Blogs Field Guide The Artist’s Bookshelf

Victor/Vanquished: Lucy & Body Politics

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We’re busy gearing up for another session of The Artist’s Bookshelf by snooping around the current Walker exhibit Body Politics: Figurative Prints and Drawings from Schiele to de Kooning. In the process of gallery slouching, we are struck by a number of observations, one of the most obvious being the predominance of female subjects as [...]

We’re busy gearing up for another session of The Artist’s Bookshelf by snooping around the current Walker exhibit Body Politics: Figurative Prints and Drawings from Schiele to de Kooning. In the process of gallery slouching, we are struck by a number of observations, one of the most obvious being the predominance of female subjects as depicted by male artists.

Without digging (just yet) in to the complex socio-historical web of how-and-why, let’s just say that we’ll use it as a convenient springboard into our discussion of Jamaica Kincaid’s enlightening novel Lucy. Here we have the literary equivalent of a figurative portrait. But in this instance we are blessed with a portrait of a woman by a woman, and the wide range of revelations that encompasses.

As one prominent critic put it, “ There are two ways of reading this novel… It can be read, somewhat conventionally, with a focus on Lucy, people, and places. In one sense, the novel is the story of an individual. It is a kind of growing up or coming of age story. It seems very much like just one more American book about a girl who wants to be an American. But the novel can and (I think) must also be read from a cultural and political perspective…”

And this is where the novel dove-tails so nicely with the exhibit. Both offer fascinating works that can be taken on a simple, “ what-you-see-is-what-you-get” level. But above and beyond that, they reveal a whole lot more about the substrata from which they arise.

Please consider the following in preparation for Thursday night’s discussion:

Lucy seems to be deeply conflicted about many of the situations and people she encounters. She even describes herself as “a very angry person.” What causes her to be so angry and thus, divided?

Lucy’s personal relationships (e.g., mother, Mariah, Peggy) seem important both to her and to the events and themes of the novel. What do we come to understand about Lucy through these relationships?

Lucy refers frequently to her sexuality and physicality. Why? What can we gather from this emphasis in the novel?

Lucy also speaks frequently about location, climate, landscape, seasons, sunshine water, and other elements of nature. Why? What is the ultimate effect on the reader?

Lucy’s persona is profoundly influenced by her West Indian, Antiguan, home. She seems caught in limbo between that cultural milieu and the USA. How does she respond? How does she resolve the conflict?

Lucy seems to be initially dislocated (both personally and culturally) and searches for something that will anchor her in this sea of dislocation. What are the results of this quixotic journey of self-discovery?

And, finally, one last tidbit of food-for-thought, our favorite quote from the novel, which once again could apply to the exhibit as well,

“How do you get to be the sort of victor who can claim to be the vanquished also?”

If only we knew…

For interesting interviews with Jamaica Kincaid, check out:

http://www.motherjones.com/news/qa/1997/09/snell.html

Are Men Afraid of Love?

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Maybe they just don’t like talking about it… in semi-public places… sitting around in a circle… facing each other… and openly sharing… dare I say… feelings! According to tabulations on my calculator, the female-to-male ratio at the gathering of The Artist’s Bookshelf last night sat squarely at 25:1. I’m not complaining, just facing the reality [...]

Maybe they just don’t like talking about it… in semi-public places… sitting around in a circle… facing each other… and openly sharing… dare I say… feelings!

According to tabulations on my calculator, the female-to-male ratio at the gathering of The Artist’s Bookshelf last night sat squarely at 25:1. I’m not complaining, just facing the reality of the powerful presence of female energy in the room. Given the vast gender imbalance of our group, I suppose it only natural that a good deal of our conversation tilted towards issues of gender, as reflected in the drastically differing voices utilized by author Nicole Krauss in her compelling novel, The History of Love.

We all expressed awe at her ability to articulate so poignantly visions of the world as seen through the eyes of a 14 year-old girl and an 80 year-old man, with equal degrees of conviction, worldliness, and compassion.

Some of us struggled with the intricacies of plot and the complexities of multiple narrative voices. Some of us read it twice out of necessity, some of us read it twice for the sheer pleasure of losing ourselves in the lyrical prose, some of us skimmed it lightly, and as always, a few of us, despite the very best intentions, hadn’t yet made it beyond the dust jacket. But hey, that’s okay. We came to share.

