Maus

Art Spiegelman’s Maus is a hard read. Not in the sense of understanding, or from the palatability of the drawings in relation to the subject. It’s a hard read because it’s not afraid to be ugly, nor is it sugarcoating the first-hand experience, and the strain between the father and the son. Maus switches back and forth between the past and the present, as Art wants to create a graphic novel based on his fathers, and mothers (to an extent, he would have gotten her stories from the diary that ended up getting burned) and we see that graphic novel spill out as the father narrates. What is perhaps really interesting of this account, is how Spiegelman composes each narration as a conversation in the present, before only the fathers side of the conversation takes over. The father himself is contrasted between how he is portrayed in the past and how he is in the present (though his narration remains constant). We see how what had happened to him changed him as a person (a change that not even other survivors could comprehend). But that is where the disconnect between the father and the son are very apparent. It’s not a matter them yelling at each other, it’s the matter of the son questioning why his father never spends money, or why he couldn’t just buy a new wire rather than keep one from the street. Even though the father indirectly explains the reasoning for this change in behavior (through his stories of his past), the son doesn’t seem to entirely grasp the event. Is that entirely fair to Art? No, not at all. Even the feelings of comparison between himself and Richieu. But the comic itself (and Art Spiegelman) never gives us a direct answer to this. In some ways, the double autobiographic nature of this novel gives us no distinct “right” perspective and “wrong” perspective. People are people here, even if they are drawn as mice, pigs, or cats. 

The literary nature of Maus makes the graphic novel feel more like reading a written novel than just a comic strip. Events are foreshadowed from the beginning, and the specificity of the character’s words and actions makes the work feel relatable. You’re right there with each story, and there were many points where I felt my skin crawl and tears in my eyes. It hurts, because Art Spiegelman made sure that the people being depicted were as true to life, and that you felt like you were right there in the story as well. It’s subtle, but built beautifully. 

Maus is a body of work that is important not only artistically, but also culturally. It approaches the Holocaust with steady realism. The art is illustrated with a simple render, and the black and white crosshatching gives the work moments to depict the bleakness with harsher and darker pen strokes. It’s a rendition that speaks to us at the highest concept, and for that Maus  does earn the regards as one  of the best graphic novels ever written. 

Underground Comics

The underground comics movement revels in adult humor and topics. Reading Zap and the Gay Comics collection, it’s apparent that the underground comics allowed creators that weren’t straight, white, and male to have a chance at letting their voices be heard (at least in the Gay Comics, Zap leaned more into the racism and sexism). The range of styles (from highly detailed to cruder drawings), and of the stories (from coming out, to humor, to dealing with internalized homophobia). While sex may have been a large focus in those comics, they were never really depicted as something abnormal, or at least they were shown to be in support to what the writers and artists were trying to express. In contrast to Zap, the sexuality of the characters was used as mainly a fodder for jokes that relied on stereotypes. In all honesty, I didn’t find Zap to be funny, and instead gravitated to the stories that were written by those who didn’t necessarily fit societies norm. Did I also find some of the stories funny? No, but I did appreciate the sincerity and dry wit that made the stories more compelling. 

In terms of the nature of the underground comics, I find that the strips who try too hard to be offensive (one particular one is from Tits and Clits, in which the artists try to juxtapose the rape with almost romantic undertones, that did not work at all), to be almost less bold than the ones that try to add some form of subtleness into their stories. It might be a matter of taste situation, but one thing is certain. The cultural impact of the underground comics might have helped pave the way to loosening the fear of the comics code in creators. And to ultimately fight against the censorship that society has put in place. 

Eisner and Thompson

The works of Will Eisner and Craig Thompson are sometimes non-existent, but sometimes uncannily parallel to each other. The similarities between the two graphic novels (Eisners Dropsie Avenue and Thompsons Blankets) are mostly due to Eisners lasting impressions in the comics world. Both graphic novels take a more autobiographical approach (Blankets more so), which makes both stories seem like documentations of a past they are trying to comprehend. The structure of both stories is set up in a way where the drawings support the text that is given. The drawing approaches are similar in construction, but not in design. Meaning that both works tended to break out of the confines of the panel, but are drawn in styles that are unique to the artist’s hand. For me, this makes the work feel more alive and in the moment, as each drawing bleeds into one another. The subject matters for both stories are also more mature. Violence (especially in Esiners work), and abuse are laid out to the audience in a way that can be stomached but not necessarily ignored. This gives the body of work a sort of message that Eisner and Thompson feel needs to be said. It makes both Blankets and Dropsie Avenue feel like a concentrated place with relatable and very realistic situations. There’s no real sugar coating, but the works don’t drown in complete cynicism either. There are moments in Dropsie Avenue where people are happy (getting married, etc.), and there are moments in Blankets where the fondness of a person and a memory are explored (his brother, and the girl that was his first love). These moments are what bring a dimensionality to the work that wouldn’t exist without them.