Krypto and the Dogs

Today on the site, Nicole Rudick offers up the best piece of writing I've ever read on Julie Doucet's work. In particular, Julie's new book, Carpet Sweeper Tales, which, being a kind of Fumetti/Fluxus project, hasn't gotten as much attention as it deserves.

Doucet’s fragmented and reconstituted sound-language echoes Kurt Schwitter’s Dada “sound-poems” and the zaum, or transrational poetry, of Russian Futurist Aleksei Kruchenykh. Both Schwitter and Kruchenykh abstracted words in order to liberate language from meaning: their letterforms are descriptive rather than prescriptive. In Schwitter’s “Ursonate,” which roughly translates to “sonata in primordial sounds,” the four movements are interspersed with a coda that comprises the German alphabet read backward; each of the three iterations is meant to be read aloud with a different pitch and tempo. Much of the poem relies on the repetition of sounds—“Lanke trr gll / Ziiuu lenn trll? / Lümpff tümpff trll.” Kruchenykh’s “Hum of Hillclimbing Locomotive” is a collection of sounds that approximate not just the noise of a train engine but also, importantly, its laboring momentum: “boro / choro / two / one / hubb / sham / ga / gish! / boro sorko ba.” In the same way, Doucet’s collection of sounds and patterns isn’t an unruly mess: she harnesses the constructed ejections and exclamations together, and they accrue a syntax.


Crystal Cave

Today, Greg Hunter is back with another episode of his Comic Book Decalogue podcast. His guest this week is Lane Milburn.

And we also have Rob Clough's review of Liz Suburbia's Sacred Heart.

The best way to read Liz Suburbia's book Sacred Heart is to never stop asking questions about the details. Unlike many creators of art about teenagers that focuses on them to the exclusion of adults—or even touching on their absence, Suburbia immediately but subtly alerts the reader that something is not quite right from the very beginning of a story that otherwise focuses on teenage punk rock, romance, sex, rebellion, drinking, and free expression. The book's promotional materials link Suburbia to Jaime Hernandez and Brandon Graham, and for obvious reasons. Hernandez captured a certain era of punk and painfully real relationships in Love and Rockets, and that's certainly present in Sacred Heart. Graham draws a lot of inspiration from graffiti and street art, and one can see that at work here as well, as well as certain shared visual traits: facial exaggerations like thick eyebrows and a certain sharpness in the way Suburbia draws eyes.

However, after finishing the book, I find that it bears the most similarity to Gilbert Hernandez's Palomar work, especially "Human Diastrophism".

Meanwhile, elsewhere:

—Interviews & Profiles. The latest guest on Marc Maron's WTF was Daniel Clowes.

Columbus Alive profiles Noah Van Sciver on his move to Ohio.

“I have no apartment yet [in Columbus], so my main priority is to find a good place and settle in, and then establish myself in the city,” Van Sciver said recently over the phone from the Center for Cartoon Studies in Vermont, where he’s been working as a Fellow for the past year. “But I’m already setting a lot of my stories [in Columbus], like, ‘This is it. This is my town. I’m going to stick around.’”

Over on Comics Workbook, Sally Ingraham interviewed Lale Westvind.

I think that alternative comics' roots in self-publishing is very important as a political act, increasingly so. Even if the work is not political, the way one depicts characters in a story is inherently an expression of personal morals and/or desires. My favorite comics shows are the one which are open and encouraging to all types of people. It should be a place where we exercise our freedom of speech, in an intelligent way conducive to love, change, appreciation, mutual respect, new construction. Having people tabling at different levels in their career, from different backgrounds.

—Reviews & Commentary. Romona Williams writes about Julia Gfrörer's Dark Age.

The cover image spans across the front to the back, revealing the slowly rotting corpse of a deer-like animal. The rib-cage juts out over what remains of the animal’s flesh, and only two legs and hooves remain. With the clues left by the decomposing body (the animal’s size, the fur, the hooves, and the intact skeletal structure), you are able to picture the what it may have looked like while alive. It would have stood tall, with a long torso, strong legs, and thick fur. It would have been a beautiful sight, but that particular animal will never exist outside of a mental approximation.

Kawai Shen writes about how internet usage is depicted through comics.

