Most of the autobiographical comics we've read have used a simple, cartoonish style to depict events. What seems most important is the story, the words. The art is more functional, meant as a conduit for understanding the story, rather than as a completely aesthetic object in itself. I have also been reading Mat Johnson's other graphic novels, each illustrated by a different person, and in some cases even have different inkers. Each style is different, from elaborate blue-wash scenes to angled black faces. When we look at fictional comics, we come to the story with a different expectation and look at it as an aesthetic object. But when we read an autobiography, we come to it with different expectations of authenticity.
My question is this: how much do we value authenticity, a true story written by the author's hand?
How much do we value authenticity? And how much does a simplified, cartoonish style help that or hinder it? Lynda Barry in particular emphasizes the auto*fictional*ography-ness of her work. Yet, in the other book I read of hers, Syllabus, she has a similar style to this book. There is an authenticity to her "voice" as a comic book writer, but she also had others design parts of the book. How much do we rely on the truth of the art over the words, if at all. How would we take an autobiography whose art was made by another hand? How much leeway do we give "truth" when we know that a particular cartoonish picture could not possibly be exactly how it was in the memory? In print prose, we place a large amount of emphasis on the distinction between fiction and nonfiction. Is there something intrinsic about comics that makes the distinction less important? Or does the way comics is marketed highlight the fuzzy boundary inherent in all art?
Brenda,
ReplyDeleteI think those are excellent questions, and I was also interested in the idea of authenticity of details in relationship to comic art styles when I was reading both One Hundred Demons and Radioactive. In my experience of these texts, I found that the cartoonish, childlike, and abstract illustrations made me focus more on the text contents than on the image contents of the panels. With both of these works, I had less expectation of authenticity. I felt that the art styles employed in these texts made me more cognizant of a greater distance between the overall stories and reality and therefore caused me to be less concerned with analyzing the images in general.
In the earlier graphic memoirs we read such as Fun Home, I felt more inclined to trust that the events and characters depicted in the images were fairly authentic. It may be that the more realistic/detailed art style of Fun Home influenced me to think of the story as more accurate than the more abstract art of the later works.
Your post has me thinking about the awkwardness of looking and being looked at, especially with autobiographical/memoir in comics. I hadn't thought of this before, but what a strange way to position yourself as an artist, recollecting and reliving your memories but from the wrong vantage point--outside yourself, looking down. I wonder if an abstracted / cartoonized style can have something to do with that awkwardness. Showing *your* story, but from the wrong camera. The language stays in the same vantage, in first, but the art changes. Strange!
ReplyDeleteTo me, that relationship to authenticity made me a more obnoxious reader. I felt like art covered up what I saw as inconsistencies in storytelling, and I wanted stronger writing. I don't normally feel that itchy when I'm reading memoir.