Amy most definitely served as a foil to Jimmy, most specifically in her relationship with her parents compared to Jimmy’s. While Amy’s mother had already passed away, it felt as if she shares a stronger connection with her and than Jimmy shares with his own mother who is still alive. The fact that we are talking about Amy’s adoptive mother underscores the fact that quite often family isn’t about blood. When they hear the news that their father has died, Amy is stricken with grief and shows us an example of how most would react in that situation. That is juxtaposed with Jimmy’s complete non-reaction, not that he isn’t entitled to it.

In the powerful moment when Amy rejects Jimmy, it once again reinforces how little blood relations means to Amy. She doesn’t know him and has only met him through a tragedy. And there is no point in trying to establish a relationship with him because to Amy–Jimmy is a stranger who she now associates with grief. Just as Amy has no desire to meet her birth mother, she would probably rather forget about Jimmy’s existence.

Not only does the overall character of Jimmy cause the reader to be detached from his state of being, it makes him a downright alien life form. I don’t think Jimmy is meant to be relatable; I think that the reader is meant to perceive Jimmy with the same disdain that everyone in his world shows towards him. Amy is super-sweet, and considerably innocent (well, as innocent as anyone can ever be in a “raw around the edges ‘cuz that’s how real life is!” indie work…), yet she frequently loses patience with Jimmy, only to subtly reassert patience in order to progress the dialogue. That loss of patience is something I greatly sympathize with; as a reader, I continually realized that everything Jimmy does, I would do differently. Not a little differently, in a “matter of taste” kind of way, but rather in a “I wouldn’t even get myself into that situation, and even if I did, I wouldn’t react to it in a creepy, sexually repressed, yet still completely inert” kind of way. Jimmy simply glides from situation to situation, without truly acting or reacting. His decision to go see his father, which is a rather large deal, is made with a minimum of emotion, reflection, or any kind of thought at all, really. And how does he feel about his father’s revelation of Amy? Well, after lingering on his father’s word choice (“mistake”), his feelings mostly subside. If they are there at all when they meet, he doesn’t act on them in any degree. Like every other dialogue in Jimmy’s life, he mutters semi-incomprehensibly when he does manage to speak, and leaves the other participant to assume what they may about him; Jimmy’s father was left with the assumption that he had a girlfriend, for example.

Either Jimmy is secretly a brilliant yet covert conversationalist who expertly deceives others into a false sense of security, or he’s one concussion short of a coma, if you know what I mean.

My final verdict is that he is detached and unrelatable, as an artistic choice on Chris Ware’s behalf, and it is ultimately up to the reader whether or not it is their cup of tea to read several hundred pages about someone with whom they secretly (or not so secretly) hate.

I am not going to touch the peaches with any detail because I think Jeanine nailed it. Instead I am going to muse for a moment. Someone described Jimmy Corrigan to me as “an extremely depressing” book, and that got me excited to read it, as many of my favorite stories are fairly downbeat.  What that might say about me aside, I tried very hard to enjoy Jimmy Corrigan. In the end however, I found it to be a test of the reader’s endurance. I kept waiting for the “hook” and found that there was none. Ware seems more intent on creating a mood more than anything else, and while he manages to get some small details about life so right, I’m not sure how I feel about it as a whole.  I don’t know if anyone else can relate to this, but this book reminded me of Gus Van Sant’s film “Gerry.” A movie with almost no dialogue, only 2 characters, no clear plot, small exchanges between the two are themselves abstracted though enlightening to characters and relationships but little else; it becomes a visceral experience more than anything else. You find yourself waiting for the catch, where the plot will kick in, but it never does, more importantly you begin to try and find a meaning within the work, looking for symbols, patterns. Humans seek meaning in everything, when we can find no clear meaning we go up a level in abstraction, until a work with no clear meaning is about having no meaning. While Jimmy’s story is not nearly as sparse as that film, I do see similarities, both in construction and how I approach it. I think that both work at a level somewhere one or two levels of abstraction above where a plot might sit. You might say “Gerry” is about using  the audiences expectations as to what a film should be, and dashing them at every turn. Jimmy on the other hand is rich with symbolism, having to do with a variety of Jimmy’s problems. So I think that by having a work without clear plot, can sometimes make us think more critically about the work, to our own benefit.