The norm of using multiple panels in comics presents an advantage over other mediums when it comes to representing the internet. Multiple panels easily mimic the multiple windows and tabs of our online browsing. Split screen representations don’t feel as jarring as it might in other mediums.

—Misc. C-SPAN3 will be showing a documentary about the suffragist political cartoonist Nina Allender this weekend.


Larger Delivery

Today on site, R.C. Harvey joins us for an in-depth look at R.F. Outcault and the Yellow Kid.

Had Outcault’s cartoon been the first of its kind, it would, indeed, have been the origin of a new species, namely the comic strip. Newspaper comics had been cropping up for several years. Mostly, they were single-panel cartoons, but in the early 1890s, comic strips occasionally appeared—as they had in humor magazines intermittently for years. The first comic strip to be published in a newspaper was, to the best of my knowledge, published on October 1, 1893, a year before Outcault’s “Origin of the Species.” I’ve never seen the strip, but those who have say it was “a non-political narrative sequence of comic pictures” by Tom E. Powers. It appeared in the Inter Ocean.

In the World, the first comic strip in color was published in the January 28, 1984 edition of the Sunday supplement; it was by Mark Fenderson, and a scan of it appears near here. Both of these firsts precede both of Outcault’s.

For the next 13 months, Outcault produced cartoons for weekly publication in the Sunday supplement. He exploited two subjects, both well-trod ground in the cartoons of the day, both familiar to him from the work he’d done for Truth. According to Richard D. Olson, an Outcault scholar, in his online essay “R.F. Outcault, the Father of the American Sunday Comics, and the Truth about the Creation of the Yellow Kid,” Outcault focused on African-Americans living in the imaginary town of Possumville or Irish children living in New York City tenements in which, it is estimated, half the city’s population lived. I haven’t seen any of the Possumville cartoons, but Outcault’s street kid comics are plentiful.


Hyperallergic on Guido Crepax.

An interview with Evan Dorkin and Sarah Dyer.

Here's a lengthy look at the great Alberto Breccia.

And, finally, a non-Facebook look at Seth's local mural.



Class Enemies

Good morning. We have two new reviews for you today. First, RJ Casey on Ben Sears's Night Air.

Work aimed towards the highly desired demographic of “All Ages” usually follows the same marketing-friendly formulas and resorts to the same winking irony. In popular culture, Pixar is most likely to blame, but comics have jumped on board, full steam ahead (Challenge: Go to your local comic shop’s kid’s section and look for a single story that doesn’t expound saccharine harmony, fairness, and righteousness. Bonus points if you don’t puke cotton candy up on the current KaBOOM! releases.) That’s what makes Night Air by Ben Sears, even at a breezy 64 pages, such a gratifying read: The action’s unflagging, the plot’s unsentimental, and the jokes are genuinely funny.

And then the TCJ debut of Rachel Davies, writing about Aidan Koch's After Nothing Comes.

The book is comprised of a selection of Koch’s zines spanning six years, from 2008 to 2014. It’s what any zinemaker can only hope their work is: concise, self-knowing, and unlike anything else available. Aidan Koch’s final zine in this collection, Reflections, is a clear example of this, when she completely abandons the panel by panel form that she was confined to in the first zine. Most of Reflections is delicate shading of what I see as the sky, with small text at the bottom as the characters contemplate their relationship. With this zine, Koch asserts her individual style and it’s evident that she’s no longer preoccupied with conforming to traditional comic styles.

Meanwhile, elsewhere:

—For the NYRB, Masha Gessen writes about a new collection of Igort's Ukrainian and Russian Notebooks: Life and Death Under Soviet Rule.

The form of the graphic novel is ideally suited for this view of history from below. The drawings and layouts show what the author saw and heard as he might have seen and heard it: Soviet leaders and teacups on a table are depicted in equal detail, just as the stories meander from household traumas to historic ones. Igort rarely reminds the reader of his own presence, but the gaze, and the imagination at play, are consistent from story to story, and they belong to an outsider. Occasionally, this outsider resorts to stereotypes of Russian culture—he seems to believe, for example, that Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and Gogol are omnipresent in contemporary Russia and Ukraine—but these associations also serve to remind the reader that this is not a traditional reporting project. Just as the title indicates, these are the notebooks of someone who has devoted two years of his life to looking, listening, and struggling to comprehend the incomprehensible.

—For the CJR, Ann Telnaes writes about Pat Oliphant.

