Secrets of a Mind-Gamer

If you have a spare 15-20 minutes, I thought this NY Times Magazine article, Secrets of a Mind-Gamer by Joshua Feder, about enhancing memory capacity was fascinating.

Of particular interest to comic fans, was this quote from the article:

"In his essay “First Steps Toward a History of Reading,” Robert Darnton describes a switch from “intensive” to “extensive” reading that occurred as printed books began to proliferate. Until relatively recently, people read “intensively,” Darnton says. “They had only a few books — the Bible, an almanac, a devotional work or two — and they read them over and over again, usually aloud and in groups, so that a narrow range of traditional literature became deeply impressed on their consciousness.” Today we read books “extensively,” often without sustained focus, and with rare exceptions we read each book only once. We value quantity of reading over quality of reading. We have no choice, if we want to keep up with the broader culture."

This, to me, is a perfect description of the conundrum facing the modern comic book geek, particularly those of us motivated to share our thoughts online. What resonated with me in particular is the "extensive" vs. "intensive" comparison. For years, I struggled to keep up with the rapid pace of new releases, rushing review after review to the web in order to be among the first opinion-leaders about which books were worth reading.

However, over the last few years, I have shifted to what Feder would describe as an "intensive" reading of the first volume of Love & Rockets. I have read the series probably a dozen times, and done considerable research as well. It's been a profoundly satisfying endeavor, but very time-consuming as well. I feel like I've gained a much deeper appreciation of the series than almost anyone I've come across (with the exception, perhaps, of Todd Hignite and Charles Hatfield), but as a result, I've also fallen way behind in the treadmill of new releases and online discourse.

But I wonder if the overwhelming amount of "extensive" reading is at the heart of what's underlying the periodic outcry that there's very little quality writing about comics anymore. As Feder implies, by trying rush through new works in order to hit the critical window, much of the quality of criticism has suffered. What we have now are loads of opinion-based criticism, where people with strong narrative voices simply blog about their reactions to whatever they happen to read. This is fine for a certain cursory level of analysis, but it leaves a lot to be desired in terms of more scholarly, academic, informed readings (of course, I'm thinking of the works which merit such reading, like Theo Ellsworth's Capacity, to cite just one example; obviously the latest issue of Blackest Night would not qualify).

I guess it's just the old trade-off of quantity vs. quality, and of course, it's important to remember that blogging is ultimately more an act of self-definition than a scholarly endeavor, but I think the people who often complain that there is not enough good writing about comics are ultimately reacting to this inevitable shift from "intensive" to "extensive" as the industry has expanded. It's food for thought, anyway.

Barefoot Gen

In a strange coincidence, both Derik Badman and I happened to have recently read the first four volumes of Keiji Nakazawa's classic '70s manga, Barefoot Gen. While I have tremendous respect for Derik as a writer and friend (he's one of the few fellow comics bloggers I've met in person), I found myself at odds with his assessment of the series, and initially commented on his Facebook status to that effect (he wrote that Gen was "too didactic, too preachy, to the detriment of the story. Also, everyone is a jerk").

More recently, as part of the Manga Moveable Feast, Badman posted a longer article in which he described the reasons for his dislike of Gen. Although I initially resisted, this prompted me to draft a response. Since I had read library copies of Gen, my comments below are drawn from memory; however, this is not significant, as Gen, unlike just about any comic series I've ever read, including Maus, left an indelible impression.

Still, wanting to have more of a rounded perspective before responding, I went back to read Nakazawa's Comics Journal interview (from issue #256 in October 2003). As an unexpected bonus, the same issue also included a detailed think piece on Gen by Japanese comics scholar, Bill Randall.

With that perspective, here are some of my thoughts in response to Derik's criticisms of the series.

1) Badman's biggest complaint is about the series' melodrama. Specifically, he writes:

"This is melodrama. Damn it is melodrama.

And it suffers for it. It’s too much; it’s over the top; it’s ridiculous. Even before the bomb it’s too much with the Japanese berating Gen and his family for being “traitors” because their father speaks out against the war. Apparently he is the only one, as he seems to have no sympathizers. He is the lone protester, victim exceptionalism. By the time the bomb hits it’s already too much. Over said, over shown, and over played. Get me out of here."

Now, I don't disagree that the story is melodramatic, but unlike Badman, it didn't bother me at all. Nor did it detract from the story's overall effectiveness. Rather, I agree with Randall, who wrote:

"(Gen) never shies from melodrama and never elicits effects so self-consciously 'powerful' as to spoil the internal consistency of the work. The melodrama emerges naturally from Gen and his life, the deaths of his loved ones and his struggle to survive."

In other words, the story's melodrama was an artistic choice on Nakazawa's part, but that doesn't mean it undermines the story's message at all. In fact, I think the fact that Nakazawa recounts his memory of the events with some degree of melodrama makes the story more universal; it engages the reader and seers itself into their memory. It's hard to imagine anyone who reads these first four volumes forgetting the character of Gen. His sheer tenacity, positivity in the face of despair and spirit to survive is unforgettable, even if it's hammered home.