I also think that, in response to the poster who talked about Ware being similar to Jimmy, there is indeed some truth there. If you read the notes at the end of the book, Ware talks about making contact with his own estranged father and how that worked itself out in his book. Indeed I think most would agree that among a few other things, one of the key themes is parental influence, or lack thereof.

Overall, as much as I wanted to like this book, I just found it mostly a chore to get through. Where I think Ware really succeeds is in his form. The art and layout as well as his ability to juggle realities and time periods, all point to greatness. I wish I didn’t hate it so much.

I really enjoyed reading bfleser’s post and agree with much of it, although you are much kinder about Jimmy’s “awkwardness” than I’m going to be.  First, those damn peaches.  I found the recurring symbol of peaches important in showing Jimmy’s repressed sexual nature.  Peaches have long been associated with female genitalia and sexuality and I believe that this may explain why it keeps popping up in the book. The description of the peach by the old man in the airport says it all:  “A soft, single-seeded stone fruit, with a pinkish, red-tinted downy skin and moist, dewy flesh”.  Peaches are either out of Jimmy’s reach or he avoids them.  For instance, we first see the peach dangling high above the scene showing a bloody Amos, killed by his father because of the missing truck, the truck that would transport Jimmy to his first date and possibly toward a sexual encounter.  On the next page, we see Jimmy as the robot, leaning as far from the peach tree as possible (this may be a stretch, as it could simply be Jimmy slumped over in sleep).  Also, in a flashback scene, James eats sugar infested with bugs rather than eating a fresh, ripe, juicy peach.  I find it interesting that most, if not all of his thoughts about women end with them cuddling, rather than having sex.  Even his imagination recoils from the thought!

So, I think Jimmy Corrigan is a sexually repressed boy-man with a highly active and very disturbing imagination.  He has been seriously damaged by his relationship with his overbearing mother, as we can see from his unfortunate attraction to the equally overbearing Peggy, from his office.  In fact, women in positions of authority seem to turn him on (witness his fantasy about the doctor). His uneasiness with women is matched only by his hostility toward them.  Of course, they seem to constantly reject him and not in a kind way (Peggy and the woman on the plane who accuses him of staring at her breasts are two examples), so this is perhaps understandable.  This love/hate is reflected in Jimmy’s (Chris Ware’s?) borderline misogyny and objectification of women, which runs through much of the book.  This is first seen in the comments of his male co-worker:  “I’ve made it my personal rule not to tell any chick I like her until I’ve fucked her at least six times”, a sentiment closely echoed by his father later in the book – “never tell ‘em you like ‘em until you’ve ‘done’ ‘em”.  And it doesn’t help that his dad then says “How’s your mother, by the way?”, a comment sure to add to Jimmy’s sexual confusion by forcing him to see his mother as a sexual object.  Soon after this, Jimmy’s imagination has him in bed with a “cocktease whore” who had the temerity to say ‘no’ to his sexual advances because she doesn’t feel ready.  And, again, when he listens to the tape recording of the couple walking by arm-in-arm (the woman says to the man, “You’re the most wonderful guy I’ve ever met…I think I might be falling in love with you”), his response is to laugh (bitterly, I think) and call the woman a “bitch”. All of this shows his skewed vision of women, which probably stems from his abusive past.

Jimmy is a mess.  While I do have some sympathy for him, he makes me terribly uncomfortable.  His mild manner belies a seething cauldron of fury ready to explode at any moment.  If I were Tammy (the new girl in his office) I would ask to switch desks.

This is responce to Sherell’s post. 

I  think Art’s decision to “save his Mom from the ovens if he had to choose between his parents” had to do with both his disdain for his father and his regret of not having a stronger relationship with his mother before her suicide. His choice stems from both relationships. Art’s relationship with his father progressed as he grew up causing him to feel annoyed with Vladek over time. We have to remember that Art’s Mom committed suicide when he was only 20. Vladek died when Art was an adult- he was able to have a full functioning (or dysfunctional) relationship with his father. In my opinion, Art is more inclined to save his mom because he didn’t get to have the fully dysfunctional relationship with her while he was an adult. He sees the bad sides to Vladek because he was with Vladek until the end.