Oliphant looked back at previous winners of the [Pulitzer] editorial cartooning prize and, based on that, chose from his work a submission he thought would suit the judge’s tastes and the prevailing political opinion at the time. He says now it was “one of the worst cartoons I’ve ever drawn.” It depicted the president of North Vietnam, Ho Chi Minh, holding a dead Vietnamese with the caption “They won’t get us to the conference table . . . will they?” Well, guess what? That cartoon did in fact win. (Back then it was common to award a single cartoon rather than a body of work.) Oliphant’s response to his prize was to never again enter his work and to use his status as a past winner to criticize the Pulitzer selection process well into the future.

—The Comics Alternative podcast interviews Josh Simmons.

—And tomorrow's WTF will feature Dan Clowes.


Found Tonage

Today on the site Joe McCulloch brings us the week that is, with a detour into Hellboy.

Last week saw the release of the tenth and final issue of Hellboy in Hell, which is not necessarily the last Hellboy comic creator/writer/artist Mike Mignola will ever draw — there is definitely some wiggle room left through which the character might return — but clearly is meant to function as a potential ‘ending’ to the Hellboy series, at least as far as its title character is concerned. I’m going to discuss the comic a little, so skip down to the capsules if you don’t want it spoiled.

The image above is not from Hellboy in Hell; it’s from issue #5 of the 2006 miniseries B.P.R.D.: The Universal Machine, a comic mainly drawn by the much-missed Guy Davis, though Mignola himself, as you can see, opted to draw the closing pages, as they commemorated the death of a popular supporting character, Roger the Homunculus. The series was in large part about how death is not permanent in these types of horror/fantasy/superhero stories, so in the end Roger makes an affirmative choice to remain dead, and thereby not repeat the cycles of violent combat that had come to define his life… and perhaps action comics themselves, with their popular franchise characters revised, relaunched, rebooted ad infinitum. This itself can be a sort of hell for the characters, but because Mignola is running the show he can grant Roger a genuine, eternal peace.


Gil Roth interviews Jim Ottaviani.

Kate Beaton announces a new book.

Comics-related: The great artist Nicole Eisenman is discussed here. Her work continues to amaze me, and is very much narrative and of a certain kind of cartoon-related art.



First, two great cartoonists speak to each other, as Peter Bagge interviews Chester Brown about his most recent book, Mary Wept Over the Feet of Jesus.

CB: As I was saying, I had accepted Crossan’s view that Jesus had started out as an apocalyptic preacher who had become more mystically oriented, and that’s where my thinking was at when I began drawing Mary Wept. Then I decided to add the chapter about Mary of Bethany to the book. The more I mulled over Mary’s anointing of Jesus, the more I became convinced that there was a sexual component to it and that Mary of Bethany wasn’t a simple prostitute, but, rather, was a sacred prostitute who represented the goddess Asherah. That would imply that Jesus didn’t begin his movement, but that he was a figure in an already existing group of Asherah-worshipers.

PB: Your suggesting that Jesus may at one time have been polytheistic is the most controversial thing you've said yet! Though there's no doubt that his attitude towards women was markedly different than the way they were generally portrayed in the Old Testament: more accepting and sympathetic. This alone must have made him a radical figure for his time.

CB: I’m not sure that Jesus would have seen himself as polytheistic. I don’t think he literally believed there were two or more gods. Rather, he recognized that God can have a male and a female aspect — that God can be both Yahweh and Asherah.

Meanwhile, elsewhere:

—Interviews & Profiles. Tom Spurgeon talks to Rich Tommaso about werewolf comics.

I was looking through some old sketchbooks and I would occasionally run into these odd, "elongated" figure drawings. They reminded me a little of Gustav Klimt's figure drawings. I thought, "These tall and lanky characters would be perfect for a werewolf comic." In every werewolf flick, there's always a lot of stretching of body parts going on, you know? American Werewolf is the perfect example-- his hands are stretching, his torso, his snout. So, I bought a few Klimt books and just sat around copying his paintings in pencil form. After sketching out some character ideas for about a week or so, I eventually came up with Gabrielle and her family. Even the chubbier members of her family looked interesting propped onto very long legs.

On the latest episode of Inkstuds, guest host Roman Muradov talks to Tim Hensley.

