Of Comics and Men: A Cultural History of American Comic Books is an excellent book that I heartily recommend. It was first brought to my attention by Will Hansen and Ben Bolling during their talk at NC Comicon last year and again during their panel discussion at this year's Comics Fest. Because it's definitely an academic title, I ordered a copy through interlibrary loan, but there were plenty of libraries with a copy, so that shouldn't be too difficult a prospect for anyone in particular.
Besides Will and Ben's recommendations, I was drawn to the book by its explicit acknowledgement that it covers only American comics. Perhaps I've gotten a bad sample, but I'm used to books and documentary films claiming to be histories of comics in general but covering only American works, as if they're the only comics worth mentioning. It made me skeptical at first, but, as the author demonstrates, the US really has historically dominated the medium, for better and/or worse, making this kind of treatment justified. As Tintin cartoonist Hergé said, "One of the essential qualities of the American comics, like the American cinema, seems to me to be its great clarity. In general, the Americans know how to tell a story, even if that story is twaddle." (Quoted on page 277.)
The book frames itself as a cultural history, which is to say it is an examination of the place of the comic book within American culture. The first and largest section retells the general timeline of events, from their "invention" with plagiarized European imports in the 1840s, through various ups and downs (popularity, profitability, hype, content scope, etc.), to today. Next, Gabilliet looks at historical developments in the production, business, authorship, and readership of comics. Finally, he looks at comics' journey toward internal and external legitimacy, including the misunderstood history of comics censorship, one of the most enlightening portions of the book.
That the book consists exclusively of prose is noteworthy only because its subject is a visual medium. If it were not an academic work, I'd say that it suffers from its lack of illustrations; instead I'll just suggest that it shouldn't be anyone's introduction to the history of comics. I benefited heavily from my exposure to the books and stories it mentions, and I think the ability to call up images at will is pretty essential to keeping the book from being an abstract catalog of events and names. The only other downside (though it's related) is that it doesn't address changes in comics's artwork. I understand why Gabilliet would draw the line at this massive topic, but, if visual art is part of culture, it is a logical expectation to see this addressed in the discussion. Change in narrative (the other "half" of comics) is covered somewhat it the form of notes on genre, theme, and tone, but this aspect of the history is also mostly missing. Or maybe I misunderstand what "cultural history" is supposed to mean. Either way, I'd love to see books that address these aspects of comics as they've changed through time.
This notable but forgivable gap aside, the book is as thorough a history of American comics as you could want. I was fascinated to learn how the studio system worked, why credited authorship had been resisted by publishers and artists alike, and that censorship of comics was a much more complicated situation than is conventionally understood. Finally, I was happy to find the goldmine at the end: a bibliographic essay that presents "an overview of the main bibliographic sources enabling an approach to the study of comic books from a cultural history perspective." (So good I photocopied it for later!)
I highly recommend Of Comics and Men for anyone interested in the history of American comics, even if they think, as I had, that they already know the whole story. I'd even go so far as to call it required reading for aspiring comics librarians (like me). Skip it for now if you haven't had a look at less academic books and films, but definitely keep it on your list for later.
October 28, 2012
October 15, 2012
Today's Google Doodle, those fun re-worked logos that Google uses on its search page, commemorates the 107th birthday of Winsor McCay's Little Nemo in Slumberland. The strip remains one of the finest examples of the comics medium, notable for its incredible draftsmanship and its wonderfully fantastic world-building. Briefly, it's the story of Nemo, who goes on adventures in his dreams with a wacky cast of characters accompanying him (including the very regrettable racial caricature, The Imp), only to wake up at the end of each strip.
The Google Doodle is an excellent tribute to the strip, and it does a great job of getting across what's so enjoyable and enthralling about the strip: the fantasy, the imagery, the adventure, and the reliably goofy punchline at the end. It's also an example of a phenomenon called "motion comics" (unless there's a more specific definition I'm not aware of), which is a relatively new form of narrative in which comics are presented on a screen -- so, web comics, basically -- with at least some animation incorporated into some or all of the panels. The motion can be constant and repetitive, although I believe it is more common to have the motion unfold panel-by-panel (and also click-by-click), much like the anticipated movement of the reader's eye across the page with the direction of the narrative.
It's definitely an interesting development in the comics medium, especially considering that comics are already a transitional medium. Motion comics bring up questions of the relationship between the cartoonist and the reader, including the tension of "controlling" the pace of the narrative. It also fits into the ongoing question of how comics do and do not relate to film, since it's essentially an average of the two mediums.
With admittedly little experience or extended thought, I'm not a fan of motion comics. For now, they seem like a gimmick (these Dark Horse "motion comics" are just regular old animation made with the comic book art), though it's true that gimmicks have a way of surprising curmudgeons like me with their longevity. Considering them as a librarian, I doubt they'll be incorporated into anyone's collection budget anytime soon, if only because I don't believe they're for sale as such. I bet they'll show up first as part of magazines' web/tablet editions and then maybe on their own as a subscription like any other e-periodical. But, considering we're only recently getting to see still e-comics as a product that people are willing to buy, I have a feeling it'll take a while to consider the motion kind, maybe even long enough to see their demise altogether.
By the way, check out this great essay on Little Nemo at Salon.com by Douglas Wolk.
Google image copyright Google.com.