We approached the book in conjunction with the current Heart of Darkness exhibition, and as always, managed to mine at least a few interesting links. Perhaps installation artist Kai Althoff’s statement summed it up best:

“ I think my work is much more about love,’ if I dare say that: things that I don’t get from love, things that I love or want to love, or that I want to love me.”

Wait a minute… he’s a man… isn’t he?

Talk Amongst Yourselves: The History of Love

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On one hand, discussing a book like The History of Love is easy because it’s so multi-layered that it offers readers multiple points of entry. Conversely, a book this rich sometimes makes it difficult to know just how and where to dig in. (It’s kind of like facing the Sunday brunch at 2021. Do I [...]

On one hand, discussing a book like The History of Love is easy because it’s so multi-layered that it offers readers multiple points of entry. Conversely, a book this rich sometimes makes it difficult to know just how and where to dig in. (It’s kind of like facing the Sunday brunch at 2021. Do I start with an omelet or go directly to the sticky buns?)

With this smorgasbord paradox in mind, The Artist’s Bookshelf offers the following guide which we hope to utilize at our upcoming exploration of The History of Love:

POINTS TO PONDER

1) What’s in a name? It’s often been said that a book’s title serves as a lens through which viewers decipher any given literary work. Why did author Nicole Krauss choose to give the book this particular title? Why did she give it the same title as the title of the fictional book within the novel?

2) Deep Thoughts! The book is peppered with powerful philosophical postulates that the author manages to make surprisingly palatable without ever dumbing down. Example:

“ Having begun to feel, people’s desire to feel grew. They wanted to feel more, feel deeper, despite how much it sometimes hurt. People became addicted to feeling. They struggled to uncover new emotions. It’s possible that this is how art was born.” –The History of Love, p. 107

3) Connect the dots. How might the above quote be applied to the Kai Althoff installation, currently on view at the Walker, as part of the Heart of Darkness exhibition?

4) Emotion vs. Sentiment. The ending of the novel proves to be tremendously powerful, and quite unexpectedly emotional. How does the tone differ from the standard sentimentality so prevalent in today’s pop lit?

5) Multiple P.OV. The author utilizes a number of narrative voices in spinning this yarn. Why did she choose this strategy? What is the ultimate cumulative effect?

American Gods meet The Heart of Darkness

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We dove headfirst into American Gods last night and barely made it up for air. For those of you unfamiliar with this popular, multi-award garnered novel by Neil Gaiman, it’s a darkly humorous, high-octane blend of pulp fiction, sci-fi, and spiritual warfare, set for the most part in a parallel universe that bears a strong [...]

We dove headfirst into American Gods last night and barely made it up for air. For those of you unfamiliar with this popular, multi-award garnered novel by Neil Gaiman, it’s a darkly humorous, high-octane blend of pulp fiction, sci-fi, and spiritual warfare, set for the most part in a parallel universe that bears a strong resemblance to northern Wisconsin.

We were able to draw a number of thematic links to the Heart of Darkness exhibition, which we toured immediately preceding our discussion. The Thomas Hirschhorn cave could have easily been a setting for several scenes of the novel, and the blood-stained sofa in Kai Althoff’s installation evoked an eerie similarity to a room where the novel’s protagonist engages in a life and death games of checkers.

Though, within our group, gut reaction to the novel covered the gamut of emotional response from love to hate, we came to a shared understanding and appreciation of the massive range and scope of the author’s efforts. “Epic” only begins to describe Mr. Gaiman’s tome. And in the season of the ten-second sound bite, that in it self can serve as a refreshing respite for frazzled neural receptors.

May We Recommend… Graphic Novels To Watch Out For

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During our most recent meeting of The Artist’s Bookshelf, in which we discussed the wonderfully droll Fun Home, several participants requested recommendations on other graphic novels of literary merit. My personal favorites include Harvey Pekar’s American Splendor and Joe Sacco’s Palestine. Alison Bechdel (author of Fun Home and Dykes To Watch Out For) recommends graphic [...]

During our most recent meeting of The Artist’s Bookshelf, in which we discussed the wonderfully droll Fun Home, several participants requested recommendations on other graphic novels of literary merit. My personal favorites include Harvey Pekar’s American Splendor and Joe Sacco’s Palestine.

Alison Bechdel (author of Fun Home and Dykes To Watch Out For) recommends graphic novels by Chris Ware, Jessica Abel, Seth, and Chester Brown.

