work points to how connected these men are.

In my mind I see them as two sides of the same coin. They are almost like the same raw product/raw material placed under different circumstances and the entire novel unfolds the results.

In childhood they are very similar both largely live in a fantasy world to escape the circumstances that surround them. I would say Jimmy and James equally fantasize about women James just happens to have recurring fantasies on the same woman that doesn’t want him. Now of course we aren’t shown Jimmy’s childhood fantasies, excluding Superman, but one could argue that Jimmy is stuck in a perpetual state of childhood, thus we can still compare the sexual fantasies Jimmy has as an adult child to the sexual fantasies James has as an actual child.

Another thing that connects them is violence. All of the violence in James’ life is based in reality. He is physically abused and physically attacks the people (the red-head girl) around him. Jimmy is also physically violent but it is all rooted in his imagination. Jimmy’s life in reality is emotionally violent (for lack of a better term) abandoned as a child, coddled all his life by his mother rather than raised to be independent, largely unwanted by the opposite sex, used by the males in his life (Superman and his male co-worker). I see the violence as mental/emotional as well as passive thus it manifests in the subconscious/imaginary world.

Circumstance dictates that James take care of himself. Jimmy has never been on his own; this is where their tales drift. Their fathers(and lack thereof) directly influence the course of their sons lives. (The resemblance of  James’ s father to Jimmy’s father is another parallel in the story)

James, though he has his issues, has become in many ways a whole person. We see in his old age the complete person with a full life that Jimmy can become. And that we are possibly led to believe he will become with the entrance of his new co-worker.

I see James and Jimmy as the past and future of each other.  I have equal pity for both of them. I feel sorry for a child that’s been forced to fight all his life; the same way I feel sorry for a child who has been rendered incapable of defending himself. I think of his outburst at his grandfather’s kitchen table–“I just want people to like me!” How could I not feel sorry for such a person. Jimmy has gotten a lot of flak for his weakness but I think that is why Jimmy is relatable he is just the magnification/exaggeration of the small desire that is in all of—a desire to be liked. Perhaps we dislike the magnification of that dark/weak/human part of ourselves—a desire for acceptance—whatever the reason is