Of course Art feels guilty about the way he treats his father.  In a way, Art and Mala are very similar. They care about Vladek and want to help, but while they’re there with him, they’re constantly annoyed and angered by his outrageous behavior. Unlike Mala, Art can’t run away. Vladek has his sweet moments with Art which is somewhat redeeming; however, sometimes I get the feeling Vladek is trying to guilt Art into staying with him longer by saying how much he enjoys the visits and their time together. Art feels guilty because he is constantly bothered by his father which causes his temper to be short but ,I believe, at the end of the day, Art (and most children) would want to care for their parents if they were ill. Pages 125-128 (in book 2) demonstrate this. Regardless of Vladek’s ridiculous actions of repacking everything and complaining about the packed sunglasses, Art still puts up with his father’s behavior and choreographs his arrival back to New York.

I completely agree with everyone’s perspective on pages 41-46. Art Spigelman does a fantastic job of creating an intangible world that almost makes such a traumatic experience as the holocaust seem near legendary. It also provides a whole other perspective on how we read MAUS. I know for we, it absolutely made me think of the book in a whole other light, as if I was reading a dark comedy for a few pages. Then afterward, we’re thrown back into the narrative we were accustomed to through reading the first book. Pure brilliance.

One of the things that I enjoy most about Maus is the fact that it is so aware of itself, or rather, that Art Spiegelman is so aware of himself as character and author. The accuracy in story telling is something that all memoirists struggle with, and I read the metafiction, as Alex’s first reader post points out, as something that makes it a bit more authentic. The fact that Art points out, “In real life, you never would have let me talk this long without interrupting” (16), putting his anxieties to the forefront, actually sort of builds trustworthiness of the narrator. Specifically in the “Time Flies…” section, he is upfront about his struggles as an author again for an extended period of time; this is incredibly powerful. This snapshot of Art, because the novel is so non-linear, is something that keeps it all bound together. Not only is Art aware of his own anxieties as the author, he is aware of the reader’s anxieties on trying to find meaning in his book. He starts to shut down on page 42, as interviewers are hounding him for a message he didn’t mean to convey and things he hasn’t even thought about. Art as the character and the author doesn’t have all the answers and hasn’t considered everything, and that frankness is something the reader is now aware of. The more honest Art is with himself in Maus, the more honest he is with the reader, and strengthens that relationship as well as the book’s impact.

To answer the question about whether or not we think Vladek’s recollection is framed by his own bias or if he is the way he is because of traumatic experiences, I would agree that yes, both situations apply. Everyone always has a bias and a subjective perspective when recollecting something from memory. If you put 99 people in a room to observe the same thing, you’re going to get 99 different perspectives about what was observed. This isn’t to say that someone’s perspective and recollection is more or less true than the other, its just fragments of the truth, but nevertheless, contains truth. I actually found myself asking the same question as I was reading Maus. I was very moved and compelled by the story as I was reading it, but I couldn’t help but ask myself at times, “Is this really the way it happened? Could it be possible that this is just one man’s subjective perspective on the way things were? Wouldn’t someone else who was there say different, even opposing things?” This is, of course, is my attempt to approach this from an “objective, literary” angle. Well, I think the obvious answer would be yes, things really happened this way, and yes, if you ask someone else who was there with Vladek, they might say something completely different. We know the Holocaust was real, and we know, or trust rather, that Vladek was really there as well. There might be some things missing or inaccurate about his story because of his bias in perspective, but we know the general construct of his story to be true. I think this is the interesting about making Vladek’s story into a comic book. Comics only show fragments of what is going on, not the whole “truth” if you will. But we know the general, overall story to be true. In the case of Vladek’s story, despite missing pieces, we are given much reason to believe, based off what we already know in history, that his overall story is true. The interesting thing about Maus is that Vladek is our only source of knowing, everyone else, such as Art’s mother, has passed. Much remains in ambiguity because there are stories and perspectives we will never hear.

I would definitely say though that Vladek’s behavior is a result of traumatic experiences of his past. I mean, he has had to endure some of the worst experiences known to man, the holocaust and his wife committing suicide. If you observe Vladek’s behavior, it is pretty clear that he acts this way as a result of his past. In volume 1, Art notes that Vladek always got mad at him for a kid for not eating all the food on his plate. Also, the fact that Vladek has saved so much stuff, and refuses to spend money on what he sees as unnecessary things. I would assume these are symptoms of being a holocaust survivor, as at that point, even the most basic resources were hard to come by. It does not surprise me that Vladek acts in such a way. So in conclusion, yes, I agree that both apply to Vladek and his perspective.