—Reviews & Commentary. I missed this remembrance of the late Don Martin by his widow Norma Haimes Martin, which includes many quotes from his own writings.

Excerpt from a letter to fellow Mad legend Sergio Aragones, April 1988: “I’ve been working hard on a number of projects and doing a lot of advertising– Perhaps you’ve seen a couple of things. It especially feels good being on my own and not giving my roughs and everything I do to Bill Gaines. I don’t know how or why I did it for so long."

Janean Patience writes about UK comics writer John Smith, and its relation to the abstract comics of Gareth Hopkins.

Comics fandom is a cult. The box-office successes of comic characters hasn’t percolated down to anyone actually reading them. And within the cult of comics’ fandom, mainly obsessed with American superheros and the clockwork of their universes, there is a small pocket of cultists, mainly British, who grew up on or read 2000AD, Judge Dredd and the rest. And within that cult are the few thousand people who revere the writing of John Smith.



Hi there,

Today on the site Lauren Weinstein talks to Mike Dawson about 5,000 km per second in this latest installment of TCJ Talkies.

And Greg Hunter is here to review Patrick Kyle's Don't Come in Here, and makes some good points about certain prevalent cartooning tropes. Every generation settles into a certain sameness -- we're there now with a certain flat abstraction and distanced narration, in part because of the rise of festivals and over-indulgent publishing practices. Those things, and this aesthetic, will pass and then be looked back on and revived, etc. etc. Just like many other aesthetics. Here's a bit of Greg's review.

Reading Don’t Come in Here is like navigating a built space. Kyle has subdivided the work into surreal vignettes, and the combination of the book’s dimensions and its use of tiered, two-panel grids makes each turn of a page feel like the next step down a corridor. This is not to say the space feels wholly new. The depth and the novelty of Kyle’s insights vary throughout the book—it’s the work of an artist who appears willing to try anything and unable to leave anything out.

At its best, Don’t Come in Here shows off a kind of Brechtian comics-making. Kyle’s pieces draw attention to different human dilemmas while also drawing attention to the comics form itself. In “Message”, the book’s main character knocks on a shared wall between its apartment and its neighbor’s, a move that creates a widening hole in the wall. Eventually, the neighbor appears at the hole, scolding the figure that knocked.  In turn, the main character smears the hole and the neighbor inside it as if they were two-dimensional rather than existing in real space. It’s a funny, surprising formal trick as well as a vivid depiction of the challenge of living among strangers.


Geneviève Castrée has reached a fund-raising goal at gofundme, but there may be further challenges, so please continue to check the site.

Greg Cooke writes about the children's book artist Leonard Weisgard.

Finally, Ron Rege has a video up of his show in Australia:



Today on the site, Monica Johnson explores Brian K. Vaughan and Cliff Chiang's Paper Girls.

Since its debut last fall much has been written about Brian K. Vaughan and Cliff Chiang’s sci-fi, retro, coming-of-age comic Paper Girls—the charming nostalgia of its 1980s setting and steady doses of pop culture, Chiang’s seductively bold graphics with coloring reminiscent of both Le Clic cameras and jelly bracelets, and the originality of Vaughan’s time-traveling narrative. To clarify: Paper Girls is a comic about girls on bikes who deliver “the paper”—girls with paper routes. Admittedly, I am one of the many who love this comic. And yet I’m distracted by something that I haven’t been able to reconcile since I noticed it. The covers of both issue #1 and the first collected book—which came out in April and compiles issues 1 through 5—feature striking illustrations of the title characters: Erin, Mac, KJ, and Tiffany. Four twelve-year-old girls. In stark contrast, the inside covers lists the creators of the comic: Vaughan, Chiang, Matt Wilson, and Jared K. Fletcher. Four adult men. Even though in every last review I’ve read Paper Girls is repeatedly described as “War of the Worlds meets Stand By Me,” no one is writing about how four adult men came to create a successful comic book about four young girls.

Meanwhile, elsewhere:

The family of Geneviève Elverum, better known to comics readers as Geneviève Castrée (see our 2013 interview with her here), is asking for financial help to deal with her inoperable stage 4 pancreatic cancer. Please consider helping out, or at least reading and sharing her request.