Local cartoonist Robert Kirby [author of Curbside Boys(Cleis Press) and The Book of Boy Trouble (Green Candy Press)]recommends Persepolis by Marjane Setrapi (Pantheon), Stuck Rubber Baby by Howard Cruse (DC Comics), and Ghost World by Daniel Clowes (Fantagraphics).

funeral homes, OCD, and human sexuality

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Last night’s meeting of THE ARTIST’S BOOKSHELF covered a wide array of topics ranging from funeral homes and obsessive/compulsive disorder to Camus and the complexities of human sexuality. Our topic, of course, and the catalyst of all the hoopla was the infinitely intriguing graphic novel, FUN HOME, by the equally intriguing cartoonist/writer/astute observer Alison Bechdel [...]

Last night’s meeting of THE ARTIST’S BOOKSHELF covered a wide array of topics ranging from funeral homes and obsessive/compulsive disorder to Camus and the complexities of human sexuality.

Our topic, of course, and the catalyst of all the hoopla was the infinitely intriguing graphic novel, FUN HOME, by the equally intriguing cartoonist/writer/astute observer Alison Bechdel (of DYKES TO WATCH OUT FOR fame).

We spent a fair amount of time talking about the unique development of the graphic novel as a literary/artistic genre, and were aided immensely in this effort by esteemed local cartoonist (BOY TROUBLE) Robert Kirby.

We devoted a good deal of our discussion to the novel’s focus on the protagonist’s father, and the troubled but highly complex relationship they shared.

“ We grew to resent the way my father treated his furniture like children, and his children like furniture.”

Though not in total agreement over the novel’s resolution (was it metaphorical, literal, sentimental, ironic, too easy, unclear, or all of the above?), we did agree that its ambiguity somehow seemed appropriate for a work of this depth and magnitude.

Next up: AMERICAN GODS by Neil Gaiman

FUN HOME from multiple points of view

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Here at The Artist’s Bookshelf we’re busy gearing-up for our next meeting (Thursday, Oct. 5th, 7 pm) during which we will tackle the infintely intriguing graphic novel Fun Home. Our very special guest, cartoonist Robert Kirby (who suggested this book to us in the first place), will offer his insights into the wide world of [...]

Here at The Artist’s Bookshelf we’re busy gearing-up for our next meeting (Thursday, Oct. 5th, 7 pm) during which we will tackle the infintely intriguing graphic novel Fun Home.

Our very special guest, cartoonist Robert Kirby (who suggested this book to us in the first place), will offer his insights into the wide world of cartooning, as well as insights into author (and close, personal friend) Alison Bechdel’s creative process.

Rob is a high-energy guy, with the wit and compassion to match. This discussion is guaranteed to be lively.

We hope to dwell a bit upon the auto-biographical nature of the story, and examine how the author exploits the “self-as-content” paradigm with surprising objectivity and emotional detachment.

We will also discuss the thematic issues of sexual identity, and the irony of the protagonist proclaiming herself a lesbian, just as she discovers that her father has lived his life in the closet.

Last but not least, we will marvel at how any piece of literature centered in a funeral home can be so funny… and so sad… and ultimately, so thought provoking.

Alison Bechdel: The Interview

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We’re really excited to be reading and discussing Alison Bechdel’s new graphic novel FUN HOME (at our next gathering of The Artist’s Bookshelf on Thursday, Oct. 5th). Lately this book has been getting a lot of publishing industry buzz, including rave reviews in such luminary publications as the New York Times. We’re happy to report [...]

We’re really excited to be reading and discussing Alison Bechdel’s new graphic novel FUN HOME (at our next gathering of The Artist’s Bookshelf on Thursday, Oct. 5th). Lately this book has been getting a lot of publishing industry buzz, including rave reviews in such luminary publications as the New York Times. We’re happy to report that we made our selection before this phenomenal explosion of praise, and even happier that Ms. Bechdel complied with our request for an interview.

ME:

Here at THE ARTIST’S BOOKSHELF, we’re interested in creative process. FUN HOME works exceptionally well on a number of levels. Could you tell us a bit about its conception and how you got started on the project?

ALISON:

I had no preconceived idea of this project before I began, no concept of what shape it would take at all. I just knew I wanted to tell the story of my father and me in the most accurate way I could. I began by writing down some core memories, things I knew were part of the story even though I had no idea where or how they’d fit, or how they’d work graphically. I worked like that for a long time before I had a conception of the book as a unified whole.