The present-tense action is just as significant as the scenes from Vladek’s experiences in the Holocaust, though the latter may be more immediately emotionally gripping. The flashback structure is an integral part of making Maus what it is, which is more than a narrative strictly about the Holocaust. It’s also largely about how we reflect on and relate to our pasts and places in history, about self-reflection and discovery, and how we cope with devastation and times when we suffer the inability to maintain control over our lives. Maus is concerned, ultimately, with the way these things can shape who we are and what we become.

The flashback technique has other immediate effects upon the narrative, as well. For example, the contrast between the present-day scenes of everyday life as we are more likely to understand it and scenes from life as it was during the Holocaust make the atmosphere of both time periods and environments all the more striking.

The strained relationship between Art and Vladek also mirrors the relationship between the reader and Maus itself (and the content it depicts). Being fundamentally rooted in Vladek’s recollections of the past, the injection of the present into the narrative allows for the existence of the character Art, and others, and provides the reader with some context of familiarity to use as a hub for witnessing the horrors of Vladek’s personal accounts, and later reflecting.

While reading the first readers view of characters and choice of color (or lack there of) of Maus, I could not help but agree with most of the aspects of their view/opinion. It is very true that if color had been chosen to be placed within this graphic novel, it would take from the overall story line of this amazing artistic novel. From every different choice of line there is another reason for its use and purpose. Many times we can see within the first book of Maus a great deal of cross hatching and marking within a page, it creates a great sense of frenzy and almost panic within the artwork, and as the first reader said the use of black and white to create a “black and white” scenario  also adds to this panic. Most people when reading a comic gravitate towards the boldest sections of color, or the set with the greatest amount of motion. Within Maus we are left with only our eyes searching the page for darker areas, usually displaying the most emotion within the panels.

As for the choice to use animals, I agree as well. The beauty of a graphic novel is that even in truth, it can be a work of fiction. The use of animals gives a big of ease to the reader without taking away from the real life story and struggles of the characters.

After looking at the original version of Spiegelman’s  three page Maus, I think it really is a great thing that he downplayed the idea of the cat and mouse down to just the talking heads on normal human bodies.  I think the original version was still brutal and realistic in it’s own right, but the representation of dehumanization with so many animal references i think took away from the realism and the emotional connectivity a little bit.  I can understand the cat skull instead of the swastika, but there’s a certain degree of realism that one shouldn’t downplay in a re-telling of a story like this.  The swastika shouldn’t be respected, necessarily, but i’m glad he decided to change it back to the real thing for the final version of Maus, because it’s such a powerful symbol that everyone can relate with, so I feel it draws the reader in closer than the kitty litter and cat skulls of the version before.

I do think that picking cats for the Germans really works for the comic, outside of just the predator/prey realm that it exists in with the Jewish Mice.  I’m not a cat person, so maybe my views on cats are a little slanted, but i don’t really care.  Cats seem to be an indifferent race regardless of what they, or any of their owners, do.  They’ll nonchalantly bring dead mice and birds back to their owners, and they really do everything for their own gain, just like a Nazi for his party.  It’s almost as if they embody the worst parts of human personality, which the inhumanity of the Nazis and the holocaust had in spades.

I find it interesting that Seth feels more “unsettled” by Maus than Watchmen or DKR.  Sure, Maus handles a subject matter that is arguably one of the greater travesties of all time, but, at least in my opinion/experience, Watchmen and DKR handle a subject matter that seems more pertinent (‘modern’ if you will).  Also, and I’ll risk the insensitivy of saying this:  as a consumer of literature, history, etc., etc. throughout my education, I’ve become just the slightest bit desensitized to the setting.  Perhaps it’s the undying cynic in me, but think about it:  when you want a story with a huge emotional impact, there’s no more perfect villain than a Nazi, and no better hero than a Holocaust survivor.

However…

The way Spiegelman tells his story; through the use of the comics form with simplistic iconic art and the modularity of the narrative, constantly skipping back and forth between ‘Present’ and WWII, is what I think makes it something extremely special and worthwhile.  Vladek is a real character, with real motivations, emotions, and complex relationships who faces difficult conundrums in his day to day life as a Jew during WWII, not simply the ‘survivor’ archetype. 