Regarding the fact that Gen's father was the only outspoken opponent of the war, Nakazawa recalled in the interview how speaking out of against the Japanese empire was dangerous. Unlike the United States, freedom of speech was not a right enjoyed by the Japanese citizens, particularly at the height of the war. In fact, Nakazawa's father was arrested and imprisoned for his political beliefs when Keiji was in first grade. "They took my father away and put him in jail for a year and a half. When I asked where he'd gone, my mother lied and said he'd been drafted into the Army. They held him in the Hiroshima Prefectural Prison. Apparently, they tortured him."

Not only was his father the only person brave (or stupid) enough to speak out against the war, he was also likely the only adult that would speak of politics at all around a seven-year-old, so I don't think the portrayal is false. Rather, as I mentioned in my original comment on Badman's Facebook status, Nakazawa is being faithful to his memory, and telling the story from his childish perspective. Of course there were others against the war, but it's very unlikely a seven-year-old would have encountered them. This portrayal may still feel unbalanced, but I hope I have made clear the mitigating factors for this.

2. Derik's other issue with the series is that it seems overly fictionalized and the secondary characters seem one-dimensional. Again, he writes:

"The only decent person is the Korean neighbor. Korean’s were conquered and enslaved by the Japanese. The Korean neighbor is the one nice guy, despite how horrible he has been treated, he’s nice to Gen and his family. But not any of the Japanese. No one else is nice. God, was Nakazawa this pessimistic about his countrymen? Could it really have been that horrible? I don’t know, but it doesn’t work as fiction. This isn’t reportage or autobiography. It is fictionalized. And as fiction it doesn’t work. It overburdens. It paints with so broad a brush."

I think Badman's assessment is overly harsh here. The TCJ interview was particularly enlightening in understanding what specific aspects of Barefoot Gen are actually fictionalized, and after reading it, it's clear that, while some parts are indeed embellished, the vast majority of the story, and particularly all of the events related to Gen and his mother, are based directly on Nakazawa's own experiences.

After a lengthy passage in the interview in which Nakazawa describes his own memories of August 6, 1945, it's clear that Gen's story of the immediate aftermath is nearly identical to the artist's. Nakazawa even confirms that "I definitely based it on my own experiences growing up."

However, Badman's chief issue seems to be with some of the secondary characters outside of Gen's immediate family. For example, after the bomb, Gen and his mother, with their newborn baby girl, travel to Eba to stay with friends. While they were there, they were treated horribly, subjected to little sympathy and much scorn by their unwelcoming hosts. Interviewer Alex Gleason pressed Nakazawa to commit to what extent his experiences were identical to those in the book. They were "exactly as I wrote about it Gen," he replied. "They let us stay in a storeroom they had, but they were really nasty to us." Of course, nobody can know definitively how much embellishing took place (certainly some), but we have to take Nakazawa at his word that this plotline was based on his own experiences.

Badman is correct that other aspects of the story are more fictionalized, and perhaps these are somewhat flawed in their portrayal (it's more debatable, at any rate). For example Gleason asked Nakazawa about the subplot regarding Seiji, the young painter who lost the use of his hands in the bombing, and was ostracized by his family, only to be inspired to learn to paint using his teeth after meeting Gen.

"It didn't happen to me, but it was a combination of true stories I heard and things that happened in my neighborhood. For example, there really was a young A-bomb victim who taught herself to paint with her teeth. And Seiji's household, which was treated like a pariah by the neighbors, is modeled after a house we kids called the haunted house because a badly injured victim lived there."

Thus, Nakazawa admits that he took liberties in his portrayal of Seiji, yet although the execution may have been somewhat heavy-handed, his intentions were nonetheless pure:

"I wanted to tell the story of the artist to show how people can overcome the greatest adversity. If you can't use your hands, use your teeth. As I wrote at the beginning of Gen, the real theme of the story is symbolized by wheat, which springs back no matter how many times it's trampled."

Finally, one last point is worth considering. In order to get this series published, Nakazawa had to make concessions. In the manga market of the '50s and '60s, there was little to no support for an adult-targeted series about the A-bomb. Not only had Japan, as a society, yet to fully come to terms with the bombing (Nakazawa described how people never spoke of the incident publicly in Tokyo in those days), but, in order to get published, he had to use the manga anthologies geared toward children. Even Tezuka had yet to publish his more mature works at this point. Thus, it's important to see this work in its historical perspective when judging it. Barefoot Gen may not be the fully mature work that we're used to seeing in the alternative comics industry of 2011, but it was virtually unprecedented in its day.