ME:

Your ability to create succinct, yet complex, multi-layered individual panels is striking. In addition to a drawn image, you might include dialogue, found text, and authorial commentary. How do you go about putting all of that together? What comes first, the image or the words?

ALISON:

It’s very hard to say what comes first. And it changes constantly. Some scenes begin as words, others as images. If you were looking over my shoulder, it would probably appear that most of the time I start with text. But often, I can see in my head what the image is going to be as I’m writing the words.

It’s difficult to explain the process. In a way, everything happens at once, and I just keep adjusting the text to fit with the picture, adjusting the picture to fit with the text, and to fit with the other images on the page. It’s sort of like a big, complicated carpentry project, where things never square up perfectly so you’re constantly shimming and shoring.

I guess writing with words is a lot like that, too. But when you add images to the mix, there are more pieces to contend with. That makes it more complicated, but it also creates more possibility, more potential neural pathways to connect ideas. In some ways I feel like I was learning a whole new kind of syntax as I wrote this book.

ME:

How does cartooning for your long-standing strip, “Dykes To Watch Out For” differ from creating a graphic novel like FUN HOME?

ALISON:

My comic strip is pretty much a known quantity. I have certain elements of the plot I have to advance in each episode, and certain current events I need to cover. So writing the strip is in some ways just a process of elimination–pruning away everything that won’t fit into my ten or twelve allotted panels.

With FUN HOME, on the other hand, the writing was completely a process of discovery. I had no idea where I was going or what I was trying to do until I’d gotten there and done it.

Also, obviously, the strip is episodic. It’s an ongoing story that never ends, and can’t really be revised–it’s never complete. FUN HOME, on the other hand, is finite–it has a beginning, a middle, and an end that form an integrated whole, an aesthetic unity. That felt like a big risk, after working for so long in the open-ended serial format of the strip. But I feel like I pulled it off, and that’s deeply satisfying.

ME:

How long have you been cartooning? Did you partake in any formal training?

ALISON:

I’ve drawn silly drawings my whole life, and as a kid I wanted to be a cartoonist. But I gave that up as I went through high school and college because it seemed like a somewhat unlikely career to end up with. But then I just sort of happened into it after college. I was drawing these one-panel cartoons of crazy lesbians for myself and my friends, and one of them suggested that I submit them to the feminist newspaper we all volunteered at. So I did, in 1983, and I just never stopped. Gradually I self-syndicated the strip and got people to pay me for it. And eventually that’s how I made my living.

I didn’t have any formal cartooning training per se. I did major in art in college, so I’ve studied drawing. But I learned how to cartoon just by looking at other peoples’ work.

ME:

The subject matter of FUN HOME is intensely personal, revelatory, and emotionally-charged, yet you are able to maintain a surprising sense of objectivity. Was that difficult?

ALISON:

I think I have some kind of intimacy disorder. Although I’m a pretty shy person, for some reason I have no qualms about revealing the most intimate details of my private life to the general public. Maybe it’s not so much that I’m objective as that I’m oddly disengaged.

Someone was interviewing me recently, and asked about a scene in the book where I talk about my “ attempt to access emotion vicariously.” The narration in this scene reads, “ For years after my father’s death, when the subject of parents came up in conversation I would relate the information in a flat matter-of-fact tone, eager to detect in my listener the flinch of grief that eluded me.” In the image accompanying this, I’m sitting in a restaurant saying to someone, “ My dad’s dead. He jumped in front of a truck.”

So this interviewer asked me, “ is that what you’re doing with the whole book? Trying to access your grief through other peoples’ responses to your story?” And that had never occurred to me, but I think she was exactly right.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, it might be less objectivity on my part than a kind of disengagement. Yet it’s a disengagement that’s longing for engagement.

ME:

What do you see as the future of the graphic novel? Please speculate on how it might continue to evolve and permutate.

ALISON:

If you could travel back in time to 1956 and bring along an Old Navy commercial, or a music video, or practically any sequence from a recent action movie, a person from 1956 would be dumbfounded. Cinematic language has evolved so extensively since then that it just wouldn’t make sense to someone 50 years ago.

I think we’re maybe up to about 1956 in terms of exploiting the potential of graphic narrative. As a canon of graphic novels starts to build up, and more and more people start experimenting with the format, we’ll see the same kind of evolution that film language has undergone.