Simultaneously, we are unsure of Art’s intentions.  Is this work meant as a tribute to his father?  Or is it just a vehicle toward fame and fortune?  Or are these books meant to honor entirely different people (as evidenced by the dedications)?  Are his motives selfish or selfless?  And are they less pure than Vladek’s motivations, because they aren’t as necessary as the basest instinct of survival?

Obviously I’ve strayed from the original path.  But that’s the nature of a response, and the beauty of the mind.

Nathalie asked, in first reader post:

Respondents: What do you think of the present tense action? Is it necessary? What are some other reasons he might have structured the story with flashbacks intermingled with the present? … What do you think of the usage of dialect? Is Vladek the only one to speak in accented English? Is it effective? Confusing? Offensive?

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I agree that the present time action in Maus is a effective in breaking up the war-time story line. I felt like it kind of brought me back to my senses after reading (and seeing) the startling account of Vladek and Anja’s experiences. I do think that this integration of present time panels is necessary in adding depth to the novel. Spieglman certainly could have made it a strictly 1930s-40s timeline, but the infusion of his experience with his elderly father not only let us know more about the author himself, but most importantly (I think) it gives us depth into Vladek’s character hand how the war effected him for the rest of his life. Through those present time panels, we see how conscious Vladek is of his health, and how frugal he has become. Of course, seeing his experience in the Holocaust explains exactly why.

I enjoyed reading Vladek’s accented dialect. Like someone mentioned in class, after sitting and reading the first book straight through in one sitting,  I couldn’t stop thinking in this inverted accent. It reminded me of my own grandfather (another Polish Jew). I found it very effective; I think it gave Vladek all the more personality. It made him real, gave him roots (which I think is a little more difficult in this particular novel, since there was no longer descriptive passages telling us about Vladek’s history). We hear the story pretty much only through Vladek’s voice and for me,  his accent made it all the more believable and true to life.

Normally I cringe at examining anything through a feminist lens, but after a few people mentioned a lack of authentic female characters, I couldn’t help but read the book that way.

Alyse mentioned her dissatisfaction with Laurie, but later put her flaws in perspective with the male characters’ flaws. I don’t actively think Alan Moore is a sexist or a chauvinist, but I think being cynical or power-hungry are a little more innocuous (and appreciated by society) than say…being accused of being a whore or losing a career after having an illegitimate child.

I went back and looked at other minor female characters and I couldn’t really find one that was put in a positive light:

*Joey the lesbian. (ch.5, p.21) It seems like her main purpose is to serve as a foil for Bernard (the guy at the newsstand). She’s a crass butch stereotype. She looks at porn with a toothpick in her mouth and states her opinions on the world. This was probably done to make her seem as “gritty” as the other characters, but she just seemed contrived.

*Rorschach’s mother (ch.6, p.4). She’s a slut (possibly a prostitute?) who verbally and physically abuses her son, which results in severe psychological damage.

*Dr. Long’s wife, Gloria. (ch.6, p.28). Although she starts out as being loving and supportive, she ends up “subject[ing him] to a lot of sexual insults.”

*Dr. Manhattan’s first girlfriend, Janey Slater (ch.4, p.18). Although, the reader might have more sympathy for her (she just got traded in for a newer model), there are few times in the book where she isn’t crying or being angry and bitchy. Also, that whole cancer accusation (even though it was Veidt’s fault) doesn’t paint her in the best of lights.

In the end it turns out Joey’s girlfriend is normal and not also a stereotype (ch.11, p. 6), and Veidt admits to the starting cancer allegations (ch.11, p.26), but those two tidbits don’t change the outlook of women in Watchmen too much.

Now these are all a bit of a stretch, but what if, what if Moore’s less-than-stellar portrayal of women can be attributed to one of the following:

1)    It’s his heavy-handed way of making women seem as “gritty” as the men.

2)    Women traditionally don’t read comic books. To get really Meta, maybe the female characters are crazy and bitchy because they don’t “get” the comic book world. While there are female superheroes, maybe he thinks it’s a guys-only club that women don’t understand.

3)  Female characters aren’t generally presented in a realistic fashion (yay crazy Barbie proportions!) in comic books and Moore is simply pointing that out in the most obvious way possible.