Ultimately, as I conveyed to Derik initially, I don't think his complaints about the series are all that important when compared to the real power of the work - its seering depictions of the horrors of the bomb. After reading these volumes, what will undoubtedly linger forever in my memory are the images of victims covered in glass, or with sheets of melted skin hanging from their bodies; the shocking depictions of starving orphans scavenging for food, or digging in the rubble for their loved one's bones. These meticulously rendered images are what makes Barefoot Gen a masterpiece worth reading. As Spiegelman pointed out in his Introduction, "this vivid and harrowing story will burn a radioactive crater in your memory that will never let you forget it."

Love & Rockets Postcards

I recently acquired this awesome set of 10 L&R postcards off Ebay, and thought they might be of interest to the adoring masses. The set is from 1990, and to my knowledge, most of these have never been reprinted (though the one of Jaime's with Maggie and Ray was released as a limited edition color print back in the early 90s). Anyway, enjoy...

Music Review: The Streets: A Grand Don't Come For Free

A few months ago, I started participating in a private CD of the month club with a group of friends. Basically, the idea is that we each write a review of the CD to each other on an email list. These are pretty informal, but I thought, in the interest of keeping my blogging momentum up, I'd share a few here on Unattended Baggage. It's worth noting that of the six guys who participate in this group, I'm the only one who doesn't live in the UK. Thus, a lot of the music is British, although it's pretty much anything goes. This was my review of A Grand Don't Come For Free by The Streets:

I feel like it takes three or four focused listens for me to get my head around each of these albums, which means 3-4 hours a week, which is not easy to find. That being said, I think it’s important because, with this album, my impression changed drastically from first to third listens. Initially, I was turned off by the relatively atonal talking instead of singing style, and found the lyrics a little contrived and pretentious. It felt like lame hipster storytelling with minimal musical accompaniment, rather than a cohesive album. To be honest, I didn’t care for it that much, and wasn’t in a hurry to go back to it. But, by the third listen, my view of the album had completely changed. It’s actually quite a good CD.

The lyrics are what makes the album. Each song is a well-written little vignette – maybe they all fit together into a larger story (one Amazon reviewer said it was “a day in the life of Mike Skinner”), but I confess, right now, I don’t see that level of cohesiveness. But there’s definitely some interesting lyrics here, especially when compared to the relatively generic love/relationship/breakup songs that most songwriters tend to churn out.

The music is also much better than I first realized. Yes, there’s talking, but it’s rhythmic, and more importantly, it’s always complemented in some clever way, either with hooks sung by background singers, a drumbeat, a string accompaniment, etc. It’s a style that I thought really worked well.

It Was Supposed to Be So Easy – Love the horns in the background. Lyrics are kinda funny, too.

Could Well Be In – Piano/drums is a good background current, but I really love the chorus singers.

Not Addicted – Decent song, not much else to say.

Blinded By the Lights – I love this song’s lyrics, a great recreation of the experience of clubbing on ecstasy, or some other drug. Really captures the manic paranoia of being stranded in the crowd.

Wouldn’t Have It Any Other Way – Just when I said there were no cheesy love songs, this one proves me wrong. But it’s a little more personal, a little different perspective than the typical love song, focusing more on the isolation and yearning when lovers are apart.

Get Out of My House – This is a cool song, a fight between lovers from both sides of the argument. It could almost be converted into a one-act stage scene. This is a great showcase for Skinner as a writer, but the song lacks some of the musical flourishes that highlight other songs. Still, it’s fun to listen to, even if not to sing along with.

Fit But You Know It – This is a hilarious song about conceited women, and the men they reject. One of the album’s highlights.

Such a Twat – Self-deprecating lyrics are ok, but the song kind of drones on.

What Is He Thinking? – This has a menacing musical tone, low, percussive horns and chanted lyrics, it almost feels like a spooky horror song. The multiple singers are a good touch.

Dry Your Eyes – Hey, Skinner has a sensitive side as well. His ability to control mood from song to song makes me think he should do movie soundtracks. This is probably my favorite song on the album, a confessional with a beautiful refrain.

Empty Cans – Feel the same way about this song as ‘Such a Twat.’ Ok, but not my favorite.

This one is definitely going to stay in my rotation for a while.

I’m giving it a 9/10.

True Story

So, I'm on a packed F train coming into the city this morning, and a woman, maybe 60 years old, who is unfortunately smashed right up against me, sees me reading Fantastic Four #20 on my Android phone. Specifically, I'm zoomed right in on the panel above.

She looks at it over my shoulder, and says to me, "Is that Cubist?"

I smiled at her politely and said "no," slightly embarrassed, and hoping not to have to admit that it's actually just a kid's comic from the '60s.

But, like the old-school New Yorker that she is, she's persistent, and asks to see the image again. So I hold it up for her and she stares at it for a good 15 seconds.

Finally, she concludes, "Well, it looks like Picasso to me."

To which I replied, "No, it's Jack Kirby. He's far better."