We are asking the world to please donate money to us. Treatment is ongoing. Nobody in our household has been able to work for over a year. Geneviève has not made any new work. Phil has not made any music or been able to perform or do anything. Life is 100% occupied by this humongous medical battle (plus the already overwhelming reality of raising a baby with less than 2 fully available parents). We don't know what the future holds and how long this uncertainty will last. In any case, the amount we've spent over the last year alone has left us in a precarious financial position as a family.

—Reviews & Commentary. Ng Suat Tong writes about Blutch's Peplum.

Is there any suggestion that Blutch’s Peplum is inspired by the Satyricon of Petronius apart from the fact that the author has told us so?

There is the presence of the protagonist’s young male lover, Giton, as well as the licentious poet Eumolpus (both unnamed in the comic but central figures in Petronius’ work). There are also at least two instances where Petronius’ Satyricon is “quoted” if not wholly then at least in part.

Yet the comic is fixed in a strange but plausible landscape; it is less earthy, less strange and altogether less theatrical and decadent then the book and Fellini’s film. Both the original and film versions of Satyricon are filled with the rank physical reality of sex, not the curious delusion which Blutch’s protagonist engages with throughout.

Douglas Wolk reviews a slew of recent books for the New York Times, including titles by Sonny Liew, Chester Brown, and the aforementioned Blutch.

[Brown's] evenhanded pace of four small panels on each page keeps the tone understated, and he gets a lot of comedic mileage out of rendering biblical dialogue into modern vernacular. (Jesus, on being told that he should be anointed, replies, “I don’t know — I’m not into ceremonies.”) But Brown zeros in on the human drama in each story — his images of David silently regarding Bathsheba make very clear the way power flows between them — and his visual craftsmanship is as sharp as it’s ever been. Brown’s drawing on the book’s front cover alludes to the historiated initials of illuminated manuscripts, even as it presents the Bible as a clitoris.

Bill Griffith shares his ten rules for cartoonists.

1. Cartoon Characters have souls.

Tim O'Neil writes at length about DC's Rebirth.

The calculation was made – and it’s probably a correct one – that anyone still pissed over DC’s treatment of Alan Moore left the building a long time ago. Before Watchmen met an underwhelming response in the marketplace, being a decent selling book with minimal impact in collected form, as opposed to the sales juggernaut they could have expected given the strength of the Watchmen brand name. But even if it underwhelmed, it still fulfilled the company’s secondary purpose: it normalized the kind of creative theft that would have been unimaginable with another generation of creators. A stink was raised, battle lines were drawn, certain creators (some of whom are no longer with us) permanently soiled their reputations through association with a project that was being conducted against the express wishes of the guy who wrote the damn thing in the first place. When pulling a Band-Aid, it is best to do so quickly. It hurts a lot at first and then you forget about it. Before Watchmen was the figurative Band-Aid. Anyone still pissed about Moore’s treatment, and therefore morally bound to withdraw their support from the company, has already done so. Everyone else moved on.

Shea Hennum writes about the history of sex in comics.

The Tijuana Bibles of the early 20th century were produced in secret by anonymous or unknown authors, but they reflected—and how!—the common patriarchal objectification of their time. Women were treated similarly in the underground comix of the 1960s, which were mostly produced by straight men, and, as journalist and lecturer Paula Kamen writes, “[t]he sexual revolution of the 1960s [ . . . ] was a boon for many men, who now had access to more women’s bodies and made the rules about what exactly took place in bed.”

—Interviews & Profiles.
Chris Anthony Diaz speaks to Tim Hensley.

This week a bird built a nest in a crossbeam of our landing and was incessantly tapping on the window above the front door from dawn till dusk. My wife said the bird sees its reflection in the glass and taps at it because it thinks it’s an enemy.

I was thinking, “Oh, that must be where ‘bird brain’ comes from,” but then realized it isn’t so different with my comics. I’m probably compulsively attacking myself to protect some transitory whorl of twigs. Or maybe I’m just trying to break the glass to see what’s inside.

Alex Dueben interviews Mike Mignola.

As a reader, I’m a short story guy. I draw comics, but I’m trying to create a body of work that reflects more the literature I’m interested in, rather than to try to create a traditional comic book series. If this was running in Weird Tales magazine, the old pulp magazine, it would run as a series of short stories, the way Conan or any of those series characters ran. That was the model more than any kind of comic book series model.

And the latest guest on the RIYL podcast is R.O. Blechman.