I think a lot of it will be a process of condensation and abbreviation–learning how to remove dead weight. You know, like how an old movie might take ten minutes to deliver some exposition that a new movie could do in three seconds.

ME:

Some literary snobs (not us!) frown upon the graphic novel as “comic book lit.” How would you respond to their assertion that graphic novels cannot be taken seriously as literature?

ALISON:

My first answer to that is, I don’t care what those people think.But my second, more considered reaction, is to agree with them–up to a point. Comics as a genre is underrated because the field has been dominated for so long by work that doesn’t explore the full potential of the medium. I mean, the bulk of stuff on the graphic novel shelf is NOT literature. Exceptions are rapidly piling up, but it’ll take a while for the superhero stigma to wear off.

It’s a cycle. As more critical attention is paid to graphic narratives, more aesthetic criteria will emerge for them. The bar will be raised, work will get stronger, and that will convince more people that comics can indeed perform some of the higher literary functions.

I look forward to the day when graphic narratives don’t have to be pointed out as such. When we can talk about their content without commenting on how surprising it is that this is a comic book. Kind of like the way I would like to be identified not as a lesbian cartoonist, but just a cartoonist.

ME:

For those of us familiar only with Harvey Pekar, Joe Sacco, and Marjane Satrapi, any other interesting graphic novelists you could recommend?

Alison:

Chris Ware, of course. Jessica Abel. Seth. Chester Brown.

This is a shameless plug for my publisher, but it’s also true: Get a copy of “ The Best American Comics” anthology edited by Harvey Pekar and Anne Elizabeth Moore to get an excellent overview of recent work by a lot of great cartoonists.

ME:

What are you reading these days?

ALISON:

I’m reading a bunch of memoirs, none of them graphic. Sean Wilsey’s “ Oh the Glory of it All,” which makes my family seem like the Brady Bunch. Ken Foster’s “ The Dogs Who Found Me.” And my friend Lucy Bledsoe’s book “ The Ice Cave,” about her wilderness experiences. I’m really interested in how people transform the random grist of their lives into contained, meaningful stories.

ME:

What’s next for you?

ALISON:

More memoir. I’m starting work on another autobiographical project. As well as continuing to crank out my comic strip.

ME:

Thanks, Alison.

Alison:

Thanks a lot for doing this.

Longing and belonging: Life and death in the suburbs

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Last night’s gathering of The Artist’s Bookshelf finished off our summer season nicely with a spirited discussion of THE VIRGIN SUICIDES by Jeffery Eugenides. Though everyone in attendance generally praised the book for its unique narrative style, interesting use of language, and anthropological acumen in dissecting that peculiar social phenomenon known as suburbia, we broke [...]

Last night’s gathering of The Artist’s Bookshelf finished off our summer season nicely with a spirited discussion of THE VIRGIN SUICIDES by Jeffery Eugenides. Though everyone in attendance generally praised the book for its unique narrative style, interesting use of language, and anthropological acumen in dissecting that peculiar social phenomenon known as suburbia, we broke down into two distinct camps when it came to dissecting the verisimilitudinal* essence of the story.Camp #1, which tended to be dominated by young women who had read the book more than once (some as many as four times) and identified strongly with one or more of the suicidal Lisbon sisters, interpreted the story as a poetic and hauntingly beautiful account of the girls’ shared tragedy.

Camp #2, which tended to be dominated by slightly older white guys like myself, who perhaps identified more strongly with the boys/men narrating the story, took it more as a contemporary fable of the neighborhood, a suburban myth that had grown and evolved over time to attain the status of folklore.

Of course, as moderator, I remained entirely neutral and impartial throughout the discussion and resisted the temptation to add further fuel to the fire by suggesting that perhaps those dual interpretations were precisely what the author had in mind all along.

Earlier in the evening we enjoyed a thought-provoking tour of the Cameron Jamie exhibit conducted by our buddy Ray. The parallels between the exhibit and the novel are striking. Beyond fascination with/abhorrence of the suburbs, both artists seem to exploit the spiritual emptiness and social hollowness of its cultural landscape.

In an interview Mr. Eugenides stated, “ If I were an emotion, I would be longing. That is a kind of human emotion that’s very clear to me, and very strong from an early age, as perhaps it is in everyone… VIRGIN SUICIDES is almost one long longing.”

NEXT UP:

Fun Home by Alison Bechdel

Can’t wait!

*My computer tells me this isn’t actually a word, but I like it anyway.

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